The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart (13 page)

“On your feet, Manfried!” Hegel kept the blade between himself and the witch.

She clucked softly, not stirring from her chair. Manfried blearily pushed his back against the rear wall and rose halfway
to his feet. Perplexed, he looked from Hegel to the seated geriatric. Christ, was she old.

“Calm, calm,” she murmured.

“Calm? You goddamned witch, I’ll have your head!” Hegel’s vision blurred, from fatigue or rage or drink, he could not be sure.

“Witch?” Manfried tried to stand but slid back down the wall. “Is it a witch, brother?”

“You knew what I was when you let me touch up you and your brother,” she said patiently.

“That true?” Manfried shot his brother a withering stare.

“Stay the Hell back!” Hegel moved between Nicolette and Manfried. He intended to hack off her head with a single swipe but
was hesitant to approach her. Clearly she possessed dangerous powers.

“Keep your word, Grossbart,” she said, eyes flashing even without a blazing fire to reflect in them.

“She summon up that manticore on us?” Manfried’s head swam, and his weapons were nowhere to be found.

“Damn it all!” Hegel could not stop shouting. “Wasn’t no damn manticore, it’s a damn garou, just like I told you!”

“That’s French for wolf,” Nicolette offered. “Don’t think it really applies to Magnus, save metaphorical-like.”

“Shut it!” Hegel’s temples pounded. “Just be quiet!”

All three were silent. Manfried managed to edge up the wall to his feet, knees wobbling. Nicolette remained seated, staring
at Hegel, who stumbled back, gripping his brother’s shoulder.

“What’s happened?” Manfried hissed in their tongue of two.

“Witch,” Hegel hissed back in kind.

“I managed that, what the Hell we doin in its house?”

“You was ill, I dragged you here. She healed you up.”

“Don’t mean to second-guess, but that sounds awful honest.” Manfried peered around Hegel for a better look.

“I paid.” Hegel shuddered. “Nuthin honest bout it.”

Nicolette had watched them intently during their discourse, head tilted like a curious pet. Now she smiled and leaned back
in her chair. It had taken her a moment, but she had it.

“So she’s a witch, what you waitin for? Get’er quick fore we’s hexed!” Manfried shook his head in an effort to rattle out
the sleep-mist.

“What
are
you waiting for, Hegel?” she asked in the same unique cant.

Both stared in shock, their code never before cracked.

“Maybe, Manfried, your brother is a man of his word?” Her smile widened.

“Dunno what word my brother gave, but any words we give’s ours to take back when we want, and don’t apply to heretics and
witches no-way,” Manfried fired back, dropping any pretenses at secrecy. “Stab her, Hegel!”

Hegel took a step forward despite the ringing in his ears and the chills lancing through every other part of his body that
cautioned against such an act.

“You break your word, Hegel, and I break mine.” She leaned forward in her chair.

Hegel paused, like a child working up the nerve to plunge into frigid water. Manfried held his breath, not understanding his
brother’s hesitation. Perhaps he had already fallen under some charm.

“Why’d you heal us, if that thing out there’s your husband?” Hegel asked.

“Husband!?” Manfried slid back to the floor.

“Everything that happens to me or him is Her Will,” she said softly.

“Very enlightened,” Manfried croaked from the floor. “Least she respects the Virgin proper.”

Nicolette’s laughter hurt their ears. “Hekate’s Will, Grossbarts. The only lady of true quality.”

“Heresy,” Manfried groaned, the stress taxing his consciousness. “Quick, brother, quick!”

“Hekate?” The name struck Hegel as familiar.

“I’d heard Her Name whispered in my youth, in my dreams. I learned Her Ways mostly myself, but twenty years ago a traveler
came to our house, a traveler even Magnus feared. He taught me what I didn’t intuit, which I assure you can and does fill
volumes.” She had the same pleasant tone as when she told her earlier tale, nostalgia bringing a joyous glaze to her eyes.

“The Devil,” Manfried managed, lights bursting in his vision. “She met with the Devil!” He passed out again.

Hegel could not move, and while he would later attribute it to some spell, in truth he was too frightened to do anything but
gawp at her.

“Not the Devil,” she sighed. “Or even
a
devil. A man of letters, a scholar of sorts. He spent a winter with us. I knew how to farm a bit, and Magnus hunted, naturally,
but times are always lean when one’s appetite is so pronounced. In addition to the unusual seeds from the East, he showed
me how to make my own food, as well as auger and curse and all the other goodness the Church warns against.”

