Forest of Whispers (6 page)

But when they bring the body of that woman’s daughter out of the little house and into the square for all to see, they’ll piece things together. They’ll look at the butcher and nod with wide, shocked eyes, and all fingers will point to Matilde for something I’ve done.

Chapter 7
Laurentz

W
hen I enter the village I find that it is small, rank, and full of faces that make me want to turn the other way and leave. It is far worse than the Black Forest, much to my surprise. There is an unmistakable stench that assaults my nose. Flies and the odors of rotting meat and human waste permeate the air around every corner I turn, every open doorway I pass. It’s a miserable place, and I’m convinced that the girl I nearly crushed to death at the border is undoubtedly the most pleasant thing about Württemberg.

Each person I pass wants something. Filthy children beg me to fill their open hands. Peddlers eye my clothing, as if they can see right through to the coins that lie at the bottom of my pocket, but what they have to give me in return is meager and unappealing, and I don’t invite any offers. Even the horses tied at the nearby fence stare at me with wide, glassy eyes, their sides gaunt with ribs that jut out too far, and I am glad I decided against hitching my own mare at the post to walk around like I had first intended.

The bishop may have been right about what surrounds my home. Württemberg isn’t a condemned village yet, but I truly fear it soon will be. This is a breeding ground, a potential hazard for what has already claimed Pyrmont, and Eltz and my family are devastatingly close.

I realize I’ve made a grave mistake in coming here. This village is as good as doomed, and here I am in the middle of it all.

I pass an open door as I round a corner; from it, a pleading whimper makes its way out to the street. I pull the reins taut, knowing I should ignore what I hear and move on, but the sound is so desperate that I am drawn to it. I dismount and wrap the reins around the sturdiest part of the doorjamb, praying my horse will be here when I return. It wouldn’t surprise me if I come out to find her stolen, or even slaughtered. I’m betting she’s a more satisfying meal for a good number of people instead of what they are selling on the nearby tables. My boot pauses at the threshold, and then I step inside.

It is dark and damp, almost cave-like, and I am careful where I step because I cannot see what is in front of me. The smell here is worse than outside. It’s contained and moldering, and even though I’m repulsed, I force myself to continue, knowing when I find the source, I’ll find the voice I heard from the street.

Another plea cuts the thick air deep within, and I press further, careful not to make a sound. I am an intruder in this person’s home. I’m uninvited, and if anyone were to arrest me right now, they would have every right to. But I can’t help myself.

“Please, just one more bite.” The voice carries across the stale air to my ears.

I’ve made it to the back of the house where the light filters through broken boards in the roof, speckling the bare room. A scraggly woman sits in the corner encouraging someone I still cannot see. She seems intent on holding a distorted brown lump to the other person’s mouth. Still concealed, I shift my weight and lean against an object that seems sound enough to support me so I can crane my neck. A second woman lies upon a pile of blankets and rags. She will not part her lips to taste what the other woman offers, but instead moans and turns away, holding her stomach in agony.

“You must try and eat it, you must. It will make you and the infant stronger.”

What I’ve heard shocks me and my eyes scour every inch of the sickly woman’s figure. She is as thin as bone, and in the dim light she appears gray and sunken. If this woman is indeed carrying a child inside her, then there is no chance either of them will survive. I think of my stepmother lying in her chamber, knowing she is being doted on and being given more nourishment than this poor woman has probably ingested in an entire year. My fingers rake through my hair as I wonder why on earth I’ve allowed myself to walk into this person’s home, uninvited, and witness what could very well be another human being’s last moments.

“Anna, please,” the older woman begins again. “It’s from the forest.
The forest, Anna
. Surely it is charmed and will help you.”

The younger woman seems to brighten at this, and her right eye opens slightly, focusing on the little morsel that I can now see is the shape of a fluted mushroom. Her eye is drawn past the little meal, where the sun moves and reveals me. Our eyes widen at the same exact moment.

“Stop!” I step forward, startling them both. The older one lets out a shrill scream, but not loud enough for anyone from outside to come running, for which I’m glad.

I reach for her hand and take the little mushroom from her fingers. I may not be one to venture out beyond the castle very much, but I do know a poisonous mushroom when I see one.

