A Witch's Burden

by D. W. Goates

  “Well, why didn’t you say something? Let’s take the old road, then! What are we doing back here?”

  “I didn’t say we could take the road. I was just responding to your comment that there was only the one road.”

  “And why can’t we take the old road?”

  “Why, indeed?” asked the man, rhetorically. “It’s much better, but it’s also the road to the Margrave’s castle. Nobody I know has been on that road for years . . .”

  “I can pay you extra.”

  “You don’t have enough money to make me want to take that road, fräulein.”

  A look of determination developed on her face as Elke reached down and opened her bag. Retrieving her precious savings, she divided it equally before thrusting out one of the shares to the driver.

  “It’s half of all my savings. I might not make it home now, but I’ll be damned if I stay here.”

  The man was struck dumb by her sudden desperate offer.

  “Please . . .?”

  “All right, fräulein, if it means that much to you.” He reached for the money, but she pulled it back shrewdly.

  “At the first safe haven beyond the pass.”

  He frowned and made to close the door before she stopped him.

  “Have you ever taken the old road?” she asked.

  “Once, with my father, when I was a boy . . . Scared the hell out of me.”

  “What happened?”

  “It was one spring on my first trip to Waldheim. I was riding with my father to learn the way. He used to drive this route. They were building the new road then to avoid the Margrave and his witchcraft.” The man paused, remembering. “I saw him that day, or someone, there in the courtyard. The great door beneath the gate house was open. I could see in as we made quick our passing of it. He just stood there looking at us as we rode by.”

  “So what’s so bad about that?” Elke wondered aloud.

  “It’s what he was wearing . . . a great black robe with a hood. I couldn’t see his face. Like the devil himself. I’ll never forget it . . .” The coachman came to, as if from a dream, before adding, “If we are to get beyond that place today and over the pass we best move quickly.”

  Elke nodded her agreement as he closed the door.

  A chill of apprehension shot through her as she returned the money to her bag and then, in vain, tried to warm herself beneath the coach blanket.

  They stopped once more, briefly, at the village stable to replenish the horses before resuming their departure.

  Looking out from the coach window, Elke noticed that their route this time took them down a narrow side street—one uncharted during her interminable confinement in the place. Only a short distance down the way was enough to justify her ignorance of it; there were no shops in the quarter, affording her no reason to visit this section of town. All of it looked older than the rest, its structures entirely of the residential variety.

  The curtained windows of these grim little houses were drawn, yet something curious happened as the young woman looked out in her eagerness to put the place behind her. These curtains parted as they passed—not in each, but in most—revealing shadowy spectators silhouetted against the greater darkness within.

  This street must be rather unaccustomed to coach traffic, observed Elke, unwittingly excusing their rude stares as if she had already escaped to some normal town. However, when she remembered that she was still in Waldheim, she quickly ceased this defense and exchanged it for curses. For each window-framed churl encountered, she was ready with a fresh insult. These she muttered under her breath at first until the number of them became so great as to try her patience. “Good riddance!” she finally said aloud, before roughly drawing the shades of her own windows to screen the prying eyes.

  She therefore missed the sign at the edge of town with its sinister warning of witchcraft and promise of an evil fate for the heedless who dared travel the now-lonely old road.

  When some time had passed, and she was certain that they had cleared the town, Elke reopened her shades to admit the dull daylight. As before on the new road, she beheld a beautiful winter landscape made less so by a cheerless grey sky.

  Elke was at least encouraged by the fact that it had again stopped snowing, and she briefly considered reading to pass the time, as was her custom. Yet, try though she might, she could not stop gazing at the snow-covered hills. The whole scene was mesmerizing—so different was it from her city home in the north.

  The blanket of snow made it difficult to discern the boundaries of the road; nevertheless, she soon recognized this way to be unmistakably better and wider than its newer counterpart across the valley.

  Elke was puzzled. What could have scared these people so that they would give up on such a fine road, and put so much effort in constructing a new one in such difficult terrain? It was a convenient quandary, one that she now had the luxury to indulge, comfortable in the fact that this road, fully twice as broad, was much less in danger of being blocked as was the last.

  An hour passed before the driver administered the agreed-upon thump to the body of the coach. Elke was stirred instantly from her mindless gazing and sat up in her seat, craning her head as she did.

  The coachman had told her that the road passed close by the castle. His percussive warning of its nearness was in deference to her expressed desire not to miss seeing it up close. This was made the more necessary by their celerity; he made it quite clear to her that short of a dead horse or thrown wheel they would not be stopping or slowing near the place.

  And there it was, coming into view. That castle with which she was so familiar at a distance loomed large now in her small coach window. Close indeed did they pass its walls—too close!

  She slid on the seat from left right to improve her view. Here the road became trapped between steep mountainside and the gatehouse of the fortress. The doors of this gatehouse—heavy, reinforced, with a smaller wicket door set within—stood open, revealing an expansive yet empty courtyard.