“We.” Hegel swallowed. “We should be—”

“You leave when I say. I lied. I healed you not for Her Will but my own. You will die eventually, Grossbarts, and it will
be hideous.”

Manfried caught that much, breaking back into consciousness and conversation as though his participation in both had been
unfailing. “Yeah, everyone dies, witch, and then we’s gonna ascend. Might take us a while, but there’ll be no escapin your
fate. You’s gonna be burnin for all time, long after we’s paid any penance we owe.”

“Neither here nor there, I certainly don’t intend to debate theology with two such learned and pious Marionites as yourselves.
If I was to slay you now, no matter how painful or drawn out, you fools would cling to your faith, and cheat me of my reward.”

“Damn right we would,” Manfried snorted, trying to keep the lights at bay.

“Take that sack down, Hegel,” she said wearily, motioning to a high shelf.

He obeyed, telling himself his action was born only of curiosity. It felt heavy and lumpy, full of gravel. He held it out
to her, the sword quaking in his other hand.

Shaking her head, she squinted at him. “Look inside.”

Unknotting the top, Hegel peered in. His brow knitted, and he looked closer. Manfried laboriously got back up and also had
a gander.

“What’s this?” Hegel whispered, paler than milk.

“Teeth?” Manfried pulled out a handful.

“My children’s.” She sighed.

Manfried hurled the teeth away, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Cut’er!” he yelled but fell on his brother, who dropped the
bag and supported him.

“Lean times.” Her eyes might have been misty, the room too dim for the Brothers to be sure. “Early spring sowing, to make
sure they arrived before the snow. Then I’d have milk to last us through the winter, and some meat as well.”

Hegel’s sword swayed in his fingertips, its tip brushing the teeth on the floor. Manfried dug his thumb into his brother’s
shoulder, using all his strength to stay upright. Nicolette cracked her knuckles and yawned.

“First few litters kept us well, but hard times more oft get worse before they’re better. After the first couple broods I
stopped producing regular, and it’s a wonder we survived those years until he arrived. He taught me, yes, bake the bread far
faster with a bit of effort, and they grow and plumpen far faster as well. The taste is one to be savored, surely, and I’d
not begrudge Magnus anything, and yet… pure instinct, I suppose. Mothers want babes, all there is to it. To raise, I mean,
not
that
. So if Magnus had caught you proper we’d have et real well this winter, but now I can have what he denied me through no fault
of his own.”

“Eh.” Hegel’s tongue flopped stupidly around his mouth. Manfried’s however, worked just fine. It was the rest of his body
that failed him. With a string of vile curses directed at the baby-eating, devil-worshipping whore of a witch, he slipped
down his brother’s side, continuing his volley from the floor.

Hegel stared at Nicolette’s enormous gut, which had not been a fraction of that size when she had begun her story the night
before. The beast must have put it in there, he thought, magic or no, it must have been the beast. Mary have mercy.

“Growing fast, growing strong.” She winked at Hegel, making his knees soften. He leaned against the wall, his brother out
of breath from his diatribe. “Vengeance will be wrought not with my hands but by what grows. You’ll lose everything, Grossbarts,
and you’ll know I played a hand in every misery that befalls you. Every dog that bites and every assassin that stalks, every
man and woman who turns against you, I will see it in the hoarfrost and the flight of birds and my dreams. My eyes will watch
your souls blacken and your bodies fail, and any aid I may offer your enemies will be freely given. I could have slaughtered
you when you first came but I held back, and I’m glad I did, for your undoing will become legend.”

The Brothers Grossbart knew a curse when they heard one. Hegel, never breaking her gaze, helped his brother to his feet. Manfried
no longer pressed his brother, instead snatching a log from beside the dead fire. Righteous indignation gave him strength,
and, nudging Hegel, he raised his weapon.

“Given us little choice,” Manfried barked. “I kilt plenty, but you’s gonna be the best.” He took a step toward her but Hegel
held him back.

“No, brother, she’s dangerous,” said Hegel.

“What’s a witch do but curse someone? She already done that, and I think I reckon I know a way to break that curse.” As he
shook his brother off, Nicolette leaned back in her chair and muttered something.

