The hairs on the back of my neck stood up.
In the wind was the voice that had followed me in the wood the night I ran from the village. I recognized the crawl of winter and ice, and the same frozen flesh split down to the bone that leapt into my mind. That night, I had thought it was Death, but it was not.Somethingelsewas out here. Something as tall and slender as the spruces. Maybe I had even passed it, where it stood in a cluster of boughs, waiting.
I could not see it. Could only sense it. The very air trembled. I was so full of terror I couldn’t move or lift my gaze. I stayed frozen as the wind died and the steam shrouded me once again. Nothing moved in the woods—no birds, no small animals. Even the sun seemed to hold its breath.
The shadow passed. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it as a great disturbance of the world. But then it continued on. Slowly the feeling eased, as if releasing me from its grip. Exhaustion washed over me, and I sagged under the water, wishing I had just kept walking.
“He smelled that magic you’re bleeding everywhere, child.”
I startled and whipped around, arms across my chest.
An old woman, clad in lumpy gray furs with a little iron kettle swinging from her back, peered at my pile of branches and sniffed suspiciously. “Willow bark? I tried to find you sooner. You need to patch up those wounds before you go bleeding through the woods again.” She sniffed again. “What do you plan to do with these sticks?”
I couldn’t tell if this was an illusion, a predator, a nightmare, or something else in the skin of an old woman. For in my short stay with Death, I had already learned not to fully trust my eyes. I swallowed quickly, trying to answer, but my reactions were slowed, like a river thickened as it froze into stillness. Finally, I found my voice. “I needed them. For a poultice.”
The old woman picked them up and turned to me. “Well get out and get dressed, we don’t have all day.”
It was delivered in such a brisk, almost maternal tone, so confident of being obeyed. My mind was still scattered, unable to come up with anything beyond the fear that I could not trust what was around me, which only had the effect of making me as stupid and docile as a newborn lamb. “Who are you?” I asked, as if the woman would answertruthfully. I pulled myself up into the snow, shivering as I rushed to grab my shift and tunic.
The old woman just shook her head andtsked, picking up my bundle of willow bark and turning into the woods. “A meddlesome old woman is what I am. Have you seen Schneid yet?”
I yanked the tunic over my wet skin and balanced ungracefully, trying to get my stockings on without getting snow in my boots. “Who?” I asked through chattering teeth.
She studied the forest, wrinkles carving her brow. “I guess not. Well, if you want some help with that nasty wound, you’d better follow me.” And with that, she trotted off into the trees.
With my willow bark.
“Saints,” I muttered, grabbing my cloak and hopping through the snow after her. The pain in my side flared, but it was much more manageable after the hot spring. I stayed a cautious distance behind as I followed her deeper into the wood, farther from the river and the château. “I can’t go far. I need to get back,” I called.
The old woman turned, and for a split second she was Valerie.
I stopped, my heart lunging out of my chest. She’d stolen Valerie’s face.
But I blinked and my vision cleared, I saw that I had been wrong. This was just an old woman, watching me patiently as I swayed in confusion. I had not realized until then how my memories of Valerie had blurred with time, her features softened only into “old woman.” I could not remember what she truly looked like, only the feeling of being with her, of being thoughtless of fear and uncertainty. The realization made me feel so terribly alone.
“Then, you’d better pick up the pace.” And the old woman carried on.
I turned around; I’d had enough of these forest games. The hallway of waiting doors weighed on my mind and my body was depleted. But I looked down at my empty hands and realized again that the oldwoman still had my bundle of willow sticks. With a groan of frustration, I turned and tried to catch up.
The kettle on the woman’s belt swung as she wound a path through the thickest parts of the forest. The tops of the fir trees swayed and the light fell as it did all other places and we walked for a long time. The way got rougher and the pain in my ribs began stealing my breath again. She must have noticed, for she called over her shoulder, “We’re almost there,” and then disappeared through a low cluster of boulders still patchy with ice and snow.
I was sweating even in the cold as I gingerly picked my way. Just through the boulders, in a small snowy grove deep in the valley, a little hut appeared.
It was just the kind of place I might have envisioned for myself, back at Josef’s when I and Dacia would lay awake. The grove was open, free from the oppressive growth of spruce and firs. A thin trail of smoke rose from the hut’s chimney and clung to the eaves of a roof heavy with moss. Around it, a lumpy garden of some kind slept under a blanket of white.
I loved it. Hope reared in my chest that one day, when I did not fear the forest and had finished my training with Lord Death, a place like this might be waiting for me. The old woman opened the door and shuffled herself inside, beckoning hurriedly for me to follow.
“Come quickly and shut the door,” the old woman said.
She did not look like Valerie to me anymore, but I could not shake the feeling that she was someone I had once known or had once known me—me as I was before Valerie had been taken. Maybe it was because of that that I shut the door and leaned against it.
Inside, the hut was small and rather sparser than I imagined—bare except for a bed and a few supplies on the shelves. But it was neat and tidy, and there were two chairs waiting by the fire and a small worktable pushed to the side, as if it had been prepared and waited patiently. There was a feeling that it was insulated from the rest of the world, unable to be found. But in the same moment I felt that comfortof safety, I found myself nearly overcome with exhaustion; my eyes heavy and arms limp—my body recognizing a place to rest even when my mind could not.
Coals smoldered in the hearth, but with one glance from the old woman, they leapt into flames and flickered cheerily, lighting the inside of the hut with warmth and light. “Let me see your injury,” she commanded with a snap of her fingers.
It was hard to argue against my weariness—not that I had ever won with Valerie either. I undid my cloak and pulled down my tunic and shift, baring the purple bruise. It looked better than it had. The spring had done some good. “It feels better,” I said.
“Hmm,” the old woman said, leaning in under my armpit to inspect it closely. “It doesn’t look poisoned, but you never know in his house.”
