Darko shook his head. “The witches and wizards who performed this magic were far too powerful to get caught by the Brotherhood.”
Nela was doubtful. If there were such powerful witches and wizards left in the world, why weren’t they going up against the Brotherhood? She would if she had the power. “But if this place is protected why don’t we gather here more often, or built a house where refuges can live.”
“That would have to be one hell of a skyscraper to house all the people running from the Brotherhood,” Darko said, tugging her along. “Unfortunately, this place has been dedicated for Walpurgisnight specifically. That means it’s only safe from dusk on April 31st until dusk on May 1st.”
Up ahead Nela could see arches that had been formed by knotting together the crowns of young birches, and colorful ribbons had been tied into their branches. “They are maypoles,” Darko explained. “The traditional ones. Many humans use a fake pole today with a green wreath at the top. But we still use birch trees how it’s supposed to be.”
They stepped through one of the arches, which served as a sort of entrance to the actual place of the celebrations. Two witches in long, snow white dresses and flowers in their long hair greeted Darko and Nela with wide smiles. They put a crown of white mayflowers on Nela’s head before they sent them along.
Nela had never seen so many witches in one place. Around the bonfires people danced so fast that they were nothing but a blur. Their hair and skirts flew around the dancers as they twirled around and around. Some of them danced so close to the orange flames that Nela expected their clothes to catch fire any moment, but they remained untouched.
As Darko and Nela drew closer to the fires, she was glad that Darko had insisted she wore a dress. The temperature had risen by several degrees. Many of the dancers glistened with sweat, a fine powder sticking to their skin.
“What is it on their skin?” Nela shouted over the laughing and singing.
“Some people cover themselves with herbs because they like the smell.”
A male dancer wearing only pants and every inch of his upper body covered in a black powder thrust himself at the flames. Nela gasped, jerking forward to help, but Darko held her back. The dancer landed on the other side of the bonfire unscathed but the powder had come to life by the heat and was releasing small fireworks from his skin. He started doing cartwheels until all Nela could see of him was a ring of colorful explosions.
“You’re breaking my fingers,” Darko said with a hint of amusement and Nela quickly released his hand, which she’d been clutching. “Wow,” she breathed as she watched the dancer tumble all the way down the mountain. There were a myriad of languages around her. She heard German, English and French, but also something that sounded like Afrikaans and Arabic. People of all skin colors danced and celebrated together.
A group of witches arrived, all of them sporting massive animal masks that hid their faces as well as part of their upper body and when they began to move, their masks seemed to come to life and the people below were no longer visible. Instead there was a dancing cheetah, its movement lithe and predatory, a giraffe that swished its head back and forth in rhythm with the singing. There was an ostrich, a lion, a zebra, and they all danced around the fire in moves half human, half animal. Nela knew she was gaping but she couldn’t help herself. This was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She felt tears rise into her eyes. “They are from Central Africa, I think. They always put on an amazing show. I really wish they would reveal their secret. I’d love to roam the streets of Cologne as a lion for a night.” Darko glanced at her face and frowned. He reached out and brushed a tear away. “Hey, what’s wrong? This was supposed to make you happy, not cry.”
She gave him a small smile. “This is amazing,” she said slowly. “And it just made me realize that there’s still so much I don’t know about my heritage, about our kind, about myself, and if it were up the Brotherhood this all would be forgotten in time.”
“Don’t let us talk about the Brotherhood tonight. Let’s enjoy ourselves. Let’s be magical and do what we were put on this earth to do.”