Manfried swung his log but the bag of teeth jumped from the floor, smacking him in the jaw. Knocked off balance, he sprawled
on the ground beside the chair. As he looked up what he at first took to be the lights presaging unconsciousness revealed
themselves to be hundreds of loose teeth spinning in the air. A single tiny tooth separated from the tempest and slammed into
the ground beside his face, embedding in the earthen floor. He covered his eyes with his arms and prayed loudly until he heard
them clatter back down where they belonged. Hegel had become dizzy, frozen in place, and no sooner had the teeth returned
to the floor than he vomited on the dead coals of the hearth.

“Now get out of my house before I turn your skin inside out.” She settled back into her chair.

“Mary preserve us,” Hegel whispered, sheathing his sword. Manfried peeked over his elbow, still convinced the end had come.
Hegel helped him up, and they groped about the floor, trying to gather their equipment without looking away from Nicolette.

Manfried shook scattered teeth off his bag and slipped it over his shoulder. Everything hurt, ax and mace far heavier than
usual. Unsure what had transpired since he had gone to sleep several days before, he had no choice but to trust his brother
knew what was going on.

Hegel did not, but he suspected staying in Nicolette’s company any longer would drive him mad. Helping his swaying brother
to the door, he gave her a final glare. The ways of witches were clearly inscrutable. Hunger overrode his fear, and he turned
in the doorway.

“About our meat—” Hegel began.

“Out,” she said wearily.

“Or some a that hooch—”

“Out!” She stood, her bloated stomach jutting accusatorily at them.

“We’s doin just that,” Hegel groused, unlatching the door.

“Fore we do, though…” Manfried turned and spit.

“Damn it all.” Hegel began shoving his brother out but Manfried stood tall.

“You listen sharp, witch,” Manfried spluttered, wrestling his brother in the doorway. “You might a cursed us but we curse
you, too. We killed your warlock-beast husband, and you’s dyin in this shithole. And we’s gonna die, as every man a faith
does, but not fore you’s pulled down into the pit, the souls a your babes bawlin in your ears, and one way or another the
last thing you’s gonna see will be us laughin. Too late to turn, you’s bound to burn, and when we’s done with the Arabs we’s
comin back to piss on your bones, you nasty—”

Hegel shoved him outside, slamming the door just in time to intercept the dozens of teeth launched at them.

“Let’s burn it!” Manfried made back for the hut but his brother knocked him down, wide-eyed and panting.

“You damn fool, you’s gonna bring the Devil down on us!” Hegel exploded.

“You reckon your soul’s pure enough to suffer a witch to live?” Manfried got to his feet, staring his brother down.

“We’s gonna be back for vengeance, I swear it! For now, we gotta move fore she grows some wits and tries to fix us good at
present.”

Looking around, Manfried nodded. He had almost passed out again, and the witch definitely had her wiles. Floating teeth might
be the least of their worries.

They stood in a roughly tilled field on the edge of the forest, and to either side mountains shot up, the hut leaning against
a cliff that stretched between the two slopes at the end of the valley. Hegel made for one of the rises, picking his way among
the sparse trees.

“Shouldn’t we go back to Horse, get some meat?” Manfried queried, following Hegel away from the wood and the shack.

“Nah, even if it ain’t been picked clean we’d have a time findin it again. Forest’s too big.”

“What we gonna eat, then?”

“Put some meat in our bags before. Lost most of it though, that horseskin came loose when I was haulin you through the wood
and the rest’s in that hut. Full waterskins, though.” Hegel began scrambling up the rise.

Manfried followed slowly, his unstrung crossbow bouncing on his back. Hegel periodically waited for Manfried to catch up.
An hour later they reached the top, the ridge boxing in the forest behind them and stretching up to a peak ahead. They both
looked down on the valley and spit.

Silently plodding down the other side, they took in the unbroken range. More trees speckled the scenery but nothing as thick
as the wood of the witch. Manfried slipped several times, lying on the rocks and staring at the gray sky until Hegel helped
him up. He felt faint, and even with numerous breaks in their hike he collapsed hours before dark, incapable of continuing.

They were climbing a ridge spotted with boulders and what small patches of snow the sharp wind permitted. Hegel helped his
brother to a hollow between two of the monstrous stones and they made camp. Manfried wheezed and coughed, Hegel draping him
with their blanket and foraging enough wood to last the night from the nearby trees. Hegel then used rocks to shore up the
gap between the boulders in what proved to be an ineffectual attempt at keeping the wind out.