Page 140 of Night of the Witch
A sharp cry pierces the air. A shout, a plea. Bodies shove, and througha break in the smoke, I see townspeople,townspeoplefighting the forest folk, and my mind rattles with confusion.
Within them, shoving through the crowd, is Otto.
His gaze collides with mine.
I sob, relief so potent I can feel its warmth in the pit of my stomach
He barrels forward, but townsfolk swarm him, beating him back; he tries not to fight, but they swing axes at him, butcher knives, whatever weapons they could find. Blades cut through the air, aimed at his neck, his side—
Otto—I try to scream for him. It’s muffled and warped, but my throat tears over it.
Something pulses out of me. Soft and cool and…andgreen.
From the cracks between the cobblestones, thin plants begin to sprout. They launch up, narrow green stalks with vibrant yellow flowers, all wrong for this season, for this temperature, for thisspeed, but they grow and grow, surrounding Otto in a ring that stretches up to his shoulders, growing, towering—
Rue. Rue like in the protection potion he took so long ago, in Trier; rue that we bought in the Christkindlmarkt.
Otto falls out of a defensive stance and flashes a look at me, questions ripe in his dark eyes.
The rue had been to protect him. To aidhim.
But the townsfolk around him go stiff. Their weapons freeze in midair.
As one, they look down, at their hands, their feet, and then back up, and suddenly they are shaking, weeping, some falling to their knees.
The potency of the magic ripples out to them, and they are purged of Dieter’s touch.
The wind shifts; smoke clogs the air, bursts embers at me, and I flinch away, losing sight of the townsfolk, of Otto.
I did that. Didn’t I?
I freed them from the spell Dieter placed on them.
Yes, says Holda.Yes, Fritzi.
When I sob now, it is in desperate hope, despite the fire crawling ever closer, billowing on the wind. The only thing stopping it from raging unchecked is the dampness of the wood, but the smoke gathers on that, and every breath now is choked more and more. I will suffocate long before I burn.
Strength. I need strength.
I tried to will the manacles to snap on their own, but my affinity is, has always been plants. And with wild magic now, I am not limited by rules, but my talents still lie where they always have—if I want to escape, if I want to harness all the powers of wild magic to fight back, I need to play to my strengths.
Cedar. A tree that gives strength. I can grow one—if I can control it now, if I canwillit to help me, its branches will be strong enough to snap these manacles.
I imagine the tree, its size, its shape, the smell, woodsy and wet in a forest, the size, imposing and massive and commanding.
Behind me, the ground trembles.
The kindling at my feet shifts, and I stumble over it, sticks rolling away, the stones groaning far below.
I throw a glance over my shoulder and see a tree sprouting up against the stake, its young limbs stretching for me,reachingfor the manacles. I push more of myself into it, tears racing down my face as I watch it climb, driven byme, just me; all this time, we were capable of this? All this time—
The tree goes from a healthy auburn to a sickly muted gray.
The whole of it shrivels, a puff of decay launching off as it wilts and falls.
“Ah, Fritzichen. Whatever are you doing?”
I whirl around, but he’s nowhere near me, not that I can see—all is smoke only, gray and darkening, and I cough, wheezing, breaths like knives stabbing me inside, the brands aching outside.