  To his word the coachman was true. Elke detected a significant increase in their pace as they passed in front of the castle. This was accentuated by the grade that had leveled considerably. In no time she was forced to change seats to keep the massy edifice within her sight.

  At such proximity, Elke’s illusions were forced to confront reality. Before, perched high above the valley, the castle had taken on an almost fairy-tale air, especially on sunny days when it seemed to glisten in the light. Here now, she could see the real construction of the place: rough, functional, and uneven. The truth was that her gem in the mountains was a thick and simple, conflict-scarred monstrosity. Ancient, with obvious and unattractive variations in stonework, it looked to her—purely a layperson in such matters—as if it had reached its current state over the course of millennia. Of the collective whole, the gatehouse appeared newest, though its design still far from modern, and to this, the aged central tower served a likely antithesis. The coachman had called this way the “Roman Road,” and looking at the castle’s foundational stones, Elke could very well believe the old civilization responsible for laying the groundwork for the burg.

  As the castle passed out of view, so too subsided her overawe, which freed her mind to admit to having noticed something peculiar amidst the late stimulation.

  Were those carriage tracks that she had seen in the snow? Who, or what, had so recently entered the castle? Or had they come out?

  Perhaps she was imagining them, for she had been preoccupied with the structure itself, not so much the snow on the ground in front of it. Surely her driver would know. Elke resolved to ask him that evening when they arrived at their destination. Encouraged thus to check her watch, she still held out hope that the stop be more suitable and distant than tiny Bergdorf am Pass.

  Higher and higher they climbed, until the snow-covered valley below looked like cloud tops might from
Heaven. Their progress slowed; the passenger owed this to either a strain on the horses, or to the coachman shepherding their resources, with the latter being by far the most preferable.

  Unlike the newer road, this old road offered sweeping vistas; here the mountainside was rocky and less forested. They were near the ridge. Beyond, the road on the valley side was steep and treacherous, but on the other—to Elke’s left, as she had returned to her original seat—the terrain curved gently into a scant timberline. The broad spacing between these trees made it easy for her to see the creatures that now moved through the snow in parallel to their course.

  Two, at first, became three, then four. Before long, Elke realized their slow-going coach was being shadowed by a pack of wolves! A fear began to grip her, making it hard for her to breathe. Quickly she glanced from these wolves to the steep drop to the valley floor on her right and then back again.

  In the flatland, a four-horse coach had little to fear from a few wolves. Here in the snow with winded horses, and on such a grade, Elke was not as sanguine. She wondered if the coachman had noticed them. Surely he did? But, if so, why had he not picked up their pace?

  Alarmed, she began banging on the roof of the coach with her fist and yelling warnings to him as loudly as she could.

  Suddenly, at last, Elke felt the coach accelerate, and with this came the driver’s voice, though she knew not whether his mad barks be for the horses or the wolves.

  She returned to her post at the window and witnessed with growing panic the movements of their pursuers. The lead wolf, somewhat larger than the others, began to vector his host into their path with the obvious intent to harass.

  It worked. Startled, the skittish horses bucked their restraints, causing the carriage to lurch wildly. Elke held on for a sickening ride. As the wolves took turns darting in and out at the beleaguered horses, the coach careened ever faster and more unnaturally along the precipice.

  The driver became beside himself; Elke could hear him howling. Yet his efforts, if he made any beyond that distressing noise, were ineffectual. She could detect no sign in their teetering passage that he was anything now other than as reluctant a passenger as she.

  Each second stretched into an eternity. The terrified teacher began to pray desperately for the wits to be restored to their horses, but it was too late. A violent yaw, signaling their departure from the road, ejected her from her seat, and in the next moment the carriage completely overturned.

  Elke crashed down into what had been the roof of the coach. Her head forcefully struck the firm lacquered wood just before it splintered on the rocks—rocks that had lain hidden in ambush beneath the snow.

  VI

  Pain, tormenting pain, made itself manifest from oblivion. Of spontaneous generation, this suffering existed as a universe unto itself alone with no need of, or connection to, any other perception, even the passage of time.

  Yet pain must be experienced, as suffering entails its opposite, and everything must have its origin. And so it came to pass that a consciousness developed—one that sought to separate itself from the raw feeling of utter agony it lay subject to.

  Striving, this independent process began categorizing its misery, which it soon discovered was neither pervasive nor equal in its degree.

  The first to be discretely identified was characterized as a throbbing, focused persistence—one that made the whole activity more difficult. The second came and went in rhythmic measure. The third, and the rest, were less severe, more distributed.

  It was in this way that Elke Schreiber awoke, fully four days after the accident that had almost killed her.

  Elke opened her eyes to discover herself in a sparse stone room of middling size. She lay upon a large wood-framed bed, covered with a thick woolen blanket. Opposite her was an active fireplace; though some five paces distant, this cast its warmth even to her face.

  She tried to sit up but found this maneuver at once excruciating, dizzyingly so. Though her head smarted most, her chest too made more than slight movements nigh impossible; that rhythmic regular pain she had identified earlier came from the simple process of breathing, suggestive of broken ribs.

