Forest of Whispers Page 17

  Chapter 29

  Rune

  Laurentz whispers to me, and my heart leaps at the sound of his voice.

  “Trust me,” he says softly with a strange calm, though the deep timbre of his voice clearly conveys urgency.

  Before us lies an orange world that appears to have split open in mayhem. Flames eat away at the flags that line the Drudenhaus walls. Blurred bodies press against one another, screaming in unison, fleeing for the gate that will spill them out onto the street.

  Laurentz too is covered in red, but when a hot breeze sweeps past us I see it is his uniform, red and gold, the colors of the Prince Bishop, the colors he wore in the forest.

  “Hurry!” he urges me. I thrust my hand into his, and we are running. The heat from the courtyard is unbearable, and the steady rush of air brings a relief to my skin. We run in the opposite direction of the screams and I try to pull my hand back, knowing the other way is the only way out, but Laurentz will not let me go until we’ve reached a high wall on one end of the yard. He holds his entwined fingers inverted, motioning for me to climb onto them so he can hoist me up.

  “Why? Why should I trust you?”

  The muscle in his strong jaw contracts, and I watch his throat move as he swallows before answering me.

  “Because I know who you are.”

  Immediately, I pull my hand back. If I try, I might be able to run into the crowd that pushes past the gate. I might be able to slip away unseen.

  “No, Rune,” he says, leaning a little closer. “That’s a good thing.”

  I want to trust him. I want to trust something, and I know I must make a most crucial decision. If I run toward the gate, there is a good chance I will be caught or killed by the fire. If I stay here, I’m as good as dead. I don’t think. I don’t let it process, I only trust in the most blinding sort of way, and I find my hand reaching for his arm for support. I place my foot in his open hands, and soon I am being lifted up and over the stone wall that for days has held me prisoner. My legs dangle over the side and I drop, landing a little crooked, but otherwise unhurt. Alive. Free.

  Laurentz follows me, scaling the wall and landing on his feet more gracefully than I. He brings his fingers to the sides of his mouth and blows, and I am stunned by the shrill whistle that flies from his lips, more stunned to see the dark brown mare with wild black eyes charge upon us and stop at our feet.

  The city of Bamberg flies past us at breakneck speed. The red rooftops and cream buildings are a blur out of the corner of my eye. I cling to the back of Laurentz’s coat so tightly I fear I may pull the stitching, and then we are in a flurry of green that is breathtakingly familiar. We are in the Black Forest.

  I breathe in the pine, the pleasant damp, the sweet moss as the horse’s hooves land faster and faster. It is not the same part of the forest I grew up in, but it is connected, and therefore I am home.

  Trees careen past, and all I hear is the rush of the boughs and the deep breaths of the horse who, like Pegasus, has given us invisible wings to fly. Gone is the smell of burning timber. Gone is the frightened girl. I’ve left her behind, and they will think she is dead. She is dead, and I am alive. I test my bravery and lift my chin, peering over the shoulder in front of me. The trees thin in the distance, and nestled within the dips of the mossy mounds, the ground sparkles like moving diamonds. Just as I’m about to warn him, we are in the stream with spray rising, drenching us. The horse reaches the far bank; with the power of hitting a stone wall at full speed, it rears, and we are thrown back, landing in a heap in the water, our lungs sucking at the air.

  Laurentz is up well before I am, brushing moss and mud from his waistcoat. He holds his hand out to help me. “Are you all right?”

  I’m soaked, but I’m fine, and I nod to answer him.

  He grabs the reins that hang from the shaken animal. He is in the saddle, ready to try it again, when I figure it’s time to tell him the truth.

  “You go on ahead,” I motion with my hand. “I can make my way back from here.”

  “Absolutely not. I’ve gotten you this far. I’m not going to leave you on your own.”

  I have no idea how far I am from the little ruined cottage, but my heart tells me to walk toward the darker part of the forest, the part where the trees bend as if speaking.

