I had not forgotten the way—I knew I must be straight and sure. I had no fear of the forest anymore, but as I began to walk, the forest felt as it had when I first arrived in the dead of winter—watchful, silent, and unforgiving. Even more resistant than before. It felt like I was always moving farther away from where I needed to be.
What had I done to anger it? I felt deep down it must be because of the way I had last parted with Perchta, but I was here to seek amends, it must know that. It must allow me through.Please, I whispered, a plea that fell on deaf ears.
For hours and hours, I walked, and the way never got easier. No matter how I moved, I could sense I was at odds with the currents here. Branches snagged on my sleeves and whipped across my face. Burrs dug into my hose and the hem of my dress. No matter where I turned, the way went uphill. The forest was testing not only my resolve to beg forgiveness, but even my ability to find Perchta. The sun slipped into the valley, sending shafts of golden light filtering through the thinning trees. I tried to think of the grove, and I felt I could see it so clearly. But when I opened my eyes and began to walk, I only turned in circles.
In a strange way, I didn’t take the denial of passage personally. I couldn’t. It was the forest, and I was me. This was my penance—not some ritual of self-flagellation, but a forest unwilling to forgive without some sacrifice.
I stopped and crouched down at the base of a wide, ancient oak to rest.
In the village, long before I’d come to Perchta’s hut or Death’s house, there were stories of a patch of plants in the forest, fernlike leaves that would disorient anyone who walked through them. They called them anherbe d’oubli. I rarely thought about the village stories anymore, but now I found myself remembering this. Using the tree to balance, I took my shoes off and switched them—left on the right, right on theleft. But then I looked at my feet and couldn’t help but laugh at myself, despite it all. When had the village’s idea of magic ever proved true? But I felt as if maybe I could work my way into understanding. I sat on the old root and put my chin in my hands, wiggling my toes. They felt strange, clearly wrong. It would be uncomfortable to walk. Every step would make me want to stop and correct them, but the village story would have me press on in that discomfort. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath of the thick green air, trying to feel what that might mean for this moment. This forest. Finally, I switched my shoes and stood. Maybe stories that were untrue said something real and steps that were all wrong could lead you somewhere right.
Instead of heading the direction of the hut, I turned back for the château. I did not want to return, but maybe I needed to take all the wrong steps to get to the right place. It certainly felt wrong—I felt sure I’d just end up where I started and have to try again some other day. As I walked, my mind wandered, and this time, already exhausted, I let it.
Of course, I started thinking about the curse marks—on the château stones, in the book, and … a third place, but I couldn’t remember. Now I was sure I was heading back to the château—it was all I could think about. What was that kind of spell from that book doing on the house itself? On me? On … I frowned. I knew something I had forgotten. There was another place I’d seen those marks.Where?
It wasn’t more than ten minutes before I finally staggered to the edge of the clearing, exhausted, footsore. The hut was there, green and snug under the wavering golden-tinged leaves. I had made it. But any relief I might have felt was short-lived, for now my true task lay before me. I wiped the sweat off my face and followed the path through the thick garden and its browning leaves. No abyss swallowed me, so I was grateful when Perchta opened the door to the hut with a bang. “You are alive!”
“Well, the forest tried,” I said, coming to the bottom of her stoop and gesturing to my dirty array.
“The forest?” Her brow wrinkled. “So, you remain his pupil. What did you fight your way here for?”
“I need you. I need your help.”
“You haven’t been here in quite some time.”
“I know … I wasn’t …” I caught myself about to explain that I hadn’t been allowed. The truth was, I had chosen not to. “I had other things to do,” I said.
“What do you need? Another balm? A potion?” In her tone I could sense the same anger that the forest held and that erased any remaining doubts on why it had taken me some work to get here.
“I need to help my friends in the village. When Rochelle—my sister—was taken years ago, I did not have the power to stop it. But the same thing is happening now, and this time, I can help. If someone can just tell me how.”
“Child, you cannot save anyone until you can save yourself.”
“No. You don’t understand.” I was nearly in tears from exhaustion and desperation. “I am sorry for how we last parted, butIdon’t need to be saved!”
“Let me ask you this. Who are you to save them?”
“I am …” I felt foolish, unbearable heat flooding my face. I had not expected this question, and I felt embarrassed to find myself with no answer. “I have power.”
“Power for what? Power that he lends you. Where is your leash, broken free and dragged tangling through the bushes?” She looked behind me as if I had come trailing a line.
“I have no leash! I am no man’s servant.”
She met my gaze, so firm and knowing I was afraid to withstand it and read the thought I could not bear to hold.
I looked away.
“You want power, but you want no responsibility. You want to save others, but you won’t save yourself. You want me to teach you, but you refuse to learn.”
“I will learn! That’s why I have returned. Please.”
“You cannot learn while pleasing him. You must come into the forest.”
“But I am here now.”
She shook her head. “It’s too late.”
The way she delivered the words—they pierced the heart of me. I felt colder than I had awakening in my grave.
