Castle of Sighs

by Jennifer Murgia

A thought presents itself just then. Like an open window I have this one moment to gain her trust and keep it. “I need your help.”

  Her delicate eyebrow lifts at this new twist.

  “Can you keep the secrets I’ve shared with you?”

  There is a profound look on her face, one that will do anything to please me, and I know I’ve asked the right thing.

  “Yes,” she answers softly. “I’ll keep them safe until the day I die.”

  This brings a smile of reassurance to my mouth, only I don’t tell her that secrets can only be kept by the living.

  In death, we are still vulnerable.

  Chapter 33

  In the days that follow I watch Adelaide carefully. She does not fail me, keeping the secret I’ve entrusted to her care between the two of us. When we are alone in the sacred chamber below, I decide it is time to enact my plan.

  “Inside this book are secrets the Pyrmont witches have kept throughout the years. Along with my promise to keep any Lady of Pyrmont safe, this book is my responsibility, as it was my mother’s, and her mother’s before her.” I say, pulling a thick red book from the highest shelf. “When you are ready, I will entrust its care to you.” I rest my hand upon the blood-red cover engraved with moons and ravens, and know, deep in my soul, that I must make this decision.

  Adelaide grows quiet, then, with a trembling voice, asks me what I know I must tell her. “Is there a reason you will no longer protect the book?”

  I let her question go unanswered as a figure fills the chamber door. “My Lady.” I curtsey, seeing from the corner of my eye that Adelaide lowers herself, her face flushed with the prospect that she and I will be reprimanded for keeping secrets.

  “I want to thank you for your assistance to Matilde, and to my daughter,” our Lady reaches toward Adelaide, encouraging her to rise. “I have prayed long and hard for her soul, that the Mother will steer her from becoming enamored by the dark magick coursing through these walls, and she has answered. You, Matilde, are the hope my daughter will grow to rely upon, as will her daughter after her. You’ve served us well.”

  It is not often my Lady compliments me, but no matter how much trust she has in my loyalty, there is much to be done to ensure our plan works. She does not peel her eyes from the grimoire resting between us. “I’ve secured Leise’s betrothal. Upon her sixteenth birthday she will marry, and her husband, a younger son of the Landgrave of Leuchtenberg, will assume the position as Elector over Pyrmont. But before that, we have much work to do.”

  I cross the room to the cabinet I’ve kept locked since the day Leise first learned to open it. The shelves inside hold ancient poultices, scrying instruments, and a vast collection of tools to call upon the greatest of dark magick. I let my fingers explore, counting on the Mother to lead me to the one tool that will be of most use for what we are about to do. Having retrieved what appears to be a bundle of cheesecloth, I return to where Adelaide waits with wide eyes, then set it upon the enormous altar.

  “First and foremost, we must protect ourselves. Dark magick is great. It is vengeful and willing and searches for the smallest crack in our armor to settle in,” our Lady tells us.

  I break off a block of salt kept handy upon the table and scatter it in a circle, holding us inside. Then I slowly unwrap the bag. Adelaide draws a deep breath.

  Within the cloth are a red stub of wax, twine, and numerous bones, darkened with age. Adelaide reaches to touch them but I stop her, tapping her hand with my own. “We mustn’t disturb.”

  She watches with wide eyes as our mistress holds the wax over a lit candle, warming it until it becomes pliable enough to mold in her delicate hands. She shapes it like dough, molding and twisting it until she seems satisfied with the result. When she places it upon the table, Adelaide gasps at the miniature replica of a man.

  We then watch as our Lady takes the bones and jabs them forcefully into the figure, all but destroying it. By the time it is finished, the wax mold is so misshapen, it is unrecognizable.

  “But why go through all the trouble if only to destroy it?”

  “Ah,” I reply. “You see, that is exactly what we are doing. The darkness must be destroyed beyond recognition. It must be broken and bound so it may never again return to its original state, saving another woman, another witch, from a fate similar to those who have been plagued by this darkness. For magick is what it wants—what it feeds upon—and it will stop at nothing until the Pyrmont witches are destroyed so it may take on a new form…one that may become too strong to be stopped.”

