Forest of Whispers Page 13

  The vice screws tighten, and I can bear it no longer.

  “Who do you speak to? Is it the devil you worship, witch?”

  My arms bend further behind me, twisting, threatening to snap…until finally against my will I open my mouth.

  There is a terrible ringing in my ears, and for a moment, it is like I float away. A name I have never heard of comes to me. Liese. I think I am losing consciousness, or already have, and then I focus on the man’s face. The ringing slowly fades, and I realize to my horror the voice produced from my throat was not my own.

  The men step back, wide-eyed, confused, silent, and then they begin to whisper in secret among themselves.

  “You will be taken to the Drudenhaus immediately to await your execution, Witch. May God have mercy upon your soul!” the man in the black hat tells me.

  The ropes slacken, and I am lifted beneath my arms and taken away to a place that is dark and blissfully quiet—a place where there are no accusations, a place where even the whispers cannot follow, and I slip away inside myself and dream of nightmarish things.

  Chapter 22

  Laurentz

  The next morning I return to the tree in the forest, hoping to find her, but now, I am about to follow my instinct that perhaps Rune has returned to the cottage, or what’s left of it. When I arrive, I see that it is as empty and lonely as the other day. I turn and look toward the village. Could she have gone there? Was that wise of her, I wonder, and just as I’m about to head along the path that will take me to the hedge, I spy a dark-haired girl on the other side of the green. I cannot get to the border fast enough, tearing along, hoping it’s her. When I round the corner, there is no one but an approaching wagon and driver and I am convinced my mind has once again been tricked by the elusive Rune.

  “Wait! You there!” I rush along the cobbled street, urging him to slow his pace. He pulls the reins toward his chest while skillfully shooting me a look that tells me I’ve annoyed him.

  “What is this?” I ask, pointing to the cart he pulls behind him, seeing it is full of people, not animals.

  “Prisoners, My Lord.” He answers as if the load he pulls is simple bales of hay on the way to the stables, and eyes me as if I am quite the fool for asking.

  The cart holds about eight women, each crammed into the tiny space and equally wide-eyed and frightened. The ones closest reach their arms through the bars, begging me with their eyes to help them, while the others cower silently.

  “For what crimes have they been arrested?”

  The driver sticks a piece of wheat between his two front teeth. “Treason, I s’pose. I’m just following orders, Sir. I’ve been told to collect them from the guards and take them to the courthouse.” He gives a nod, silently conveying I’m done wasting his time, and with a snap of the reins, he and the cart roll off again. I follow at a distance and begin the slow climb up the road, ignoring those who eye me curiously. Once at the top, a large building of white limestone greets me, its grand staircase rising to where two of the Prince Bishop’s guards stand watch in front of a double set of heavy wooden doors. They don’t question me as I approach, and we nod to one another as they let me pass.

  Inside, a long-mustached man greets me with surprise. “Welcome, My Lord,” he says with a curt nod. “It’s so rare the Electorate’s son pays us a visit.”

  I follow behind him along a whitewashed corridor, past framed paintings of the Prince Bishop and others ordained before him. There is one painting in particular that moves me, and I find myself falling behind the man, slowing my pace to take a closer look. I am drawn to the lower portion of the canvas, where a gold and garnet ring gleams. It seems so real it appears to leap from the painting into the very hall I stand.

  This is a ring I’ve been familiar with my whole life. My lips have kissed it in reverence on many occasions, and as a child, I struggled with the concept of being taught not only to trust it, but to also fear it. Something unnerves me, and I cannot figure out what it is.

  “His Council will see you now, My Lord.”

  I nod, overwhelmed by an intense feeling that I may not understand all that is going on around me.

  “Lord Mayor.” My boots tap along the floor as I make my way toward the council table at the end of the room.

  The Burgermeister, tall and impeccably dressed, stands and extends his hand. “Laurentz, you were a boy the last time I saw you,” he nods. “How is your father?”