  “Oh, no you don’t, you’re not going back there.” His hand is out again, waiting to pull me up behind him. “Besides, there’s someone who needs your gifts, your skills—someone who is very close to me. Will you help me?”

  My heart stutters, and then plummets. There is someone else. A betrothed? A wife? I swallow the strange feeling that has hit me and hide it away. Fine. He seems to be aware that I’m capable of doing something, yet he doesn’t run.

  “Didn’t you just see what happened? You can’t go very far with me. Witches can’t…” I stumble with my words. “Witches can’t cross water.”

  I’ve said it. It’s out now. I stare at the muddy bank knowing

  I should hear hooves by now. He should be leaving, but all I hear is the lapping water as the stream settles into its natural rhythm again.

  When I look up, he’s staring right at me, a crooked smile lighting his face. “I suppose we’ll have to walk in the water then. The stream leads to the river, and the river leads to Burg Eltz. We should reach home by sundown.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes, my home,” Laurentz replies. “Now come on.” He extends his hand once again, and this time I take it. I’ve admitted I’m a witch. He’s seen the proof, yet he doesn’t blow the whistle, alerting those who are surely looking for me that I’ve escaped with him into the forest. I climb up onto the horse’s back and resume my position behind him, and soon we are off, trotting steadily through the water.

  “Did you say Burg Eltz?”

  “Yes, do you know it?” he asks me.

  “No. Is it an important place?”

  I feel his back shake with laughter, but I don’t see what’s so amusing, unless he laughs at my ignorance.

  “Burg Eltz is my home. It’s been my father’s home for years, as it was his father’s before him. My father is the Electorate.”

  I’ve heard that word before and know I should feel impressed. In the market, snippets of a great man with as much power as the Prince Bishop would come to my ears. I’d noticed how the people in the village spoke of him, using the word “Electorate” with genuine respect and kindness. If this man is Laurentz’s father, then I suppose I might be in safe company, although I can’t help peering behind me. Surely I will hear hooves or see the flames from the prison following me. I watch the trees move past us, knowing that with each step I’m moving further away from my home.

  I want to ask who it is I’m supposed to help, and how, but the steady swaying of the horse lulls me. Without thinking, I allow my cheek to lean against the back of this man who seems to know where we’re headed. In the back of my mind I think of how smooth his jacket feels, not like the itchy wool Matilde would sew into cloaks for us in winter. My head seems to find a spot that fits perfectly, and I see the turn of his head, looking back at me. He doesn’t lean forward, doesn’t tell me not to rest against him even though his back is to me, despite what I am. This boy is brave. He stepped through fire to save me. He is not afraid of what I am. I let myself think about this, feeling the smile tickle my mouth.

  Today, I feel safe.

  Chapter 30

  Rune

  We have stopped moving. Instead of the cool damp of the forest upon my skin, I feel the warmth of the sun. I open my eyes to find that we are on a narrow bridge. It hovers over a deep ravine and we face the entrance to a large stone castle. The very size of the shadow it casts steals my breath. I can’t help feeling frightened, because what I see before me looks like another prison—carefully and skillfully disguised as something appealing.

  “There she is, Burg Eltz,” the boy I am holding onto announces proudly. “She’s the finest castle in all of Germany.” The horse responds to
the pressure he places against her sides with his legs and resumes her steady trot forward.

  On either side of us the ground drops steeply, making it feel like the bridge is magickally suspended in the air, and I cling to Laurentz tightly. Around us are trees and sky; below, more trees, and a rushing stream at the very bottom. From what I can see, this is the one and only entrance in and out of the castle that towers over us, and I already feel closed in.

  “You’ll be safe here,” Laurentz whispers encouragingly. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if I didn’t believe so.”

  I fear my head will fall straight off my neck if I bend it any higher, but I can’t help trying to take it all in. The stones are enormous; each one is the size of a man’s head, or larger. The windows and turrets reach as far as my eyes can see and become lost in the low, hovering clouds. I take Laurentz’s hand, and soon I am settling my feet on solid ground. I am stiff from riding and am grateful he is here to help hold me steady.

