The Girl Gingerbread in the Woods of Winter White

by Bethany R. Lindell

  "Numinous Numina, shining bright . . ." She murmured the old rhyme to herself as she walked from the eastern point of what would be Numina's star.

  Nikolas shook his head. "Again with your sword doodles, Girl Gingerbread. What can they protect us from out here? I've yet to see a chipmunk, much less wolf tracks."

  "Get on with your stories, Nikolas. Your audience is waiting."

  "And miss out watching a real Albian spell at work?" one of the men asked. Chuckles traveled around the campfire.

  Gingerbread came to the southern point and stopped, her sword sticking up from the ground. She propped her hands on her hips. "This isn't a spell, it's a poem. Don't you know a poem when you hear one tinker?"

  "Recite it proper then! Maybe we'll hear the difference!"

  Gingerbread eyed the man, but he kept his gaze on her ear, avoiding the worst of her glare. She gripped her hilt again and kept walking. "Numinous Numina, shining bright, as a candle in the night. Lead me on, lead me right, so I will sleep in peace tonight. There? Happy Stefan?"

  Stefan and the others laughed as she walked past them to the western tip of the four pointed star. She had laid the cross that would hold it together earlier, while Nikolas stood by grumbling that she was holding up the cooks and couldn't they skip her doodling just this one night? The fire sat cozy over its center point with the tinkers arrayed around it on their benches.

  "Yes, yes, laugh it up," Gingerbread said to herself as her face flushed red. Nikolas gathered their attention again before any of the tinkers could notice. Gingerbread kept her eyes on the wood, but her ears on Nikolas, in case his storytelling wrought too much damage.

  "In these lands we travel through there is a tale," Nikolas started with the same words that headed every one of the tinkers stories. "One from ages past. Who knows? Perhaps hearing it will save your life."

  The tinker children gathered closer, their mothers and fathers, grandparents and other relatives chuckling as they were drawn in by Nikolas's story. An empty wind rushed the edge of the camp, blowing sharp against Gingerbread's skin. She should stop him now, before he got the words out. Hearing of her life before would only unsettle the Winter Whites further.

  Gingerbread turned, gritting her teeth to keep from calling out to Nikolas. Telling him to stop will only encourage him.

  She remembered what Clatch had told her earlier and changed tactics. "Pah! Give us more credit than that, Nikolas. Even Albians know better than to believe in candy witches. At least tell them a story that could have happened."

  The tinkers stared at her, the children blinking at her eyes glowing in the semi-dark. One of them squeaked when she caught him staring.

  She fixed her eyes on Nikolas, hoping they would have the same effect on him, but the big man was as ignorant as ever. He chuckled.

  "Our Girl Gingerbread does not want you to hear the tale. What say you kinder? Should we listen to her?"

  A few of the little heads nodded, thumbs stuck in their mouths or clutching fistfuls of their mother's skirts, but they were outnumbered by the more curious, older children. Clatch glanced up from his work without unbending his back. He rested his elbows on his knees to listen.

  "Ah . . ." Nikolas's sigh disappeared into the wind. "She lived long, long ago, before many of you were born in your wagons, this one we now call the Piping Witch. She lived alone, here, within these very woods."

  Gingerbread huffed a dark laugh. "She lived on the edge of Abersfeld, a month's journey from here."

  "Her cottage was a beautiful little house constructed of molasses cakes and spun sugar."

  Gingerbread grunted a laugh. "She lived above a bakery as plain as any other with a garden out front and the milk cow out back."

  "Her home was always wonderfully warm because she kept a large oven at the back of the cottage of cake ready for baking. Such smells came from it!" Nikolas took a deep sniff in through his nose, inflating his chest until it would burst. He sighed out in delight. "They filled the air with good and glorious things to eat. The better to lure small children to her from nearby towns."

  Gingerbread stopped, her sword planted in the snow. Well . . . she did not say aloud, that part's true.

  Cold wind rose from between the tree trunks, sniffing like a curious dog. Fight this, she told herself. Close the shutters against her, then you can undo Nikolas's trouble. The way he's going you'll have lots to occupy yourself with tonight. She walked on.

