Page 85 of Night of the Witch
There are shouts along the river—larger boats vying for better positions, good-natured calls among the men from one boat to another. Several of the boats have sails, but without wind, oars and poles are used more often.
Trier slips away.
I focus on the oars. The slap of wood on water. Splashing and creaking. I am a cog in a mill, cranking the boat forward, forward.
“It’s midday.” Fritzi’s voice cuts across the cool air. I glance up, sweat stinging my eyes, and see that both girls are sitting, their eyes on me. Fritzi’s brows are creased in the middle, concern etched on her face.
Midday. The time Dieter had intended to start the fires.
“You can stop for a second,” Liesel says, as if my attempts to save her life have annoyed her.
I flex my fingers, realizing for the first time that they’re numb.
“Where are we?” Liesel asks.
“We shouldn’t stop until Zell or Cochem, if we can help it,” I say. I try to force my fingers around the oar, but my shoulders scream in protest. I look up at Fritzi. “Do you have any potions for strength?” I ask. “Something to keep me rowing.”
“No,” she says in a small voice.
“Okay.” I nod, thinking to myself. There are remarkably few boats here, away from the main city. “I can go ashore, find some herbs, just tell me which ones. You can make something that will help me row faster, yeah? I don’t need to sleep.”
“Yes, you do,” Fritzi says. “And no, I will not make you such a potion.”
“But—!”
“I don’t care,” Liesel says. “Let his heart explode from overwork.”
“I care!” Fritzi snaps at her.
“You care about his heart?” Liesel says snidely.
A blush creeps up Fritzi’s cheeks, but she turns to me with ferocious eyes. “We are too exhausted.” She turns to the side of the river. The trees are thick. “If we pull the boat up, we can hide here and rest.”
I don’t like stopping. But if my body gives out, it leaves Fritzi and Liesel in a dangerous position.
“And we have a way to find a path,” Fritzi adds. “We’re running aimlessly. We need a direction.”
That’s what Liesel can provide for us.Ifshe’s not too exhausted to work her magic.
I find a place where a fallen tree grants easier access up the bank, and let the girls out before hauling the boat up onto the shore, dragging it between the trees until we’re a safe enough distance from the river that I’m certain we won’t be spotted.
Fritzi sweeps a flat area nestled among the trees with a fallen evergreen branch, and when she tells me to rest, I do, gladly. Liesel sits on the knot of a root, her hand playing with the flint and steel from the tinderbox, flicking a spark between her fingers.
I remember what Fritzi told me about her cousin and her affinity for fire. A type of augury, using flames. My gaze focuses on the little lightdancing around her tiny knuckles. My thoughts go immediately to my sister. Can Liesel tell me where Hilde is? I bite the question away. The girl doesn’t trust me, but more than that—she’s a child who’s just been abused for her power. I cannot press her now.
Just as I come to that thought, I notice that her eyes are on me, almost hidden by her hair. She darts her gaze away, but I caught a glimmer of the same pale blue in Fritzi’s eyes. The little witch is as curious about me as I am about her.
I sit up, holding a small branch from the forest floor. With a flick of my wrist, my spring-loaded holster hidden by my shirtsleeve brings forth my dagger.
Last used to pierce Bertram’s throat.
I push the thought away, even if the image is seared into my mind. Instead, I turn the piece of wood over in my hands. It’s still pretty green, but my blade is sharp, and even if I’m tired, I’ve whittled enough in my day to make short work of it. In moments, I’ve carved a crude horse with evergreen needles for a tail. Fritzi bustles around the small camp, checking supplies, getting fresh water.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Liesel’s flicker of flame has died. She’s watching me, but when I look up, she jerks her head away, staring into the forest.
I toss the little wooden horse at her, and she snatches it from the air.
I chuckle, and she scowls, dropping it as if I’d thrown her a dead mouse.