  Parched, Elke looked around as best she could for something to drink. She was just able to turn her head enough to spy a pitcher on the small table near her bed. Summoning her strength, the stricken teacher tried with all of her might to reach it, but to no avail; the pain from this action proved so great as to cause her to lose consciousness.

  Hours passed before she again awoke to her surroundings. This time she was not alone.

  Stooping over the fireplace was a slight figure. Elke could not see her face, but she was certain that this was a woman—ancient by appearance, with hunched back and thinning black hair. After stoking the fire, this woman turned to the bed, and Elke, with a start, beheld her crone-like visage. The young invalid might have gasped—so apt was the face for its shriveled body—had it not hurt her to breathe. Nevertheless, Elke felt her heart quicken as the witchy creature began shambling toward her. Hastily she closed her slit eyes and tried to feign a peaceful slumber; however, her mock repose became more and more difficult the closer the woman drew.

  Once beside, Elke detected a novel smell from this person. The faint scent had earthy and aromatic qualities which were not in any way unpleasant.

  What is she doing? thought Elke, not bold enough to open her eyes and see for herself the activity taking place at the table. She soon felt something cool and hard touch her lips, and the shock of this surprise almost caused her to betray her pretended state.

  A saucer, surmised the thirsty teacher, just before cool water began seeping slowly into her dry mouth. The spare drizzle did little to ease her drought, but Elke was thankful for it. It occurred to her to simply ask for more, but she was not yet ready to speak with this stranger. Thus she lay there, eyes closed, fiercely hoping for as much water as she could get from the old woman.

  Too soon the dish and its sustenance were removed, and she could hear her nurse departing. At the door’s signal of solitude, Elke re-opened her eyes for a determined survey of her surroundings.

  The room was sparsely furnished and devoid of decoration. Within her recumbent view were two windows situated on each side of the large fireplace. Scarcely more than slits, these showed nothing without but the blackness of night. Excepting the fire, the illumination in the room came from at least two visible wall sconces, though a third was likely, as light appeared to emanate from behind her. Other than her bed and nightstand, a furry black rug and small table with two chairs positioned along the opposite wall were the only other furnishings. Growing up in the city, Elke had never seen such a rug as this one centered before the fire, but after careful consideration she deduced it to be bearskin.

  Elke could move her right arm freely to her elbow. The pain came when she tried to include that shoulder. Her other arm ached somewhat, but was freer still. She could wiggle her toes and move her feet without much difficulty, yet when she tried to involve the whole of either leg, the pain was too great. After some experimentation, she learned that this was due more to her injured chest and torso than anything having to do with her legs, though there was a minor pain in her right thigh. Her head, Elke decided, suffered not one injury but two, together conspiring to prevent her from turning more than twenty or so degrees. The first of these involved her neck and the other along her head on the right. This must have resulted in a nasty bruise, or worse; reaching up delicately with her left hand, she could feel a bandage there.

  Her most pressing problem was getting more water. She still couldn’t sit up, and her right hand only worked to the elbow—insufficient to reach back and up for the pitcher. Exhausted by her feeble activity, Elke resigned herself to her fate. She would have to engage with the old woman when and if she returned.

  The sound of the door woke her, and through bleary eyes Elke could see her withered nurse shuffl
ing in, clutching firewood. Though now desperate for nourishment, Elke watched and waited while the woman slowly added her few sticks to the brightly burning fire.

  The blaze sufficiently encouraged, the old woman turned to her patient to discover that she was conscious. Their eyes met. Elke was done pretending to sleep and wanted to finally have a proper look at this stranger who was going to such lengths to help her. The crone’s eyes had a kindness to them that belied her otherwise unfortunate and frightening appearance.

  “Well, well,” said the old nurse to her charge with a smile. The teeth she still had were yellowed and crooked.

  “Water . . .” croaked Elke in weak reply, surprising herself by her lack of formality.

  “I have some for you, here,” said the woman, as she began shambling toward her and gesturing to the nightstand.

  This time a cup was offered, but Elke was unable to sit up enough to drink from it; trying to do so caused her excruciating pain. Noticing her wince, the old woman replaced the cup on the table and prepared the saucer as before.

  “Is it your head?” asked the woman as she offered Elke the saucer of water.

  “My neck . . .” replied Elke, with difficulty, before drinking what she could.

  With the old woman very close to her, Elke again noticed that scent from before. Warm and somewhat spicy, it served only to enhance her appetite—this, in spite of its association with such an ugly face as now bearing down upon her.

  As she struggled to drink from the shallow saucer, Elke tried her best—with her eyes—to express her overflowing gratitude to her benefactor who seemed to recognize this; the old woman patiently refilled the saucer many times until the injured teacher had drunk her fill.

  “I will go and make you some broth,” said the woman before turning to the door.

  “Thank you,” Elke whispered.

  At the door the woman stopped and turned back. “You’re a good girl. It is no trouble for me. Sleep, dear.” Having said this, she departed.