Nela nodded and let Darko guide her around the closest bonfire toward a long wooden bar that had been set up. The girls behind it flirted shamelessly with Darko as they picked up his order, but Nela wasn’t even bothered by it. Instead she watched as a group of elderly witches with their hair hidden under bright red shawls, lifted their skirts up to their knees, revealing bare feet and began stomping around the bonfire next to Nela. Their rhythmic stomping went right through Nela and she felt herself move in sync with them. One of the old witches gave Nela a toothless grin, gripped her hand and pulled her into the circle that the women had formed around the bonfire. And then they stomped and clamped, and Nela with them, her body knowing the rhythm she’d never heard. She twirled and clucked her tongue like the women around her. Her skirt whirled higher and higher, brushing the fire again and again. Nela spread her arms and twirled around herself until the flames filled her vision. She swished her fingertips through the fire but instead of pain there was a tingle of magic, and the music around her, the thumping of her feet, the beating of her heart picked up even more. She closed her eyes, drunk on music and magic. Nela’s body was awash with heat. She felt weightless as if any moment she’d rise up into the sky.
Eventually, she opened her eyes again and caught Darko watching her with a look of awe. She stumbled out of the circle of dancing women and toward him. Her dress stuck to her sweaty skin, but she only smelt of sage. He held out a mug for her when she reached him and she greedily gulped down the cold liquid – ordinary Viking Blood – mead with cherry juice, and not the vile Dragonblood Darko preferred.
Darko pulled her toward one of the rocks that were spread out on the Brocken and made her sit down beside him. The stone was surprisingly cold despite its proximity to the bonfires, and Nela stretched out, relishing in the way the rock cooled her heated flesh. She exhaled and laughed. She wasn’t even sure why.
Darko bent over her. “You looked so beautiful when you danced around the fire. Like a bird that was finally set free from its cage.” He stared at her with the same look of awe on his face she’d seen earlier.
“I felt free,” she admitted, then laughed again. She finally noticed that Darko had gotten rid of his coat and was wearing the same attire as the rest of the wizards – half-open white shirt and beige trousers. But his low cut collar didn’t reveal an abundance of chest hair.
Nela sat up slowly and put the mug down on the ground, not able to take her eyes off the mark on Darko’s chest. She reached out and ran her fingertips over the crude burn scar. It was a cross and it reached over his pectoral and down to his bellybutton. “That’s what the villagers did to you?”
Darko took a sip from his mug before he nodded. Then he put it down and dragged her back to her feet before leading her to another bonfire where couples were dancing a group choreography that included the men throwing the women into the air, catching them, and twirling around with them. Nela wasn’t sure if she was capable of so much gracefulness but she didn’t voice her doubts. She could tell Darko needed this dance. And she needn’t have worried. The moment she was surrounded by the other dancers and the music played by a small band that sat on low wooden logs to the side, she knew what to do. The music took hold of her and as before she succumbed to it, let it sweep her away from the here and now, from her worries. There was a woven basket filled with different kinds of flowers in several colors next to the fire, and as the couples danced around the flames, one woman after the other stepped forward, picked up a handful of the flowers and threw them into the flame.
“Why are they doing that?” Nela panted when Darko caught her after having thrown her into the air as if she weighed nothing.
“Those are primroses, rowans and marsh marigolds, and burning them is an offering to the spirits in return for a wish. So try your luck and make a wish,” Darko whispered the last into her ear, his lips brushing her skin.
/> He released her and she hopped toward the basket, grabbing a handful of the soft flowers. They were too pretty to be burnt, but so had been the poor woman two days ago. She thrust the flowers into the flames and they were gone in a heartbeat. “Help me protect those I love,” she whispered before she returned to Darko and fell into step with the other dancers again. She didn’t remember much after that. The music filled every inch of her body, banished every thought.
Darko and Nela danced around the fires all night, stopped only to drink a few gulps of icecold honey wine or eat a bite of bread-on-the-stick that they roasted in the flames themselves. The bread was warm and soft, and slightly sweet from the dried fruits in the dough. The scent of baked bread, herbs and burnt wood filled the air.
Sometimes Nela caught herself glancing at the younger witches, looking for Finja, but her best friend wasn’t there. A trickle of guilt filled her at not having invited her but then Darko pulled her back into the row of jeering and dancing celebrators. It was a night full of magic and hope, full of something she’d been sure had long been extinguished by the Brotherhood, but here it was alive and striving. Her heart swelled with happiness and by the end of the celebrations, shortly before dawn, when Nela and Darko finally tumbled to the ground, drunk with magic and honey wine, her throat was raw from singing, her body flushed with heat.