  Inside the castle, I am surprised to find a cold, sterile atmosphere. I suppose I expected it to be warm and homey, much like my old home, and I am disappointed in a way. Laurentz seemed to speak of it with such fondness, but perhaps he was only reassuring me that my safety was a matter I needn’t concern myself with—that Burg Eltz would protect me with the mighty arms of the fortress she is, and that is all I need right now.

  The room we enter is full of tapestries and paintings that cover nearly every square inch of the walls. There are vases on tables, and the smell of freshly cut flowers fills the air with a heady sweetness. That alone reminds me of home. There are tall, polished men of armor and shields—and eyes.

  Of course I should have realized a castle would have a staff to run it, only I didn’t prepare myself for how they would react when they saw me.

  “Pay no mind to them,” his reassuring voice comes to my ear. “You’re simply something new to look at.”

  I nod and tilt my face but am caught by the light catching his eyes, and find myself off-balance. In a swift movement, his hand steadies me.

  “I’m just tired from the ride,” I say, convincing both of us that what I’ve gone through today is taking its toll. At least, that is what I tell myself.

  “I’ll have a room prepared for you,” he tells me. In response to a wave of his hand, a girl my age crosses the hall. “Draw a bath, Elsie, and prepare a room in the left wing for our guest.”

  I watch as he gives the girl the instructions. He is neither bossy nor commanding, but instead it’s as if he is genuinely pleased to ask her to do this for me, as if he is happy I am here. And when the maid obliges, I too manage a little smile for her, just to show how appreciative I am.

  “Go ahead, you’re in good hands.” Laurentz nods that I am supposed to follow the girl. “I’ll come for you in a while, after I’ve spoken to my father.”

  The wonder of Eltz has me mesmerized, and I’ve forgotten that I will soon meet the Electorate. Suddenly, I am a bundle of nerves again, but I follow Elsie, who stands patiently at the foot of a tall and winding staircase for me. Soon I am in an endless hallway with doors and oil paintings in between. She opens one but waits just outside of it, expecting me to enter first. It is a bath with a large porcelain basin in the center of the room. Everything is white. Stark. Clean. A fire heats a kettle in the corner of the room, and I watch as she begins to pour it into the tub. She adds flowers and oil to the bath, creating a lovely aroma that permeates the room as the steam rises; then, she motions for me to undress.

  With trembling hands I begin to loosen the ties of my dress and am relieved when she leaves the room. If I undress quickly I can step into the water before she returns. I dip a toe into the swirling water, hastily testing its incredible warmth while hoping I can be fully submerged by the time I hear her on the other side of the door. Just as I bend my knee and am lifting my other leg to step into the tub, Elsie returns. I don’t know which sound shocks me most—her gasp, or the pitcher shattering when it is dropped, smashing to pieces across the stone floor.

  “Gnädig! Gracious!”

  I sink into the tub, but I’ve moved too quickly and water sloshes over the sides, spilling onto the floor. I stare down at my bare legs beneath the water and wait for her to ask me, but what I expect does not come. A few minutes perhaps, and her curiosity will win out and she will ask to know what the gashes and bruises are from. I can tell her I fell from a horse, which I imagine is very easy to do. Or I can say I was running through the forest, that I was lost and tripped, that Laurentz was kind enough to help me.

  Her head down, she collects the broken pieces of the ruined pitcher, and the floor is as tidy as it was when we arrived. She places a soft-looking pile of towels on the vanity and leaves without saying another word.

  I can’t help myself. I can’t stop it. The tears come without warning, and when they’ve left me feeling spent and worn, I splash the water to my face with my hands, hoping any trace of them is gone.

  I cannot survive if I am weak. I cannot cry for what I’ve lost, because that will not bring any of it back.