  “He’s well,” I answer.

  “Ah, good to hear,” he says with a cool smile. “And the Countess?”

  I don’t tell him she has been on the brink of death since the loss of her baby, how each day spirals into the next, dragging my father along with her. It isn’t any of his concern. Instead, I nod and give a curt smile, allowing him to assume all is well at Eltz. My life after I fill my father’s shoes will be filled with moments like this. My father may think I have much to learn about the duties of being Electorate, but I know more than I am given credit for. I’ve learned that, while you keep allies close, you should always keep enemies closer.

  “My father has sent me as favor to our Prince Bishop. I’ve already taken the liberty of addressing the village.”

  “Yes, it’s a pity what’s become of Pyrmont,” he says. “But I have the upmost faith that we will be spared.”

  Ringing through my mind are the bishop’s words from our meeting in the chapel—the precautions, the purging of evil that is the root of all disease, an ill-fated society, all at the hands of a witch. The people in the village placed blame on Matilde, and like a wildfire, the accusations spread fiercely. This is why I fear for Rune. Will the fingers point to her? I know I am treading where I should not, but I can’t keep what I learned earlier to myself any longer.

  “I hear there has been a recent execution.”

  I don’t miss the way his face blanches.

  “If this town had fallen to the whims of a witch,” I continue, “then surely all order should have been restored upon the moment of her death.”

  “Then you too believe this village is suffering at the hands of witchcraft?” His eyebrows knit together as he waits for me to agree. When I am too quiet for too long, he simply says, “Perhaps that was her plan. That her curse outlives her death.”

  I give a shrug, letting him believe what he wants. “I passed a wagon of prisoners today.” My eyes survey the room. “Tell me of that. Is it coincidence that not a single male was among them?”

  My attention diverts to the men working at a table in the far corner while I wait for an answer. The table is filled with strange devices I cannot help staring at. The Burgermeister notices what has me so captured and clears his throat in a way that makes me realize I’ve overstepped a boundary he has left loosely guarded. As the Electorate’s son, I should be free to ask what I want and demand an answer. But his sudden offense to my question proves otherwise; it proves that this is none of my business, and even though the bishop has asked me to relay a message to the people, I should not go digging into affairs that are not mine.

  “They have been arrested for suspicious behavior, My Lord. It has come to my attention that the crone from the forest was responsible for corrupting the souls of some of the people of our town. We are simply removing something she so skillfully put in place.”

  “What have these women done?”

  “I am not at liberty to tell you, but perhaps your father might, if it is something he wishes to discuss with you.” He narrows dark eyes at me. “But take my word, this is for the best interest of the people. Once we have removed the threat of witchcraft, all shall be normal again.”

  I lean across the table and stare straight into his eyes. “I’ll ask again, Lord Mayor. What have these prisoners done?”

  “If you must know the details, each has displayed hostile behavior, and oddities, marking them as…not average citizens. One woman, for instance, has six toes. Another was in the presence of the tavern keeper and fresh milk curdled before his eyes. Trust me
when I tell you all is not normal here, despite the old woman’s death. I assure you, each prisoner will be tried in the court, and we shall determine if they are fit to live freely among the rest of us.”

  “You realize there may very well be explanations for what you hold them responsible for?”

  “You are the Electorate’s son. Because I am employed by your father, who is a man I deeply respect and trust, I won’t argue with you. However, I do believe we may have found the cause for all that has gone wrong lately. One can’t be too careful, though, which is why we’ve made every effort to increase our search.”

  “And what cause might that be?” I ask. I try to remain calm, but my eyes will not leave the table across the room. The men there are oiling iron gadgets of all shapes and sizes, making sure each instrument is in good working order—finger vices with nails, wrist and ankle constraints, rope, keys of various sizes. This table set in the middle of a courtroom is horrifying in and of itself, yet there is one item that sets itself apart from all the rest, and the men seem to find it of particular interest.