Only a few witches were still dancing around the bonfires, their voices hushed and arms raised up to the sky. The others were spread out on the ground like Darko and Nela, relishing in the cold of the ground that soothed their heated bodies. Darko wrapped his arm around Nela and she rested her head on his chest, their backs propped up against one of the rocks, and then they finally succumbed to sleep.
Chapter 24
The events of their Walpurgisnight celebrations seemed like a distant dream. Only a few days had passed but Nela was already wondering if she’d imagined everything. It couldn’t be that she’d felt so full of happiness and magic and hope so recently when now she felt like her life was going to shatter any moment.
The wide wooden double doors of the courtroom opened and a guard of the Brotherhood gestured for them to enter. Nela followed her father to the three rows of chairs in the back behind a waist-high wooden balustrade. Her mother wasn’t there yet, but the prosecutor was on his side, sitting behind his desk and the judge was enthroned on his high-backed chair on an elevated pedestal in the center of the room. It was Grand Master Claudius himself who had taken over most of the witch trials in the days since the addendum had been passed. Nela knew it wasn’t a good sign that he was the one who would decide about her mother’s fate. He wasn’t known for leniency. More people filed into the courtroom, a couple of them reporters. Her father hadn’t said anything all morning and it didn’t look like that would change. He was sitting ramrod straight on the uncomfortable chairs, his eyes directed at the door behind the defendant table.
The guard closed the door to the courtroom and a moment later the second door opened and her mother appeared with two guards close behind. Nela swallowed a gasp. She hadn’t seen her mother in almost two weeks and in only that short time, she’d changed so much that Nela barely recognized her. Her cheeks were sunken in, her chin protruded sharply and the skin around her eyes was gray. Her hair hung limply down her shoulders and her gray streaks peeked out. She’d lost at least ten pounds and her clothes hung off her body as if they belonged to someone else. Nela couldn’t see any visible bruises or other signs of torture but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened. Nela knew there were ways to hurt someone without leaving visible marks, or they could be hidden by her clothes. Her mother’s eyes searched the audience and finally came to rest on Nela and her father. She gave them a smile, but it looked ghastly on her pale, thin face. Nela forced herself to return the gesture but she was sure she didn’t manage more than a grimace. Her father’s smile was much more convincing and she wondered how he managed it. Nela felt like she was going to break any moment.
Behind the two guards followed her mother’s lawyer. He gave them a nod before he bowed toward the Grand Master and sat down beside Nela’s mother. The guards chained her to the metal chair that was attached to the ground. They treated her mother as if she was a killer, as if she was less than the dirt beneath their shoes.
The Grand Master cleared his throat and raised his gaze from the papers spread in front of him. His cold blue eyes fastened on Nela for a heartbeat and she couldn’t help but shiver. She didn’t avert her gaze. A wave of defiance hit her. She wished he could have seen her during Walpurgisnight. She wished she could show him what she was capable of. The Brotherhood had been hunting necromancers for millennia and here she was sitting across from him and he had no clue.
He finally turned toward the prosecutor and gave him the chance to state the charges. “Good morning, Grand Master. I represent the Brotherhood and all the pure-hearted souls of Cologne.” He turned his narrowed eyes to Nela’s mother who was watching him without an expression. “The witch Mrs. Rebecca Vogel committed the sin of Maleficium. We have proof as seen by the baring of her back that she’s been practicing magic for years. The percentage of iron in her blood indicates that she’s worked a minimum of one hundred spells.” He gave a quick nod toward one of the guards positioned at the door and the man disappeared through it, only to return with a woman in her thirties, with long dark hair and a floor-length black skirt and a black blouse. She was led toward the witness stand. The prosecutor started questioning her, but the woman kept glaring at Nela’s mother as if she were pure evil. She told the prosecutor that she’d been trying to get pregnant for years. She knew that a witch was working as a healer in the apartment buildings that were inhabited by vagabonds and so she went there to get help. Nela’s mother had told her that there wasn’t a spell that would make her pregnant, but she knew of a few herbs that might help her. When that didn’t work, she went to Nela’s mother again and that time Nela’s mother tried a spell that would heal her not functioning ovary. A few weeks later, she was pregnant but then she lost the child in the first trimester. “It was her fault! She did something to me that made my body repel the baby! She impregnated me with something evil and my body didn’t want it!” the woman screeched.
