Now it was Giancarlo’s turn to sit upright in confusion.
“What did you say?”
“He came to my father’s bakery this morning. I sold him two loaves. What has happened to him?”
Giancarlo could only gape at the boy for a few moments.
“Walther is here?” he asked softly.
Again the three boys exchanged glances.
“Yes,” Hans replied.
“Since when?”
“He returned from Köln weeks ago.”
Giancarlo’s head swam.
“What of his daughters? The man with them? Erich von Jülich-Berg?”
Hans’s face sank. “He married the both of them. They left Weilburg perhaps a week ago.”
“They are well?”
“As far as I could tell.”
The room seemed to spin about him. Giancarlo suddenly recalled what the priest in Köln had told him. You must trust that God will guide this duke’s hand justly and righteously.
Somehow, some way, Wilhelm had released the four of them unharmed.
It made no sense whatsoever. None. Yet here it was.
Giancarlo had always thought himself a pious man, but for perhaps the first time in his life, he felt the Hand of God around his heart. He did not regain his equilibrium until Hans put his hand on his arm.
“Sir? Are you ill?”
His eyes came to rest on the boy. He took a deep breath.
“I am well. Better than I have been in some days.” He took a long draught of his ale. God had brought him here for a reason, but he could feel in his bones that this was not yet over. “Erich and his wives—do you know where they have gone?”
“Only north. But I heard them discussing Wittenberg.”
“That is something of a journey.”
“Yes.”
“But you say they left only a week ago?”
“If that. I saw them go.” Then Hans’ face darkened, and his hand dropped to his waist. Giancarlo noticed with some bemusement that the boy carried a rapier at his belt.
“Do you mean them ill?” Hans asked.
Giancarlo laughed. “I do not, young sir. If anything, I owe them an apology. Indeed, I think that is where I am destined now.”
Hans sat up.
“Take me with you. I know where they must be headed. I have been on the east road with my father.”
Giancarlo shook his head and slapped Hans on the shoulder.
“This is no concern of yours, my young friend.” He stood. “Enjoy your ale. Good night.”
BUT HANS could not so easily put the matter out of his head. When he and Jacob left the tavern with Stefan, and the two of them saw Stefan home on the way back to their house, he could not shake the feeling that meeting Giancarlo again was no accident. Ariel and Astrid were out of his reach now, that was true, but he had never truly felt in the depths of his heart that he was meant to marry either of them. He had wanted to, surely, but that felt much the same as wanting to leave his boring future as a merchant behind and take to the road in search of adventure.
Much like Erich. Who had, after all, married the women he wanted.
Hans knew he had no great skill with the sword. He had trained with his rapier and was capable of sparring without injuring himself in the process, but he had never used it in an actual fight, nor did he ever expect to. He was not sure what he would do were such a thing to actually happen.
But, still. There was a first time for all things, was there not? Erich had once swung his sword in anger without having done it before. And he was still alive.
There was a choice to be made here. He could be a merchant, and grow fat and lazy like his father. Or he could convince Giancarlo to let him join his band. And perhaps then one day he would be worthy of a wife like Ariel or Astrid. One who would respect him for who he was, not for what he was worth.
Hans had seen how Ariel and Astrid looked at Erich. He wanted a wife who looked at him the same way. And he was quite certain that would never happen if he chose the life of a merchant.
He woke early the next morning, when the dawn was just beginning to color the sky. Moving quietly so as not to wake Jacob, he dressed for the road, leaving his doublet behind in place of more practical clothes. He found a bag and packed what little he thought he might need. Finally, he buckled on his rapier.
Just before leaving, he woke his younger brother. Jacob blinked at him in confusion.
“Hans? What are you doing?”
“I am leaving with Giancarlo. Do not tell Father until I am gone.”
Jacob sat up. “Leaving? Where?”
“Wherever the road takes me.”
“But why?”
“Because I must. I will be back one day. Do not think ill of me.”
He embraced his brother quickly and left before Jacob could think of anything else to say.
When he reached the street, which was still frosty from the night mist, Hans fought to calm the nervous turmoil in his stomach. If Giancarlo refused him, returning home would be . . . embarrassing. He would have to pretend he had played a joke on Jacob and try to laugh it off. Maybe Jacob would believe it.
He reached the inn to find he had risen none too soon. Giancarlo and his men were already up and preparing to leave with the first morning light. The mercenary captain saw him walking up and cocked an eyebrow at him.
“You are up quite early, my friend.”
“Take me with you. Wherever you are going.”
Giancarlo looked at Heinrich and Tomas, who both laughed.
“What is it you think we are doing, boy?” he replied. “This is not a game for the amusement of foolish children.”
“I can ride with you. I have a sword and know how to use it.”
Giancarlo straightened himself and looked Hans up and down more seriously. His jovial mood dissipated.
“Do you, now? And when have you had to draw that blade when it mattered?”
“Never. But surely there was such a time for you as well.”
Giancarlo’s eyes narrowed. He dropped his hand to his rapier and drew it slowly. Hans felt his testicles climbing into his gut.