  Between my fingers I take the twine and begin wrapping it around the head of the wax figure. “I bind you, great darkness, to the far reaches of the earth. May you remain there until eternity, broken and powerless against me and all my family. I bind you, great darkness, to the far reaches of the earth. May you remain there until eternity, broken and powerless against me and all my family…” Our voices join, reciting the spell—the power of three working a most profound magick. On and on I recite the binding spell until my fingers stiffen, until the cold wind at our backs in the damp room no longer breathes at my neck.

  When the end of the cord is but a frayed wisp, I take a pin and prick my finger until my blood beads. The pin is passed between us, each drawing blood. Then, with a hefty jab, I secure the pin deep within the belly of the wax figure. “So mote it be.”

  Together, we wait in silence.

  And then it comes.

  Like a shrieking wraith the darkness gathers at the door. In a swirling, angry mass it tunnels into the chamber, reaching for us, clawing at our skin with invisible talons, drawing blood. Adelaide screams and cowers beneath the altar, taking the sacred grimoire with her.

  “I banish you!” But my Lady’s will is not enough to dispel the force. A rotting stench fills the room, dizzying me, bending reality into horrifying visions before my eyes. My Lady staggers toward the cupboard, reaching inside for anything that will help, and then she pulls from its depths the oldest item in the chamber, kept under lock and key to keep it safe. The box.

  She settles it to the ground and begins to fill it with charmed artifacts that will further bind this dark force from seeking vengeance, from taking a life. She adds to the box the body parts of small animals—a snake’s skin, a raven’s claw. From the shelves she grabs a jar and spills its contents over the artifacts within. A handful of graveyard dirt, bone fragments, eyelids, rattails—all are added in a chaotic heap. With each item placed inside, I invoke a spell beneath my breath that will slice the darkness and send the pieces to the most sacred places of Bavaria. Along the Ley Lines, the pathways of the dead that mark the earth, to banish the evil one and send it to where it will remain until the last witch of Pyrmont’s blood draws her final breath.

  But something is wrong, and my Lady turns to peer at the doorway, distracted.

  “Mutti?” A tiny voice carries across the din sending my heart to plummet to the very bottom of my stomach. My Lady’s eyes catch mine. They are filled with horror as the temperature shifts in the chamber from warmth to ice, leaving us in pursuit of what stands at the door. With one final heave, the Lady I serve pulls all the magick from her body, her blood, her legacy, and sends it hurling across the room just as I reach little Leise and sweep her into my arms.

  In an earth-shattering quake, the icy breeze funnels atop the box, rattling it upon the floor, a cloud of death and rot trapped inside.

  “The grimoire,” I urge Adelaide, who is curled in a small ball beneath the table. “Hurry!”

  She crawls out from her hiding space, hands and knees scraping along the debris-ridden floor, and inches toward the box.

  “You must do it. The grimoire will help with the binding.”

  With trembling hands, the girl rests the heavy tome atop the grisly items inside, then closes the lid. She brings it to me and helps me to my feet, tears forming at the corners of her eyes as she stares at the tiny girl who clings to me.

  “You’ve done well, my child. Well i
ndeed.” I assure Adelaide with a nod of my head. What is done is done.

  “Is it over now?” she asks me, and I can see in her eyes how her heart breaks, for our Lady’s lifeless body lies broken upon the chamber floor and a tiny girl weeps in my arms.

  “Almost, Schätzchen. Almost.”

  Chapter 34

  We have not spoken of it.

  As the days melted into weeks and weeks into months, I would often catch a familiar look in Adelaide’s eyes. It burns with the questions she keeps. “Almost…but when?” and “Does Leise realize the sacrifice made to keep her safe?”

  She’s grown into an accomplished apprentice and serves the Mother well, and knowing I am one to bide my time, knowing I will tell her when the moment is right, she waits with me, watching and hoping the box has sealed the darkness from ever walking this earth again.

