“Fritzi needs a warrior?” I ask. But before I can even say the last word, the mist rushes at me, coming in from all sides. I flinch, remembering the way it felt like knives, like fire, but then—
It’s gone. And so is the goddess.
“Otto!” Fritzi screams my name and rushes toward me.
“I told you he was fine,” Liesel mutters.
Fritzi throws herself at me, and I catch her, rubbing my hands over her arms—her hair and clothes are damp. “Why are you wet?”
“Fell in the river.” She buries her face into my neck, and for a moment, I feel the way Holda cut open my throat, cheerily telling me she had avoided my arteries, the warmth of blood—my blood—flowing down my body—
“Was it terrible?” Fritzi asks, pulling back and eyeing me.
“Just a normal chat with a goddess,” I say. “She kept trying to cut me open or set me on fire. Did you meet one?”
“Mine was big on emotional torture,” Fritzi said, shuddering. I hold her tightly, my jaw working. Holda had called me a warrior, but if those damn goddesses hurt Fritzi again, they’ll see how much of a fighter I can be.
“It wasn’t torture.” Liesel rolls her eyes. “It was just a test. You both passed, by the way.”
It’s clear that all three of us have met with the goddesses. I suppose it’s fitting; Fritzi had told me about “the Three” before, the Maid, Mother, and Crone. Three of them, three of us. But while Holda had seemed just fine causing me pain and while the goddess that tested Fritzi had clearly not been kind, Liesel seems oddly calm.
“I was tested by Perchta, the Mother,” Fritzi tells me, guessing at my confusion. “Liesel was chosen by Abnoba long ago.”
“We’re friends,” Liesel says.
Friends. With a terrifying goddess.
There is still an echo in my mind of what Holda told me—Fritzi needs a warrior. Of course I will defend her, and Liesel too, but…
From what?
I look around me for the first time since the mist closed over my body, one arm still protectively around Fritzi’s waist.
We are no longer in the Black Forest. At least not anywhere near where we entered. The frost-rimmed river with snowcapped boulders outlining it is now a pleasantly warm bubbling brook with pale pink flowers floating on the surface. The ground is not craggy and treacherous; gently rolling hills covered in soft moss and meadow grass give way to trees three, four times larger than any I have seen before. The enormous trunks are smooth, as if the bark is made of silver, with long, low branches that swoop down, white blossoms amid the leaves and needles.
A warm breeze blows, and I throw back my cloak. It feels like late spring, not the dead of winter, with blossoms and the sweet smell of ripe fruit everywhere.
“Look.” Fritzi’s voice is an awed whisper as she points up.
Elegantly carved houses are nestled in the tree branches, grander than any palace. Bridges connect the trees, but they seem to have been grown, not carved—the long limbs extending out from one treeloft palace to another, branches twisting up to form covered walkways.
We head toward the village, but before we get very far, we hear chanting.
“What is that?” I ask.
Fritzi frowns, and she and Liesel exchange a look. “It’s a spell,” Fritzi says slowly, as if she’s still muddling through it, uncertain of what the spell may mean.
“Smell that?” Liesel asks.
“Sage,” Fritzi says immediately. “Rosemary. Protection herbs.”
“We had to face a trio of goddesses just to get here,” I say. “How does this land need further protection?”
Fritzi’s jaw clenches. My heart sinks—not because the greatest threat to magic is Dieter Kirch, but because Dieter is Fritzi’s brother, and the forest folk are reinforcing the protection to keep him out.
We round a hill, and we see a line of guards patrolling a well-worn path around the perimeter of the village. Other people hang in the distance, chanting and weaving their arms in some form of magic, but when they see us, they all freeze, turning to look at the invaders.
I keep one hand on Fritzi, unwilling to let her go after we were forcibly separated by the goddesses, but my other hand drops to my sword hilt.
“Otto, don’t be an idiot,” Liesel says flatly.
The armed guards step forward, while the magic-users retreat into the trees. The soldiers do not cower or hesitate. Men and women alike have long hair, most of them with elaborate braids, some glittering with shiny beads, some woven with greenery, some bound in strands of gold and silver.
Holda had told me that I would be Fritzi’s warrior, but any of these soldiers would likely be a better candidate. I feel not only weak but childish in the face of such obvious power.
One of the warriors—she looks like a queen but carries the weapons of a soldier—peels off from the others. She has black tattoos in Celtic designs weaving over her bare arms, each line emphasizing her cut muscles. Rather than a crown, she wears a huge headpiece made of dripping moss and sticks, a chaotic nest that looks regal atop her braids.
She peers down at us, her lips parting slowly.
And then, from behind, comes a voice I know. A voice I love. “Otto!”
“Hilde?” My heart seizes, and I barely dare to hope.
A blur of mousy brown braids and red skirts hurtles toward me, and I’m nearly thrown off my feet as my sister launches at me. Fritzi chuckles, stepping aside so that I can wrap my arms around Hilde and twirl her around and around. She giggles, and for a moment, all is well. Sheer, perfect, calming relief floods my body. I knew Fritzi had sent Hilde to be protected, and I had long ago accepted that her magic was real and, by that same idea, Hilde truly was safe. But I hadn’t really believed it until this moment, when she’s here, laughing, exactly as I remembered her except, somehow, even happier. I clutch her to me, and a prayer of gratitude rises in my heart.
