“Evidence of the death of my young apprentice, Tomas, was found on the west road today,” he said.
The faces in the crowd were pale, nervous. There came a few light gasps at Tomas’s name, but none at the mention of death. Death was well known in Greymist Fair, and never came as a surprise. The only surprise was in thewhoand thehow. Expressions turned grim as Ulrich described the clothing left behind and where it had been found. About how the signs pointed to a warg attack. All the villagers remembered that day four years ago when beautiful Katrina had died, even if they didn’t say it, and their eyes found Heike in the corner of the room. Murmurs grew louder and louder, until Ulrich finished speaking and someone in the back said, “It’s got to bethe witch, hasn’t it? The witch, sending her wargs out.”
“We don’t know what did this,” Ulrich said.
Someone else called out, “But the wargs killed Hilda and Katrina, and they died the same way, and the witch controls the wargs.”
“It could be the wargs, yes, but the wargs never leave blood,” Ulrich said.
The villagers’ voices rose and rose until they nearly drowned him out. “The witch killed Hilda when Hilda was of no use to her anymore,” Jürgen yelled, “and she killed Katrina because she was Lord Greymist’s daughter, and now she’s come for the rest of us.”
Several people looked toward the windows of the great room as if the witch would appear then and there to gut them. Heike balled her fists in her skirts. If the witch came after anyone, it would be Heike herself. She looked like her mother, she wore her mother’s clothes, she practiced her mother’s profession. A cold stone of guilt settled in her stomach. The one thing her mother had never taught her was how to go into the forest and speak to the witch. She’d never said where the witch lived or what the witch looked like. She’d never told Heike how to keep the witch and her wargs away from the village.
Did she tell me and I didn’t listen?Heike thought, pressing herself into the corner.Was that her real task, and her tailoringallowed her to stay in the village? Should I have been speaking to the witch in her absence? And because I haven’t, can the wargs now attack us on the road...?
Ulrich took a step back and raised his hands. His voice boomed across the inn. “Everyone, listen. Wedon’t knowif the witch or the wargs did this. What we need to do now is decide what measures to take to keep ourselves and our families safe.”
Heike heard him because she was standing so close, but other voices had already begun to call out over his.
“We should find where she rests and burn it.”
“But we can’t go into the woods.”
“If enough of us go, we can. She can’t kill all of us.”
“When?”
“Immediately.”
“It’s already too dark.”
“First thing in the morning. As soon as the sun is high enough to brighten the forest.”
“What if she kills some of us?”
“That’s why we’ll take volunteers. We all know what we’re heading toward.”
“Who’s volunteering, then?”
Heads turned. They looked at Ulrich, at Gottfried, at Dagny and Falk. They looked at those who sometimes went into thewoods or who might be brave enough to go now. Falk the fisherman, with his battered and fur-lined coat and his gray hair curling around his ears, made no move from where he stood with his son, but his watery eyes darted from face to face. Gottfried, who was kneeling near the front and scratching The Duke between the ears, said, “It’s not much of a plan, is it?”
The room went quiet. Heike’s stomach turned, guilt and responsibility and her mother’s warning frothing together. Her head felt light, her feet heavy. The firelight swam around her. Wenzel stood on the opposite side of Ulrich’s table, and when Heike stepped forward, the color fled his face. Ulrich saw her. Then the others.
“I could go,” she said. “I could go alone to speak to the witch.”
The flames crackled merrily in the silence.
Wenzel said, “No,” at the same time Hans said, “Why would she listen to you?”
“My mother spoke to her,” Heike went on, ignoring them both. “She didn’t tell me how or where, but she kept the witch away for many years. I could try. She might listen to me. She might.”
“What if you’re under her control?” Jürgen said. “Your mother might have been.”
“Why not let her go?” asked Elma Klein, the farmer. “She’s got the best chance of any of us.”
“Heike can’t go alone,” said Wenzel. “None of you would go alone. None of you would send your children, either.”
A watery feeling gathered around Heike’s knees, so she kept her eyes on Wenzel instead of the crowd before her. “They aren’t sending me. I’m sending myself.”