“She hasn’t eaten any yet, has she?” I ask the older woman as I try and look over her shoulder to the younger one for any sign of poisoning. Not that it will do any good—the younger one she calls Anna is already so pale and weak, I’m sure I wouldn’t be able to tell just by looking at her.

The old woman stares at me, her mouth wide in what I cannot tell is fear or relief, but the shock passes quickly and she lunges at me for the precious dinner I’ve taken from her.

“Thief! There’s a thief!” she cries louder, and this time, I’m sure someone has heard her. I’ve only moments to try to redeem myself before the bailiff comes barging in and carts me off to the stocks.

“Stop! You don’t understand! This won’t help her; it will
kill
her!”

The woman continues to pry my fingers apart, paying no mind to what I’ve said. She’s desperate, and I can only imagine what she’s gone through to get this tiny piece of food. There doesn’t seem to be any way to make her stop and listen. But Anna’s heard me, and she uses every bit of strength she has to pull herself up to her elbows, where she grabs the grubby ends of the older woman’s dress.

“Mama, listen to him.” Her voice is barely there, just enough to stop the commotion, and I am flexing my fingers around the spongy mushroom that is no longer being wrestled from my grasp.

“It’s true. I know you’re hungry, but you can’t eat this.” I hold the mushroom up to make my point. “This isn’t a Chanterelle. It looks a great deal like one, but trust me, this will do great harm if either of you eat it.”

The woman slumps next to Anna, weary over the ordeal. How long has it been since either of them have eaten?

She buries her face in her apron.

“It’s an easy mistake to make,” I offer, pocketing the mushroom to prevent further harm, “especially when you’re hungry.”

She rests a frail hand upon Anna’s arm. “These eyes of mine fail me all too often. I am desperate for us. If you had a husband to provide for you, I wouldn’t worry,” she says to Anna, which brings a weary sadness to the younger woman’s eyes. “I only wanted to believe in the magick for a little while.”

“Magick? Mama, you don’t make sense.”

“The girl told me the mushroom came from the forest,” then the woman lowers her voice, “near the cottage.”

“Did you say ‘cottage?’” I interrupt, and the look on their faces is more than fear.

“Who are you?” the woman asks me. She rises to her feet, but I can’t tell if she’s about to attack me again or not.

“Forgive me, my name is Laurentz. I’m traveling through your village, and I heard cries coming from your home. I never meant to intrude.”

The old woman nods a subtle gesture of forgiveness. This surprises and relieves me, and I stop looking over my shoulder in expectation that I’ll be removed from her house.

“But what of this cottage?” I continue. “Is it the small cottage just outside the village?”

The look in Anna’s eyes is soon guarded, revealing to me that I shouldn’t know of what goes on in the woods just outside their home. I’m a traveler, after all, and certainly not a familiar face.

I watch the older woman’s expression change. “The very one. It’s the only cottage in the forest. No one else would live there but Matilde, and that girl.”

“Girl?” My interest is piqued, and suddenly, the back of my neck tingles with excitement. Perhaps there was a reason I was drawn to step inside this decrepit building. The smell surrounding me is unbearable. It is thick and heavy, but I can’t seem to excuse myself to be on my way, not with the mention of the cottage and the possibility that the girl they speak of is the very one I’d met today.

The older woman eyes me curiously, and then seems pleased to tell me what I apparently don’t know.

“The cottage has been there for years. If you’re brave enough, you’ll go there,” she adds cryptically.

“And what might I go there for?” I ask. The bishop’s words nag at the back of my mind, but it is the woman’s reason I want to hear now.

“To know things, of course,” she tells me. “To know whom you will love, or if you’ll become rich.”

At this I can see she eyes my clothing, and I realize I am more than an outsider to this village. She is wondering who I am, where I’ve come from, why I ask what I do, and why I do not know these things already. I can’t help thinking how Eltz is so different from this place. The people here are dirty and starving, protected by a wall of green that is so deceiving. Then there is the seemingly lonesome cottage that sits away from it all, protected by stories to keep everyone away. Only a few who are eager to know the future cross the hedge for the chance to believe in something unreal. The girl who crossed the hedge today was surreal. Is Rune part of the illusion? I certainly felt under a spell the moment I looked into her face.