  It is a bright spring morning when I decide it has been long enough to let our guard down. There is one more seal I must mark upon the banishing and I finally feel Leise will have enough protection here at Pyrmont without me.

  “Mutti,” Leise is at the table in the kitchen. I do not stop her from calling me what she likes, for if it pleases her, then it pleases me. While the cook prepares our evening meal, I fashion a bellermine to hang at the forest’s edge. “What will you do with those?”

  I stuff the last of the Rosemary into the glass neck and seal it with a cork.

  “Come. I’ll show you.”

  Blades of new grass poke from the damp ground. We walk hand in hand toward the tree line where I show her how to tie the twine around the bottle, creating a noose for it to hang. “Like this. These bottles are charmed and will keep you safe.”

  “From the dark?”

  “Yes, my child.” I don’t tell her the real reason for the protection, but let her believe that the shadows in the trees possess some sort of sinister secret. I breathe the aromatic pine into my lungs and when I exhale, so flies the enchantment I send into the trees. “Let no child wander here alone, lest they shall be haunted by darkness.” It is more curse than charm, but that is the way of witches and mothers. We do what we must to protect our own, and if it’s instilling a bit of fear to keep them safe, then so be it.

  She has no idea the toll the banishing has taken on me, and I find it is terribly difficult to keep up with her as she skips toward the castle, picking tiny wildflowers along the way.

  “I know you must leave, Mutti,” Leise whispers when I’ve finally caught up to her.

  “You’ve perfected your Scrying skills, I see. Tell me, was it the mirror that reflected the future?”

  She shakes her head and frowns. I know she finds mirrors to be antiquated. “I saw it in the stream. It was so calm the other day that it resembled glass.” But her eyes turn cloudy as she explains to me. “I saw the trees, Mutti. I saw the tiny cottage.”

  Since the banishing, I’ve allowed myself small moments of devotion, and I take her still-small hands in mine. I am no longer afraid of letting myself feel a bit motherly toward her. She is mine to protect now.

  “Did you also see why I must leave you?”

  “Yes, Mutti. To seal the darkness. What my mother gave was not enough.”

  “You are the safe one now, my child. As long as you remain at Pyrmont you’ll be protected.”

  Her little pout fades as understanding dawns on her, flooding me with gratitude that while she is young in years, her soul accepts what I must do.

  In darkness I pick my way through the thick brush until I reach the clearing. I’ve chosen this spot, deep in the Black Forest, far away enough from Pyrmont, that I might spend the rest of my days unnoticed. There is a small stream here—the Berg. Its crystal-clear water burbles in the dead of night like a soothing lullaby, reminding me of the child I keep safe by leaving her behind. I stole away while she slept, leaving a wreath of Angelica blossoms around her soft head.

  My heart is heavy. What’s done is done, and it is up to me to seal this final part of the spell so that the shadows do not creep upon the walls of Pyrmont again, in search of magick.

  Adelaide accompanies me and holds my satchel as I prepare to Cast. With Mugwort and Brimstone, I recite the words that will erect a small cottage from the earth, one that will be shaded in moss and secrets. Inch by inch the structure seeps from the moist ground, rising, stretching, bending, twisting…until, at last, a tiny house nestles among the trees.

  “Will they not ask where it came from?” Adelaide asks. She gestures toward the knoll where a small village sleeps, concerned that my intent to hide in secrecy will be for nothing.

  I hold my index finger to my lips, then blow. My breath is a wind that sweeps through the trees and settles upon the thatched rooftops. In silence she and I watch as tendrils of magick slither around shutters and slip beneath doors to where the sleeping neighbors lie.

  “It will be as if I were here all along.” I whisper. “I am the legend they will tell their children. I am the one they will stay away from.” It is the perfect disguise. “Now, to complete the effect.” I slip from my woolen cloak and hand it to her. “It will be daybreak soon. You’ll find food and lodging in the village, but return to me after the sun sets so no one will see you.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I must offer my own sacrifice.”

  Her face registers concern but she simply nods and does as I ask, as always. I watch her form steal away, and she leaves me alone in the forest.

