Page 133 of Night of the Witch
I look down, the need to retch sending sour bile up my throat. And I see the mangled flesh, burnt and blackened, bits of it now orange and glowing on its own, and I gag, hard.
Dieter lays his hand over the wound. “Shh, shh,” he coos, and a wave of magic pulses into me from his palm.
The pain vanishes. Immediately.
No balms or potions. Just my brother, muttering slightly under his breath.
He pulls his hand back, and my stomach is healed. My gown lies gaping and scorched, but the brand is gone.
The sheer might of wild magic stuns me, even here, even now. Hehealed such a woundhimself. None of our laws used, none of our rules followed. Justhim.
I gasp, tears streaming down my cheeks, and when my eyes find my brother’s face, he’s giddy.
“This didn’t work on little Liesel,” he says to my stomach. He strokes a finger down the healed flesh, and I shudder. “The brand, I mean. So resistant to fire, that one. But you and I will have some fun with this, won’t we? Some scars don’t ever heal. And these scars connect us, Fritzichen.”
He shoves the brand against my stomach again.
My scream this time is a crooning shriek, and I flail on the chains, trying to get away, trying to escape him. The heat and the pressure of the iron and thesmell; I thought I had known every facet of how burning could smell, but this is a phantom of its own, a snarl of laughter that grabs me by the throat and sneers,You thought you knew suffering? This is where it is born.
He removes the brand, lays his hand over the spot, heals it again.
He was meant to be our village’s healer, he was meant to help us—
“I wanted you to listen to the voice too.” Dieter rests the length of the brand on his shoulder and props his other arm on a nearby chair so he can bend closer to me, catching my gaze through surges of tears. “I wanted you to sever from the Well and give into wild magic like I did so you would know how deep the lies run. Wild magic is not something to be feared, and the Origin Tree’s magic is not the most powerful. We have been lied to, forced to grab up scraps so we can stay in their control. Mama, the Elders, our coven, the Well—all of it is a festering hive of deception bent on keeping us in line, and I will break it open. Oh, don’t cry! You get to help me still. What was it you said to me?I don’t want to save you, not after everything you’ve done?Well, likewise, sweet Fritzi. I don’t want to save you anymore. But you are still very, very useful.”
He pitches the brand toward me, and I flinch and writhe.
Say the spell, Fritzi!Holda begs, and I beg myself too; I’m so deranged by pain and horror that all I can think is,Say it, say it, say it—but what are the words?
On this day,I start. That’s right.On this day—
“You have to know, Fritzi.” Dieter steps away to stick the brand into the fireplace. I think he’s done—he has to be done—but he holds it in the flames, eyes drifting to the ceiling, his head shaking in exasperation. “This is all the fault of Mama and the Elders, and those forest folk you met.Theyare the ones who kept the secret of wild magic from us, knowing just how powerful we could be!Theyare the ones who forced rules upon us! All the things I do—theyforce it. If they had given us the true strength of the Well from the start, none of this would be necessary.”
He turns back to me. The brand glows orange again.
“Just like this pain.” He nods at the brand. “It isn’t necessary. You chose this route. Because, no matter how powerful wild magic may be, it showed me that the only way I will be able to change our world is with your power enhancing mine. You’respecial, Fritzichen. And this is the sacrifice you must make for freedom.”
I blubber and beg through the gag, but it’s all muffled, all nonsense, my world a swimming, flickering sea of pain, and I am rendered inconsequential but to experience this.
Dieter holds. The brand dips to the side as his head does, surveying me, his brows sharpening.
“Oh, pretty sister, you’re crying out for him, aren’t you? That traitorous kapitän of mine.” He clicks his tongue and shows me the brand. “But you see, you aren’t his anymore. You aren’t Mama’s. You’remine. And when you burn tomorrow, these brands will make sure that every drop of the wild magic your death generates funnels straight intome. The barrier will fall”—he snaps his fingers—“just. Like. That.”
He shoves the brand high against my collarbone.
I pass out. Darkness yanks me down, down, and I see Holda there, see her screaming for me, but her voice is soundless, soundless like I am, her tongue in a gag—
Past her, I see the Origin Tree.
I see forest folk gathered around it, defensive lines, hands raised outward to face an enemy I can’t spot—they weave spells around the tree. Creating the barrier, the Well, this is the start of the Well—
A jolt of magic rushes through me, and I snap awake to Dieter pressing his hand against my chest, healing me again.
I shake my head; it’s all I can do: shake it and whimper when he lifts the brand, twists it between us.
His eyes roll over the wicked ironDbefore dropping to my healed skin, the holes in my gown.
He places it back against my stomach. Holds it. Holds it through my writhing, my screaming.