When I put Hilde down though, the soldiers watch imperiously.
“Oh, come on,” Hilde says, glowering at the queenlike one. “Brigitta, it’s my brother.”
The leader—Brigitta, I presume—does not seem to care. But then her eyes glide to Fritzi and, finally, Liesel. “Champions,” she says, bowing her head respectfully. Fritzi stands there awkwardly, unsure of how to react, but Liesel arches her head up, accepting the respect easily. That word clearly has some importance to everyone here but me, but it is a mantle I’m not sure Fritzi wants.
“The Three must have accepted your presence for you to accompany the chosen champions,” Brigitta adds, turning to me. “Welcome.”
Chosen champions? The way the woman says this twists inside me; there are things at play here that the goddess didn’t bother to mention. To me, at least.
“My name is Otto,” I say. And, because I feel the need to at least be worthy of being close to Fritzi, I add, “Holda chose me to be Fritzi’s warrior.”
That causes a ripple among the forest folk, and I’m not sure what I said that creates so much consternation.
“The council will wish to discuss this further,” Brigitta says finally; then she turns her full attention to Fritzi and Liesel. “The champions are requested now.”
“Requested?” Fritzi asks. “For what?”
“The Well needs your aid.”
“Of course,” Liesel says, striding forward. “That’s why we came.”
“It is?” Fritzi starts to protest, but Liesel tugs Fritzi behind her, and the guard close rank, escorting Fritzi and Liesel somewhere deeper into the trees.
Brigitta pauses, shooting Hilde a look. When I go to follow Fritzi, Hilde holds my arm. “We’re to stay,” she says.
“I’m not leaving them,” I protest.
“This is one of those magic-witch-mysterious things,” Hilde says. “But you can trust Brigitta.”
I don’t. But I do trust my sister, and I trust Liesel, who seemed sure that they should follow. From the crowd, Fritzi turns back to me, a question in her eyes. Her gaze slides from me to Hilde and back again, and I can see that while I was worried about her, she had concerns about leaving me behind. She gives me a little shrug as Liesel tugs her along, one I return, and she flashes me a smile.
Holda told me herself that Fritzi doesn’t need protecting. Perhaps this will be the moment she will learn what battle I will need to aid her in fighting. Surely this centers on Dieter in some way; Fritzi’s brother is a threat to all. But this also seems bigger…
Hilde beams at me, oblivious to my worried thoughts.
I pull her close. “You’re well?”
She smiles at me brilliantly. “Better than well. I’m—I’m happy here, Otto. This is the most beautiful place I have ever been. It’s magic!”
I laugh ruefully. “Who would have thought that witches were real all along?”
“What would the archbishop think?” Hilde says. She pauses, twisting her hands together, a nervous habit she’s had since she was a toddler. “What of Trier? The forest folk were able to tell me some things, but they couldn’t see past the walls of the city. Did our plan—” There is aching, desperate hope in her voice.
It wasn’t just me who’d worked for years to find a way to disrupt the witch trials. Hilde had too. My sister was the one pushing me to do more, be more. Our secret routes and early warnings to targeted individuals had never been enough for her; it was Hilde who volunteered to be arrested, to work from the inside for a major, showy display of rebellion.
“Your plan was perfect,” I say, watching as the fears melt away from her pinched eyes.
“Our plan,” Hilde says.
“More than a hundred people were saved from the fires,” I continue. “The prison is in ruins. And I heard—” I pause, catching the emotion in my voice. Johann had risked much to tell me of Trier, to try to deviate Dieter away from us when we ran into the Forest. “There are riots in Trier.”
“Riots?” Hilde’s eyes gleam. Riots mean that our protest was seen for what it was. The regular people are no longer willing to live in fear; they are fighting back against the archbishop’s cruel trials. “Thank God.”
God is another topic I want to speak to my sister about. Having seen real goddesses in a pagan religion I had thought was nothing more than myth, I have questions, if not doubt. But that is a topic for later.
Hilde leads me up toward the trees. She doesn’t try to climb one of the ramps or rope ladders built along the trunks; instead, she shows me a small cottage under the shadows of the tree nearest the river. I recognize plants growing in the front garden, the little bowl of cream on the windowsill.
It looks like home.
“They told me some of what happened,” Hilde says gently. “That the witch—Fritzi—asked for help from the goddess of protection, and Holda sent me here, the safest place in the entire world.”
“And you have been safe?” I ask. “Truly?”
“Mm,” Hilde says, smiling and opening the door of the cottage for me. “The forest folk are good, Otto.”
Something about the way she says that makes me pause. I know my sister, even if we’ve been apart for the past several years. A blush creeps over her cheeks. Hilde has found not just safety and acceptance at the Well; she’s found a sweetheart of her own.
I don’t press the topic, but I do follow her inside. All the smells of home are here—the bubbling nutmeg-infused beer, the sprigs of rosemary, the scent of the soap my mother made, the recipe passed down to my sister.
For the first time in a long time, the fears that had wound inside my muscles loosen. I pull Hilde into another hug, feeling the warmth of her, the easy love that we share.
But through the window, I see more eyes watching us. Hilde may have been accepted by the forest folk, but I have not.
And I cannot help but wonder just what type of warrior the goddess needs me to be.