  “You seem to disagree with our methods for finding justice, Sir. If you insist on knowing, I believe we have a most vile prisoner in our captivity, and we shall see a distinct improvement in things once she is destroyed.”

  His voice tunnels out of my ears as I watch the men spill tiny stones from a cloth sack onto the table. They look at the contents curiously, trying to decipher what they could possibly be used for, and take turns stacking them and knocking them down.

  I’ve seen stones like those before in the kitchen of Eltz, long ago. Two young serving girls played at reading each other’s fortune. Cook walked in and nearly fainted on the spot, telling them to bury the stones deep in the ground at the far end of the garden. She said she wouldn’t have the devil’s work tainting the food she worked so hard to make, and I remember how ashen her red face had turned at the sight of them. When I had the courage to ask what they were, she told me they were rune stones, and I’d do best to stay far away from them, if I knew what was good for me.

  Rune…

  At once I realize why I’m standing here—the real reason I’ve come. There is only one person those little marked stones could have been confiscated from. I break the force I’ve been mesmerized by and look at the man who waits impatiently across from me.

  “May I see this prisoner you speak of?”

  “Are you sure you know what you’re asking? She’s a very powerful witch.”

  “If you can lay eyes on her, then I suppose I am up for the challenge,” I say brusquely.

  “The burning shouldn’t have occurred yet. I suppose you have time.”

  I stare at him. “Burning?”

  “Why, yes. She’s guilty of witchcraft.”

  “Are you to tell me you have no idea if a prisoner’s been sent to execution, even though all orders to do so would be given by you?”

  He gives a tight, even laugh, despite the fact that I’ve come just short of insulting him.

  “That’s because she is not being held here. We can’t run the risk of someone like her corrupting our other prisoners.” The Burgermeister holds a smug look upon his face now, one that is entirely different from the welcoming mask he first greeted me with. Quickly, my brain sifts through questions. I must know where this “witch” has been taken. I need to know if it’s Rune.

  “Well then, if she’s as dangerous as you seem to think,” I say, “both my father and the bishop will be quite pleased to find you are indeed ensuring the safety of the village. Where exactly did you say she was sent?”

  He eyes me suspiciously, but I know he won’t refuse me, not if it will reassure his status and control to the Electorate. A malicious grin of delight tinged with caution flares across his face. I pace nonchalantly to the window and look out onto the lawn, pretending his answer isn’t very important. The macabre sight below is mesmerizing and disturbing all the same. Nooses are being slung and tested in the gallows. I watch as four men build the stake and pyre, filling the spaces beneath the boards with bone-dry hay that will catch the instant a flame touches it.

  Somewhere, someone is doing this for Rune, I think to myself. I could very well be standing in another window, in another building, witnessing the preparations for her death.

  “I suggest you pay the city of Bamberg a visit. Now if you’ll excuse me, My Lord, you can see there is much to be done.” His voice booms behind me, and I don’t miss the implication that he means to return to more important matters.

  Rune is in Bamberg—taken to the Drudenhaus, the witch prison. Anyone taken there is as good as dead.

  The look on his face is cold when I turn around, and the Burgermeister nods my way, excusing himself, while the other men from the table rise to follow him out.

  “Did you give her a fair trial, then?” I ask heatedly, crossing to stand in front of him. “One that suggests she is not guilty until she is fully examined?”

  “The inquiry we gave her took all of five minutes—enough time to prove to us she is indeed guilty and extremely dangerous.”

  “So minutes are all it takes to determine if a girl should be put to death, in the most violent of ways?” I am sure he wonders why I am so interested, why this affects me so, but I can’t be bothered with covering up my emotions. I need to know before he walks out of this room and I lose my chance.

  “Tell me, what exactly has she done?” I doubt trading mushrooms is enough to prove oneself of being a witch.

  “It’s not a matter of what she has done, but more who she is, that greatly concerns us.”