  "The townsfolk that lived outside the woods knew of her, and warned their children to never enter the Woods of Winter White alone. But there lived one woman, the widow of a woodcutter, who had five young children to feed. The oldest two were not her own, and she thought to herself, 'Why must I care for these two? It is difficult enough for me to feed my own children. How much easier would my life be if I did not have these two to feed as well?'"

  Gingerbread huffed, breaking the spell for the tinkers sitting at the fire's edge. "Sorry excuse."

  "That year, the winter was lean, very lean indeed, so the widow thought to herself, 'I'll send them away into the witch's wood. Let her have them. I'll tell everyone they ran away and none of the other villagers need know I told them to go inside.' So she did just as she thought to herself. The next morning the woman told the oldest children, a boy called Hansel and his sister Gretel, to come with her into the wood and search for mushrooms and watercress for the family table."

  A hot ember began to burn in Gingerbread's stomach and the skin around her eyes turned warm. She stopped at Numina's north point and turned sharply for the last arm of the star.

  "When Hansel and Gretel realized their stepmother had left them in the witch's wood, they felt afraid. 'How will we get back home?' Gretel asked. 'The witch will take us if we are still in the wood after dark.'"

  The wind skittered over Gingerbread's arms, laughing. The girl scowled into the night, but couldn't see beyond the dark ice. "Like you ever needed the cover of night to work."

  "But Hansel had suspected their stepmother when she woke them before dawn that morning. 'I know the way back, Gretel. See here? I brought this bread and have been dropping pieces as we walked. We'll follow them home out of the wood.'"

  Gingerbread's mouth fell open. She spun to look at Nikolas, but he didn't watch her with that teasing twinkle in his eyes. He actually thought that was part of the story!

  Of all the stupid . . . Who would think that would work?

  She gripped her sword to lift it from Numina's edge when she caught Clatch watching her, a question in his eyes. Sense came back to her. The eyes still watched her from the trees, but every one of the tinkers' gazes stayed fixed on Nikolas.

  Gingerbread breathed in deep, held it, then let her breath go. Snow stirred and the wind shifted in the barest breeze. The Piping Witch turning over to sulk.

  Don't break your own defenses, Gingerbread chided herself. The eastern point of the star waited two yards away. She found herself listening to Nikolas's story in spite of herself.

  "By the time the children realized the crows had eaten the rest of their breadcrumbs, Hansel and Gretel were well and truly lost. The night was cold and they had no more food. The stars had gone dark, abandoning them to the witch's wood. They stumbled through the trees for hours, scratching themselves on thorns and thumping their toes on tree roots and stones. 'Hansel, I'm so tired!' Gretel whined. 'We'll never find the end of the wood. We might as well stop here and let the witch find us. At least then we'll be asleep when she comes.'

  One yard now. Gingerbread's mouth twisted down. She would never complain just for sore feet.

  Nikolas threw his hands up to his hips, jutting out his elbows. "But Hansel wouldn't give up just because he was tired. 'I'm oldest Gretel. I say when we stop, but you're right about the witch. If we can't avoid her, we'll just have to find her first and kill her. Then we'll live in her cottage and our stepmother will never bother us again.'"

  One foot. Gingerbread laughed from Nikolas's shadow. The audience shifted to peer around h
im, but Gingerbread didn't bother to share the joke. Imagine that old soak taking charge of anything! She laughed again, the sound hard and bitter.

  Nikolas stopped, then frowned at her over his shoulder.

  "We have a rule around our fire, Girl Gingerbread." Nikolas's voice carried across the snow. "Anyone who interrupts a tale has to finish it. Since you are an outsider and do not know our rules, I'll only warn you tonight, but unless you wish to take the spotlight-"

  Gingerbread drove her sword point down into the Eastern corner. Power hummed through the lines cut into the snow, outlining the four-pointed star with Numina's sweet light and dimming the hair-raising sensation of eyes watching her from beyond the trees. Now she could deal with Nikolas.