“Who exactly is Matilde?” I ask.

Anna clears her throat. “She’s the crone who lives there.”

“In my day,” the older woman interrupts, “they called someone like her a Hedge Witch.”

“Hedge Witch?”

“Mmm,” she nods, reaching for an unlit pipe she stuffs into her near-toothless mouth. “She lives beyond the border to the village, some say beyond the border to the Other World.”

“Mama!” Anna whispers harshly.

The older woman turns to her, “It’s all right. No one else can hear us.”

“But can we trust him?” Anna asks, her voice low and strained, and as soon as she does, she appears nervous.

“He just saved your life! Of course we can!” She turns back to me, “I was the fool who traded the handkerchief for the mushroom.”

Handkerchief
.

My neck is sweating and I swipe it with the palm of my

hand.

“Are you all right, sir?” she asks me.

Am I?

The bishop’s words are tumbling toward me like a stampede. It took only moments for me to become caught up in searching for a girl I never laid eyes on until today—one so beautiful, and interesting, and peculiar, with a skill I had never seen before…

Now, all I can think of is where I am, where I’m sitting, surrounded by filth and contagion. Pyrmont has most likely fallen by now. Eltz is next, and all I do is sit here. If I stay any longer, then surely I will be the one to carry the infection back with me. I will be responsible.

What have I done?

I watch the old woman slowly remove her pipe from her mouth. She holds it midair and assesses me, causing me to reach into my pocket and drop a number of coins into her hand. “Please, go on,” I say.

“You’ve met the little thief, haven’t you? The pretty thief who tried to kill my daughter?”

“Mama, you don’t know that,” Anna whispers from her thin little bed.

“But all the same, she could have.” She turns her eyes to me and tilts her head, “You have, haven’t you?”

I try not to touch my arm where Rune healed the deep scrape from the thorns. I don’t want to bring any more attention to myself, or to her. Something tells me it will not do either of us any good. I swallow hard and stand, because as soon as I can, I will leave this place, where the living are as good as dead.

“I didn’t recognize her before.” The old woman’s face is lost in thought as she holds the pipe between her trembling, aged fingers. “Something about her face, her hair.”

Rune’s face materializes in my thoughts—quiet, ethereal. Had I really been face to face with a witch? My instincts tell me no, but from my conversation with the bishop, and now this bitter old woman, I begin to wonder.

The old woman stares at me as a devilish grin spreads across her sunken cheeks. “The forest looks dead,” she says. “But mark my words, it is very much alive. Today is the day the Hedge Witch conjures, for you and I have both been bewitched.”

Chapter 8
Rune

W
hen I return home my eye immediately notes the small patch of deadly mushrooms, and as I step closer to it, the sickness I felt earlier washes over me again. How could I have been so stupid? “Goddess, forgive me,” I whisper, then I pull the entire cluster from the ground and look beneath the tops. If I’d only taken the time to see how they lack the blunt veins of true Chanterelles, I would have known what they were. I toss them behind the thick Hemlock, kicking dead needles over them to bury the mistake beneath, and open the door to the cottage.

I am prepared to tell Matilde of the misery I’ve caused in the short while I’ve been gone, but change my mind when I see her sitting alone at the table. Her head is in her hands and the rune stones are scattered about. Something is not right.

“What happened here?” I ask. “Why are the stones everywhere?” I squat down and begin to collect them from the floor, waiting for her to answer me, but she doesn’t.

There is no sign of the distraught woman as I look around the otherwise tidy room. Matilde runs a hand through her hair, smoothing the shorter gray strands back into place. “I gave her a cup of Chamomile to settle her and sent her on her way.”

The face of the fortune-hungry visitor is still vivid in my mind. It was hardly a cup of tea she was after, yet I bite my tongue.

“And what of her pain, her ailment?”

“She has no ailment, at least not that I can help with.”

I’m confused. Surely the woman suffers from
something
. What else would have brought her to us today? Like earlier, Matilde is distracted, and I can’t help feel the weight of the butcher’s words ringing over and over again in my head. I need to tell her. I must. But now, it seems, I can’t.