  I pull myself up and let the water run from my limbs, back into the tub with the bits of flowers. The sound reminds me of when the rain would drip into the stream from the trees overhead after a rain shower, and it calms me, until I realize I am not alone. There is a strange girl staring at me, reflected in a large gilt-framed looking glass. Her wet hair clings to her head and trails down her bony shoulders. I stare and she stares back. I turn and she turns, and when she does I see the marks that sent the poor servant girl fleeing from the room.

  My back is a canvas of criss-crossed lashes that match the purple circles on my arms. My skin is marked and tender, like the hides that are treated by the tanner in the village back home.

  I am hideous. I am vile.

  I stare until the lines bleed into a map that travels across my skin, telling my tale, telling all who might step into this room what I’ve endured, what I am.

  And though my skin screams, my head is blissfully quiet. The silly notion that it’s because I am standing in water crosses my mind, but I dismiss that. I know the truth. My mother, the witch, is mad. Not because of what they’ve done to me.

  She is furious because I’m still alive.

  Chapter 31

  Laurentz

  I‘ve left Rune in the care of our quietest maid, hoping not only to put her at ease in an unfamiliar place, but also to avoid the gossip I know will eventually surface. I venture downstairs in search of my father. Behind my back I know Eltz’s servants are speculating who she is, where she’s come from, and most of all, why she is here. They will just have to wonder for now.

  I probably should have told my father of my intention to ride to Bamberg, but he would have stopped me before I reached the door, and I couldn’t take the risk of not going at all. I hope he understands. I hope he can see the plan I have brewing inside me—the plan that includes Rune.

  But any hope of that happening quickly deteriorates as he looks upon me with cold eyes from across the dining hall when I enter.

  “What have you done?” His knuckles are white against the edge of the table.

  I am not a fool to entertain the fact that I left earlier believing my father and I reached an understanding. What transpired between us was more of a door creaking open ever so slightly, letting in the notion of possibility, and I don’t intend to let that door slam shut, not when I’ve come this far.

  He doesn’t wait for me to begin, but draws in a deep sigh. “It’s unethical…” he begins.

  “And so is what they’ve done to her.” I approach the table calmly, ready to state my plea. “You yourself said that you don’t agree with the bishop’s actions. Look at what is happening. Look at what he has caused. Women, even children, everywhere, are being accused simply because there is something about them the bishop does not like.”

  My father’s jaw is set tight. “Still, you never should have interfered. Why? Because she’s pleasing to the eye? Ha
s she offered you anything?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “I’ve interfered because they’d nearly destroyed her life.”

  My father runs a hand through his salted hair. “Laurentz,” he says, voice tight with anger. “You aided someone who is accused of witchcraft.”

  “Yes, I have,” I admit. “And do you realize the Plague has spread no further than Pyrmont? If she is a witch, then why hasn’t it affected her own village? Why do they believe she is to blame?”

  I know well that I cannot take back what I have just said. My words have decisively piqued interest in my father’s eyes. I also know that Cook and the scullery staff listen to us from behind the kitchen door, but it’s too late to talk my father into discussing this elsewhere. What’s done is done. They will all know who and what Rune is soon enough.

  “What do you know, Laurentz? Have you witnessed anything that resembles sorcery?”

  I step closer until I too am leaning across the table. “All who inhabit Württemberg seem to thrive on the idea that the ‘witch-proof ’ hedge growing around them will keep out a true witch, yet she has crossed it, time and time again. I nearly trampled her with my horse while she was doing so, and my arm ended up cut and bleeding. Father,” I take a deep breath, “she healed it.”

  He offers nothing, so I go on.

  “They burned her home to the ground. They executed her guardian. All because the bishop placed the seeds in everyone’s minds that she was a witch. Father, this girl is not evil. Yes, I do believe she is magickal, but she is not what the bishop makes her out to be.”

  “And what makes you so sure she is not capable of causing harm?”

  “Because she would have done so by now,” I tell him.