  The knock raps upon the door precisely after sundown. Adelaide steps into the cottage, where a warm fire blazes in the hearth. Tea rests upon the table. And her face drains of color at the sight of me.

  “Matilde! Gnädig!”

  “It is the only way,” I assure her, watching her hands wring with unease. Her reaction convinces me the magick has worked. I am hideous. I am a hag. “To offer my own youth to protect Leise is but a small gift, and should the darkness ever seek me in vengeance, he will surely overlook the sagging flesh upon my bones, the rotted teeth in my mouth. The bellermines will safeguard Pyrmont’s land.”

  I reach for a thin sheet of parchment and place it in her hands. It is blank save for a tiny X at the bottom of the page.

  “What is this?” she asks, confused.

  “Something that must be kept safe until it is meant to be read and understood.”

  The page is blank, but Adelaide has learned by now not to question magick.

  And the magick has worked well, creating a most convincing disguise—one that not only appears authentic, but is as real as it ever will be. Everything about me is decrepit and old. The skin I wear is shocking and repugnant and it shows upon Adelaide’s face how believable my newfound form will be to anyone who stumbles upon me—if they dare.

  I’ve even gone as far as to lace the forest with curses—a make-believe history of dread and doom, of haunting and wild tales. I also have cursed the winding stream, so that no Witch shall ever cross its current, holding us to this dreaded place, far from the towers that contain the fragmented remains of the ancient one.

  Here, I am hidden and safe, as Leise is behind Pyrmont’s strong walls.

  No one will ever know who I am.

  Chapter 35

  The years fly by, yet I do not age any more than the day I worked the spell to make me an old hag. Lonely are my days, broken only by the occasional visit from a brave soul from the village or a passerby hoping for news of fortune or love. I read the tea leaves for them. I tend their wounds, their ills. Babes are born at my hand, and my heart bleeds for my own. I often wish my senses out toward the castle beyond the forest, just to catch a glimpse of the girl who has grown up to be beautiful and loved.

  I am at the stream washing linens when I hear someone approach, and I turn to find the young woman the runes told me would come.

  “Have you sought me to tell your fortune?” I ask her and I lead her inside when she nods. The clothes she wears are fine, of the most delicate brocade only a trained seamstress could fashion, an
d it is clear she is far from home.

  I stoke the fire as she finishes her tea, then I hobble over to the seat across from her. “Hand me your cup, my dear.”

  She takes one last sip, then hands the china cup over so I may read the small leaves left at the bottom. My brow knits together. The leaves have never been so difficult.

  “Give me your hand.”

  She offers her palm, her trepidation matching the air now stirring in the room. “What is it? What do you see?”

  I am reluctant and keep the news to myself a few moments longer, knowing what I must say will undo her. When it is clear she will no longer wait with patience, she offers me a second thaler from her purse, hoping to persuade me. But I stop her hand. “No. I will not take money in exchange for what your future holds.”

  She frowns in confusion.

  And then I tell her what the leaves have whispered.

  “I see your young son playing in a garden of bright flowers.”

  “Oh, that is good news!” she smiles. “He is at home with his father now.”

  The news strikes a happy chord, but it is soon short-lived and I shake my head from side to side. “Doom casts its hand over his soul.” I have read ill fortunes before, but never before have I felt another’s anguish become my own. This woman’s broken heart matches my own—and it spurs me to offer something else, something dark.

  “I can help you,” I whisper, “but you must be willing to accept my gift.”

  “Anything,” she leans forward willingly. “I’ll do anything.”

  “I cannot save the son you will lose, but I will offer a second child that will help heal your broken heart.”

  With the help of my cane, I rise from my chair and cross the room to a door. “A village orphan was brought to me today, but I’m afraid there is no magick strong enough to save him. I ask that you trust me and let me create a new son for you—one who will grow strong and worthy, one who will outlive your firstborn.”

  Her eyes bore into the closed door. Even from here I feel her heart beating with the possibility of something magickal, something that will replace the heartache soon to come.