All traces of humor had vanished from Giancarlo’s face, and Hans saw something far more deadly take its place. But somehow Hans stood his ground.
“Indeed there was, my friend. But I was lucky to live past that moment. Are you prepared to see if you will do likewise?”
How he did it, Hans would never know. But instead of bolting with the fear that knotted his stomach, he drew his rapier and held it forth. Giancarlo cocked his head and swatted the blade away.
For a few moments, they sparred as Heinrich and Tomas watched in a mix of amusement and curiosity. Hans was experienced enough to see that Giancarlo was merely toying with him. Yet Hans was still able to defend himself, though he was unable to launch an attack of any sort.
Finally Giancarlo stopped, smiling again.
“Well, I see there is some truth to your claims, young sir. Do you truly wish to join my band? This is a harder life than I suspect you realize.”
“I do. I can help you. I know the road ahead. And I think I know where Erich, Ariel, and Astrid are going.”
“All right, then. Do you have a horse? I cannot supply you with one.”
“I do.”
“Then meet us at the gate, and we will be off.”
5.
WHEN BERTRAND finished his tale, the four of them were silent for some time. Astrid finally spoke up.
“There is so much about that story that makes no sense to me,” she said. “Mystics are usually solitary. I have never heard of an entire band of them living together, in the woods, or elsewhere. I have never heard of a band of mages of any sort living in seclusion in the woods.”
“It is, as I said, merely a story,” Bertrand replied. “Who knows how much of it, if any, is true?”
“And kidnapping so many children?” her sister said. “How could they have managed such a thing, for so long? And why?”
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“Yet you do hear of babes being switched for changelings,” Erich said. “I have heard that story since I was a child.”
Astrid grew irritated. “And that is all it is, stories ignorant people tell to frighten their children. There are human babes who are born with deformities, or illnesses, and such stories make stupid peasants believe these innocent children are the spawn of the devil when they have done nothing to deserve it. And instead they blame mages like me and Ariel for their children’s misfortune.”
Erich put his hand on Astrid’s shoulder. “Peace. I am not suggesting you or anyone else is responsible for this. I only meant that these tales exist.”
She was not calmed. “Mages like us have been burned at the stake on suspicion of such things.”
Ariel reached across the table and took her hand. “Astrid . . .”
Astrid’s distress softened, and she leaned her head against Erich. “I am sorry. But to know people think such things of you . . . it is difficult. I could never hurt a child like that.”
Ariel sighed. “But perhaps there is a kernel of truth in that story. Mysticism is the rarest of schools. If there were a mystic who wished to raise a child to her art . . . it might be the only way. Even if she bore a child with talent, there is no telling what talent it might born with.”
“But mating with evil spirits?” Astrid asked. “That is impossible. Such things do not happen.”
Erich was confused. “But your grandmother . . . a river spirit?”
She shook her head. “Nature spirits and the ones mystics commune with are very different. Nature spirits like undines can take human form on their own. They need no enchantment or assistance. But the spirits mystics can summon and control exist beyond the physical realm. They can only take physical form by possessing a living body for short periods, or by filling dead ones. But in neither case can they mate with living beings.”
“You are sure?” he asked.
Her forehead creased. “I am not a mystic. But from what I have read, that is how it works.”
Bertrand had been listening to this conversation with interest.
“You are part undine. You and your sister.”
Astrid glanced at Ariel, who answered for her. “Yes.”
“I sensed something about you two. Human, yes, but you have an attunement to the natural world I have not seen in humans before. I suppose that would explain it.”
“It is the source of our talent for naturalism,” Astrid replied.
Bertrand nodded. “Well, for that, I am grateful, or I suppose I would still be lying by that stream with a broken leg.” He stood. “It is late, and we have talked long enough. Let me set you up for the night, and we can retire.”
When Bertrand had gone to bed himself in his room at the back of the house, the three of them lay down in a heap of soft furs and bags of acorns—which was a bit like sleeping on loose gravel. Astrid curled up amongst the furs trying to get warm. It had been a long, eventful day, and she was still drained from healing Bertrand.
But she felt Erich and Ariel moving around beside her, and when they did not become still after a minute or two, she realized in annoyance what was going on. But she lay there pretending to be asleep until she felt Ariel rubbing her arm.
She rolled on her back but refused to open her eyes.
“No. I am tired, we are in a troll’s house, and we just spent three days doing little else. Go to sleep.”
She heard Ariel sigh. Erich whispered something to her that Astrid could not quite catch, then they were still.
ASTRID WOKE just as the gray dawn began lightening the sky. It was cold, and she pressed herself against Erich to remain warm. Her husband and sister were still asleep.
Bertrand’s story had gnawed at her, and she had lain awake for some time the previous night. She felt a bit guilty for snapping at Erich over it, but the tale had stirred up memories she did not like to recall.