  "No, I'll finish your tall tale, Nikolas," Gingerbread snapped, crossing her arms and trying to ignore the wind slinking around the edge of her star. "Hansel and Gretel follow their noses to the witch's candy covered cottage, only their plan to kill her fails, probably because she was only nine and he was five. So the witch holds them captive in her home as punishment, locking Hansel up in a cage and forcing Gretel to work at her ovens. She tries to fatten Hansel up for her supper, but she's near blind and he outwits her by sticking a bone through the bars of his cage. The children bide their time and when they're strong enough, Gretel shoves the witch into her own oven and locks the door, killing her and saving the town from the witch. They return home, find their stepmother has died of her own wickedness, and live happily-ever-after in their father's house. You tell a very pretty story, Nikolas, but it didn't happen that way. There were no hard times, no starving younger brothers and sisters. It was a warm, rich summer and Greta and Hans were all but given to the Piping Witch by their own father. No, he wasn't dead, he just might as well have been for all the spine he had in him. His first wife ran off with another man and his second one threatened to do the same if he didn't get rid of her rival's leftover baggage. So off the children went to the bakery mill with all the other unwanted children, where they were given sweets and pretty clothes because there must never be any ugliness showing. The Piping Witch didn't like it. But it was still there, whether the bones showed up or not, and soon enough Greta is the best at hiding it, and the Piping Witch keeps her close and Hans is locked away in the basement to make sure Greta doesn't get any ideas about leaving her. But Greta has lots of ideas, and she does want to leave, so one day she takes one of the other unwanted children and she kills her. Slits her throat, like the witch taught her to do with the ones before. Only this one's messy because no one's standing over her and making her do it. And then she takes the dead girl and stuffs her in the oven and Greta starts shrieking that she's trapped inside herself, because she's the only one the witch wants enough to crawl in after and that's how she gets the Piping Witch in the fire. And yes, she does free her baby brother and lets the other children go, but Greta is never free again. Because the witch just won't die. She's still there in Greta's shadow, in every reflection, inside her eyes. Soon there's no escape, no way to get away from the Piping Witch she killed, so Greta locks her door one night and lights her own pyre. Then she's free, you see? But so is the Piping Witch and the rest of us are stuck with her! Well Nikolas? Did I tell it right? Is that the story you wanted your kinder to hear?"

  No one spoke. The tinkers stared at her, but no one said a word. Even Nikolas, who had frowned in annoyance at having his story usurped by the outsider, now stared at her agog.

  Clatch was the worst. Somehow he understood the unspoken piece of her story, and he looked . . . sorry for her.

  The loud rush of air in her ears wasn't the wind, but her own breath coming fast and hard in her chest. Little puffs of white clouded the air in front of her with every huff. She stared down at her hands fisting behind the folds of her skirt. It's this place, she told herself. It has to be. That witch is making me lose my mind.

  The fire popped and a log crumbled into pieces. One of the tinker kinder started to cry, sending his mother leaping to her feet to bundle him up in her arms. At least some children had real mothers.

  The other children scattered to the safety of their own parents, sniffling and scared. Gingerbread felt the first of the glowers on her skin, but didn't meet anymore eyes. She didn't trust her own to show her what was really there.

  A throaty cough that could have passed for a barking owl dispelled the lingering sinister air left by Gingerbread's story, but Nikolas still had a hard time laughing off her words. "Ah . . . Girl Gingerbread . . ."

  She threw out an arm behind her, silencing Nikolas. "You do not cross this line tonight." Her command cut the air. "I don't care how she got here, but what's left of the Piping Witch lives in this wood now. You will all be safe inside the line, but out there . . ."

  She let the tinkers imagine their own threats before turning to take her sword from the eastern point of the star. Her defenses shone like starlight against the snow in her eyes and Gingerbread inhaled deep, trying to hold her image of Numina in her mind's eye. She caught a brief glimpse before sliding her sword home at her side, but it didn't soothe her.

  "Goodnight," she told Clatch as she passed him.

  His head turned to her with all the others. "Guten nacht, Ginge." She barely heard him over the laughter of the wind even Numina could not keep out.

  THE CRACKLE OF THE fire followed Gingerbread through the night. At first, it was only a crisp whisper in her ears, but it grew louder. It pricked at the back of her neck, leaving blisters in its wake. She turned away, and it followed her. Gingerbread ran, and it chased her.