Nela could barely breathe. This woman was accusing her mother of something she hadn’t done. She’d helped her get pregnant. It wasn’t her mother’s fault that the woman had lost the child. And to make it sound as if her mother had impregnated her with a demon? That was absolutely insane. Everybody had to see that. But when she glanced at the Grand Master and the prosecutor she knew they’d heard exactly what they wanted to hear.
“Thank you,” the prosecutor said with a predatory smile. The woman was led out of the courtroom by the guards but before she disappeared from view she gave Nela’s mother a hateful look. Nela wanted to go after the woman and shake her until she saw reason. She’d lost something dear to her, but why did she have to ruin their lives out of spite?
Nela glanced at her mother whose face had drained of all color during the recount of the woman. Other than Nela she didn’t seem angry, she seemed honestly shaken and saddened. Nela wished she could tell her mother that it wasn’t her fault. The Grand Master finally turned to her mother. “What do you have to say in your defense?” His voice was flat and bored, as if he couldn’t care less about what she had to say.
The lawyer rose but Nela’s mother stopped him with a quick touch to the arm before she straightened. Her shackles clacked when she braced herself on the desk. Nela couldn’t remember a time when she’d ever seen her mother so drawn and helpless. Her mother cleared her throat before she began speaking in a firm but hoarse voice, “I’m sorry for the loss of this woman. I never meant to harm anyone and I’ve never let anything happen to the people that came to me. All I ever wanted was to help those in need.” She fell silent, her eyes directed at the judge who’d listened to her speech with barely hidden contempt.
The prosecutor had perked up. “So you admit to willingly practic
ing magic? And to having worked magic on the woman who lost her child?”
“Yes, but –”
“You admit to having impregnated the woman by unnatural means?”
“No. I didn’t impregnate her. I just helped her fertility.”
“Then why did she lose her child? Why if not for her body repelling the evil you impregnated her with?” he screamed.
Nela couldn’t believe that the judge wasn’t reprimanding him for losing it like that. Her mother didn’t flinch. She simply stared back at him calmly. Nela admired her for her control, but she wasn’t sure it was going to do her any good. These people had made their decision long before the trial had even begun. “I don’t know why she lost her baby, but I can assure you that the child in her body was perfectly natural. It was a child of God.”
“Blasphemy!” the prosecutor hissed, his face red and spit flying from his mouth. Nela looked at her father who still hadn’t moved an inch. Only his eyes darted back and forth between his wife and the prosecutor.
Instead of punishing the prosecutor for his outburst, Grand Master Claudius raised a warning finger. “This is quite enough, Mrs. Vogel. I have heard more than enough to make my decision.”
A heavy weight settled in Nela’s stomach as he rose from his chair and spread his arms. Nela and the rest of the audience got up from their seats, awaiting his judgment. Nela jumped when her father took her hand in his. He still didn’t look at her but his touch felt good. She hadn’t forgiven him entirely for his actions during her mother’s hearing, how he’d made it sound as if her mother didn’t have anything to do with them, as if he didn’t love her. Maybe Darko was right and it had all been to protect her, but part of her was sure there was more behind it. He’d always been so adamant about following the Brotherhood’s rules, had condemned those who’d been caught breaking the law. It didn’t make sense that he’d known about her mother’s actions all those years and not done anything. His statement that they’d been separated for a while made more sense than that.
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