Page 92 of Night of the Witch
But the voice. The voice that was behind me. It’s the tree again, the tree I dreamed about days ago, branches stretching high into the sky. It alone doesn’t burn, limbs bare in winter’s fallowness, and it towers over me in such a shock of presence that I go to my knees. Is it the Origin Tree? Why is it speaking with the voice of wild magic?
He lies to you, the voice says. The branches pulse, quaking.He lies. You are not the same.
And you will save us all.
28
OTTO
Once we reach Koblenz, we turn south, going against the current, which takes considerably more effort than I would like. But the Rhine is even more crowded than the Moselle, which works to our advantage. We are one small boat among dozens of others, slipping through the shadows of the larger ships. No one bothers to question us. When we pay the tolls at towns to continue down the river, the Catholics assume we’re Protestants, and the Protestants assume we’re Catholics, and neither bothers to ask as soon as my gold is in their palm.
Some nights, I pull the boat out of the river, and we make a campsite under the trees, stretching our legs and walking while we have the luxury. When it snows, we flip the boat and use it as a roof to protect us, curling together for warmth. Even without a fire, Liesel’s natural warmth is enough to keep us all comfortable. Liesel may have hated me for the black cloak I wore when she first saw me, but she’s warmed up to my presence. She only threatens to murder me in my sleep a few times a night, a marked improvement in our relationship.
Castles speckle the cliffs that rise on either side of the river. Some are monstrously huge; others are tiny, each one owned by a prince or a noble clutching at land. Most of the castles are so close together that, were we to stand on the parapet of one, we could see the next. These men are made rich from the vineyards the Romans built and the tolls their soldiers collect along the river, and they use those funds to squabble amongst each other.
One night, we make camp near a sheer cliff made of pale rock, dividing up my stores. I’ll need to replenish supplies soon, but even Liesel can see the way my shoulders are more relaxed than they’ve been since we started rowing.
“What are you so happy about?” she grumbles. We’re down to the hardest strands of jerky, so inedible that we have to soften it with water from the river before our teeth can tear through the dried meat.
“See that castle?” I point to the nearest one. “It belongs to the Count of Katzenelnbogen.”
Fritzi and Liesel glance at each other and shrug, not grasping my meaning.
“It’s the Cat Castle,” I say, using the more commonly known nickname. “Protestant sympathizers. The one we passed earlier, though, the little gray rock castle? That was the Mouse Castle.” Silly names, but easy to remember at least. “The Mouse is allied with Trier. But the Cat is not.”
“Oh,” Fritzi breathes, gathering my meaning. “We’re outside the archbishop’s influence now.”
“Every day we row from now on, all the way to the Black Forest, we’re pulling farther and farther from his reach.”
Liesel hums a little tune to herself, about the katze that catches the maus.
But Fritzi doesn’t seem to share my relief. “Dieter’s not Catholic orProtestant, Otto,” she reminds me. “He doesn’t care about the principalities or the borders. You’re thinking like a man, not a witch.”
I scowl at the little campfire we’d dared to make to warm ourselves and our food. I had wanted to make them feel safer.
But nowhere is safe. Not with Dieter following us.
The farther south we go, the flatter the landscape becomes. Fog clings to the shore, weaving around the trees that are barren of leaves but still speckled with mistletoe, bright green balls clinging to the spidery branches. Towns give way to villages, small clusters of homes that puff smoke from their chimneys into the already gray sky. We go whole days seeing nothing but fog.
Although the land near the river is still fairly flat, we start to see mountains in the distance, the dark green of the forest. We passed Speyer, and then the river bent farther south. “That’s probably France,” I say, pointing to the right side of the river. “If we go much farther, we’ll hit Switzerland.”
Liesel and Fritzi exchange a glance. We all knew that the river couldn’t take us directly to where we wanted to be, but the boat has been a safe haven, a liminal place where time and danger seemed to be behind us.
“Do we know where in the Black Forest to go?” I press, glancing at Liesel. The forest is huge and mountainous; I don’t know of anyone who’s trekked through all its depths, not even the Romans, who notoriously feared the dark shadows of the impenetrable trees.
Liesel looks down at her hands. “I think this is right,” she says.
Which is the best answer any of us has. I dock the boat when the river bends, and we all get off. Fritzi reaches for one of the two satchels, but I grab it first, shouldering both. She glares at me, but when I give hera wink in return, a red stain creeps over her cheeks. I know exactly what I’m doing, and the fact that she has anything but disdain for a man like me… I’ll do whatever I can to make her blush like that.
“What do we do with the boat?” Liesel asks.
“I wish we could sell it.” There’s no one around, though, and even if there were, selling it may draw too much attention to us. My coin purse is almost empty after so much time on the water. I wonder what day it is—surely not the new year yet? I heft the bags on my shoulder again; they’re far lighter than before. “We need supplies.”
“We’ll come across a town before we reach the forest.” Fritzi’s voice is full of confidence, and Liesel accepts her words easily, but there’s a flash of worry in her gaze. We may have to live off the land, a hard thing to do in a bitter winter.
Liesel trots ahead, but I grab Fritzi’s hand, rubbing my thumb across her knuckles. “We will get more supplies,” I tell her.I will protect you both.I cannot put the full meaning of what I want to say into words, but she seems to read the promise in my eyes. Her shoulders relax a little, and together, the three of us venture from the shore into the hills.
About an hour of walking brings us to a cottage, built along a branch. There’s evidence that the land was once used as a mill, an old, broken wheel still partly in the water, but the building is falling to ruins.