  The door swings open, and the man who greeted me when I first came is standing there. “Sir, the prisoners have arrived.” He delivers his message flatly. If Rune isn’t here, then the stakes and gallows being built are for them. I look the Burgermeister in the eye, knowing he doesn’t plan to give trials to the newly arrested. He plans on killing them all, and I am angered by the atrocity of it.

  The Burgermeister mutters to himself and avoids my gaze as he leaves the room with the others, and I’m left alone in the massive meeting room. The witch prison in Bamberg has already earned a dark reputation. I cannot imagine anyone surviving it. It is a place of horror, I hear, with screams that leach from the walls in the middle of the night and float away among the darkened streets. And poor Rune is there.

  I waste no time and rush toward the table, collecting the rune stones and pushing them into the little bag. I toss the last one in, giving the old cord a firm tug, but a lumpy cloth sticks out, preventing me from closing it all the way. I pull it out and look it over in the graying light of the room, tracing my thumb over the impression of old stitchery holes that dot it. I fumble inside my coat, knowing the bishop’s parchment is still there, read and forgotten. I am sure its words mean nothing to this village. They show no fear or concern about an illness; all they see is that a witch still lives among them and must be destroyed. I uncurl the scroll and exhale a stunned breath, then hold it up to the cloth. The parchment bears the Prince Bishop’s insignia at the top, of course, but halfway down the decree is the Pyrmont shield. It is practically an exact replica of the design made by the missing stitches on the cloth.

  How did this cloth ever come to be in Rune’s possession, I wonder? And why has only Pyrmont fallen to the illness? Perhaps Plague is not the monster here, but something else entirely, something that will undoubtedly continue to fill the hearts and minds of everyone with a dread so terrible they will be willing to turn on one another to escape it. They’ll be willing to blame neighbors, even their own families, for an invisible evil, just to save themselves.

  A wave of sickness hits me. The cleansing of this village has nothing to do with an epidemic that has claimed the lives of those just miles away, but an invisible disease that I fear is far more volatile. I spare a second to glance out the window one last time and hope I am wrong, but I’m not. It’s happening, just like the bishop more or less warned me the other day.

  An inq
uisition.

  A stage in which the real monster is set, and the clever characters who will act it all out are ones who wouldn’t dare be questioned—the Burgermeister, the council, even the Prince Bishop himself.

  And from what I’ve learned here today, Rune could very well be caught in the middle of it.

  Chapter 23

  Rune

  The cart’s wheels hit every rock and hole in the road on purpose, just to torment us. We’ve been traveling for hours along the Regnitz River, and I long to stretch my limbs, only there isn’t any room.

  I sit on a bed of straw in this tiny wagon, along with four other women. Three girls are about my age, while the fourth is much older. She reminds me of Matilde, and for that reason I turn my head. I cannot look at her without feeling myself fall apart.

  The girl closest to me is crying. Our shoulders bump one another, and despite the many times I’ve tried to give her room, she ends up leaning against me, drenching my shoulder with her tears. The sour-looking girl sits with her back to us and has spent the entire trip looking out at the moving trees, clearly mesmerized by the endless green scrolling past us. She would be pretty if she didn’t have awful teeth, and every time she curls her lips back at what she sees during our ride, the muddy stain of brown pokes out. It sickens me, and I turn away.

  “My son will come for me.” The old woman chants to herself, as if convincing us, rather than herself, that she will escape the horror of where they are taking us.

  “No one leaves the Drudenhaus, old woman. At least not alive.” The girl with the bad teeth pulls herself away from watching the road and pitilessly acknowledges the old woman’s declaration. I feel sorry for the woman. She was just trying to be hopeful, and now, she is not even allowed that.

  My hand presses against the girl whose head lolls back and forth on me. She’s cried herself to sleep, I think, although I can’t understand how she’s managed to do that under these circumstances. She begins to shift a little, and I’ve just enough room to twist myself around and peer out the bars myself, but what I see, I cannot believe.