“Jürgen’s right,” called someone in the crowd. “This could be a ploy by the witch.”
Heike looked into the crowd but couldn’t see who had spoken. The faces that looked back at her were scared, uncertain. She said, “No one controlled my mother, and no one controls me. Tomorrow morning I’ll go into the woods to find the witch, and if I don’t return by nightfall, you can send your party after her.”
More mutters stirred the room, but she only caught one firm disagreement, and after Wenzel uttered it, he covered his eyes with his hand and leaned back against the wall. Ulrich kneeled down, hand on Heike’s shoulder, and said, “I don’t like the idea of sending you in by yourself. Is this what you want to do?”
“Yes.”
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“I don’t want anyone else to get hurt. I’ll be alert. I’ll be quick.”
Ulrich nodded and stood. “All in favor of Heike’s plan raise your hand.”
Several went up right away. Jürgen’s. Elma’s. Then Johanna, Norbert, Falk. Oswald raised his hand, then elbowed Gottfried hard in the ribs, to which Gottfried jammed his hands stubbornly in his armpits. He was joined by Wenzel, still covering his eyes; Ulrich, glancing at Gabi where she stood by Liesel; Gabi, who looked like she might set fire to those who had already agreed; and Doctor Death, whose tired gaze met Heike’s across the room and quickly looked away. Ulrich began to count the hands under his breath, then stopped. “I suppose we’re for it, then.”
Four
The next morning Heike took the yarn from the pot over the long-dead fire and hung it up to dry. It had taken on the deep blood red of the berries, her mother’s favorite color, and it would be some time before she could make anything of it. She arranged the strands flat and straight and allowed herself a few moments to watch the dark water drip and pool on the floor.
Only a few villagers came to see her off. They stood by the back of the inn while Wenzel packed and repacked bread, cheese, and a waterskin in Heike’s bag. Ulrich had come with him and stood facing the forest.
“The trees will turn you around,” he said. “The forest wants us to get lost. I’ve tried marking my trail with sticks, with rocks, with yarn. The sticks get knocked down, the rocks buried, the yarn torn from the branches. I once tried to tie a line from one tree to the next as I went deeper in, and on my way back I found the line cut and scattered on the forest floor.”
“Did you ever see what did it?”
“No. I’m not sure it was one creature. It may have been many.” He took a small knife from his belt and held it out to her. “Take this. Falk discovered that it can’t get rid of cuts on the trees. It tries to slash them out, but that’s still a mark. At least you’ll keep yourself on one path.”
Heike started to tuck the knife into her belt, then thought better of it and kept it in her hand. Wenzel yanked the flap of her bag down over its lumpy contents and frowned at her boots.
“Your hair needs cutting,” she said. “We’ll do that when I get back.”
He grunted.
Doctor Death appeared around the side of the inn. He glanced once at the group of villagers before passing them by. Under the gray morning light, Doctor Death looked carved from bone. The collar of his black coat curved up around his jaw, and its tails flapped around his legs. As he approached, his colorless eyes roved from Heike to Ulrich to Wenzel and back again. His high cheeks and beaked nose had turned red in the chilly air.
“Something wrong, Doctor?” asked Ulrich.
Doctor Death stopped several feet away. He was always accompanied by a shift in the air, an unease that reminded Heike of the feeling she got when she discovered a dead bird splayed on the ground. It was the feeling that kept the villagersaway from him unless a loved one was mortally ill. Early winter frost had gathered around his boots, though the ground nearby showed no sign of it.
“Head northwest,” the doctor said. “If you reach the bend of the Idle River, you’ve gone too far.”
“You know where the house is?” Heike said.
Doctor Death reached into his coat and pulled out a small leather pouch. He unwrapped the cord from around the pouch, folded it open, and drew out a dried sprig of plant.
“Keep this with you,” he said. “In a pocket where it won’t fall out. Not in your bag. You might lose that.”
Heike took it from him. “Sage? My mother always tied this to our door.”
“It will act as a ward. Or I hope it might. Keep it with you.”
She tucked the sprig of sage in the deep pocket she’d sewn into her skirts. “Thank you.”
“Safe journey,” he said, studying her. “Your mother prepared you well.”
He turned then and walked away. Heike, Wenzel, and Ulrich watched him go. The spot where he’d been standing was free of frost, the grass a soft green-yellow.
“Do you think that’s safe?” Wenzel asked. “What he just gave you? Is it really sage?”