Her father was a respected citizen of the town of Weilburg, but that did not mean that everyone there welcomed him and his family. When Astrid was seven, she asked her father why they did not attend mass at the local church the way most of the others in town did. “We mages do things differently,” he replied, and she did not press the matter further.
But some time later, she wandered over to the church to see for herself. The place was empty when she arrived, but as she timidly explored the nave, one of the priests emerged from a side door. She tried to duck behind a pillar to avoid being seen, but he spotted her.
“What do you need, my child? Where are your parents?”
She slowly emerged from behind the pillar. “I just wanted to see.”
Then his face darkened. “You’re that mage’s brat. Begone, witch! Leave this hallowed ground! Get out!”
He waved his arms at her, trying to shoo her away, and she fled the church in terror.
She told no one of this encounter, not even Ariel, worried that she had brought some doom down on her family. But after that, she noticed how some of the citizens of Weilburg would make the Sign of the Cross as they passed her house, or look at her suspiciously when she was out with her mother.
A few months after that, a fever swept through the town. Her mother went around offering her healing skills, but not everyone was willing to accept her help. Predictably, those who did, got well, while many of those who did not, died. This caused lingering bad feeling among many of the citizens even after the fever lifted, with some suggesting her mother had caused the deaths to trick the rest of the town into believing her good intentions. Others rose to their defense, but for a while, they found it difficult to move through the town without constant stares and whispers.
When her mother passed away from a sudden fever herself not long afterward, these same people claimed it was a judgment on her head from God. The priest at the church initially refused to allow her to be buried in the cemetery, and only relented after the town fathers, who had long backed Walther, pressured him to change his mind.
In the midst of this, Astrid was in her father’s library trying to bury her grief in his books when she heard a group of children chanting something out in the street. When she went to the window and looked out, she realized they were chanting, “Burn the witch! Burn the witch!”
One of them held a straw effigy of a woman in a black cloak, which Astrid realized in horror was intended to resemble her mother. They had mounted the thing on the end of a long stick. Another of the boys held a burning torch. The first boy shoved the stick into the ground in front of their house, and the boy with the torch lit the effigy on fire as the rest of them continued chanting.
Astrid was frozen before the window in shock. The boys saw her after a few moments and pointed at her. The chanting grew in volume.
All of a sudden, she heard a roaring noise that she only realized was her father when she saw him burst into the street and knock down the burning effigy as the boys scattered. She ducked out of sight, too horrified to even cry.
She never said a word about the incident to Ariel, and it seemed her father did not realize she had witnessed the scene either.
Not long afterward, a new priest had come to the church, and she never saw the first one again. The mood in the town improved substantially, her family returned to attending mass, and the memories of feeling like an outcast faded into the mists of childhood.
Until Bertrand’s story, Astrid had not thought about that awful day in years.
Astrid had not just loved her mother but nearly worshipped her. She wanted nothing more than to become a master naturalist just as her mother was. Yet though she felt her talents with the Flow would be equal to the task, she had never felt she possessed her mother’s other qualities. Her mother was strong and outgoing, fearless in the face of those who doubted her or questioned her good nature.
Astrid did not have those qualities. But Ariel did.
It was Ariel who could always find the right words to say, who could speak to adults as equals in ways that often sh
ocked Astrid. And in the years after their mother passed away, Astrid felt there was more of their mother in Ariel than in her. It was Ariel who more fully stepped into her mother’s role in the house, who had the fortitude to go rooting through their mother’s things after she died despite their father’s prohibitions, who had found the love-magic book in the process.
Astrid tried not to resent Ariel over all this, but it was hard.
She snuggled closer to Erich, wriggling under his arm. He was still asleep, but his arm tightened around her. She lay there feeling the warmth of his body against hers, and a different sort of heat grew in her.
She enjoyed making love with her husband, deeply, but she was discovering she liked the restrictions that their conjoined flows placed on her marriage considerably less. It was not sharing Erich with her sister that annoyed her. She made her peace with that reality long before even meeting Erich. No, it was that their lovemaking was the three of them and nothing else. That meant that if either she or Ariel wanted to make love and the other did not, the one who did not either went along with it or nothing could happen.
Astrid would have been less annoyed with this situation if it were not for Ariel’s seemingly constant needs. Astrid’s refusal the night before had not been the first, yet whenever Astrid wanted it, Ariel was always eager as well. That left Astrid as always being the one who had to deny her husband, or deny herself.
She was long used to quarreling with her sister over similar issues that were inherent in being twins, and she felt nothing much about it. But she disliked making Erich pay for their quarrels.
She might not have Ariel’s energies in bed, but Astrid was certain she loved Erich just as much. And part of her felt she loved him for better reasons.
She realized, after their experiences with Erich’s brother, that one of the things she loved about him was that he made her feel safe. It was one thing to believe the man you loved would do anything to protect you. Astrid knew what Erich would do because she had seen it with her own eyes.
He had killed four men for her, then turned around and surrendered himself to what should have been certain death to save her from Wilhelm’s mercenary.
The Witches' Covenant (Twin Magic Book 2) Page 4