  Stones bit into her feet, and she realized her shoes still sat by the front door. She craned her neck back with some half hope that she could still get them only to shriek as the flames leapt up to lap at the black sky. A skeletal silhouette of charred wooden beams still stood, rising from a burning bed of embers.

  Her foot found a stone that refused to move and Gingerbread tumbled to the ground with a shriek. The fire. It was right behind her! It would eat her up like the evil witch in Mama's story!

  She lifted her head, smoke and singed hair stuffing up her nose. The fire swallowed up the cottage, crunching the walls down and gnawing on the wooden beams until they turned brittle as burnt pretzel sticks. All that and it was still hungry. Yellow flames nibbled at the roof, then roared skyward when they found they liked the taste of the pitch. With a groan the roof crackled and tumbled to the floor, dragging half of the cottage down with it and revealing a dark figure still inside.

  Gingerbread's frantic heart beat bruises against her chest. She shoved herself up on her hands and knees. The fire was eating her too! Why did she just stand there? Run!

  "Mother!"

  Her mother couldn't hear her across the field, but she raised her arms. Why did she do that? Was she trying to fix the roof? Gingerbread followed her mother's arms up and found one of the stars shining even through the thick haze of smoke. Numina? What did Mother want with the guiding star?

  Light blazed so bright Gingerbread cried out. She ducked her head to the ground, but the orange light of the fire seared through her eyelids, her mother's dark figure cut out of the center. "Mother! Mother!" She had to be all right.

  Her eyes scratched when she opened them. Her mother still stood, arms lifted above her head.

  Something came out of her. More than smoke. More than fire. Somehow both. It spun out of Mother like yarn from her spinning wheel, collecting in the fire-fogged air above her and threatening to blot Numina from the sky. Gingerbread's eyes burned looking at it.

  Mother's arms drooped. Her legs failed. Mother fell with slow grace to the ground. Gingerbread screamed and tried to stand, but sparks popped in her eyes and she couldn't see past the wood burning on the ground. What remained of the cottage started to groan again. It was going to fall and bury Mother!

  The girl scrabbled to get her feet under her, dirt grinding into the bare soles of her feet. She must have tripped because she was on her back and staring up at a dark figure stand
ing behind her.

  For the shyest second she thought her mother had escaped the fire, but then she saw the little differences. The angular shape of the woman, the neat and orderly confines of her hair. Mother was just as tall, just as thin, but she never stood so rigid, and she seldom messed with her long and curling hair. And Gingerbread had never felt this kind of fear looking at her own mother before.

  The woman spoke, making Gingerbread jump. "So, you can see me too. I thought you might."

  A crackling crash made Gingerbread roll over. The fire danced and leapt about, looking for more treats, but the cottage had collapsed. The air above was clear except for a winding trail of smoke.

  Gingerbread sobbed. Don't leave me alone with her!

  Her mother didn't crawl from the embers of the fire.

  The woman stood in front of her again, or Gingerbread had gotten turned around. She leaned down, her face still dark despite the firelight, and reached out to touch a long finger down Gingerbread's cheek. She left a trail of something wet beneath the girl's eye.

  "My, what lovely eyes you have. I have always wanted such lovely eyes."

  Gingerbread shuddered and trembled. Go away, go away.

  The woman straightened up. The fire burned bright behind Gingerbread, creeping closer, but she still couldn't see the lady's face. Something was wrong with her eyes. They hurt.

  "My teacher used to tell me all good things come to those who wait."

  She reached again toward Gingerbread's eyes. The girl squeezed them shut and hid her face, but the dark lady wouldn't go away. And there was something else—a second pair of eyes watching them from the wood.

  The lady leaned forward until she filled Gingerbread's vision, her shadows and her finger reaching for her.

  "And I have waited such a long time for you . . ."

  Gingerbread screamed.

  A HEAVY HAND GRIPPED her shoulder and, heart in her throat, Gingerbread threw her knee up into a body. Hot air washed over her face as she knocked the wind out of her attacker. She rolled toward the hand, breaking its grip on her shoulder, and found her sword where she remembered leaving it before she started dreaming. Her lips curled back from her teeth as she rolled back, drawing the sword from its sheath.