Castle of Sighs

by Jennifer Murgia

I choke back a heavy breath, and he nods. “I’ve known for a long time that I was different. I could never be the boy my brother was, no matter how hard I tried. It appears you and I both have something more than human running through our veins, don’t we?”

  “Yes, we do.” I regret now ever questioning what he means to me—there is no other person who understands me so well, who knows how I feel, inside and out, like he does.

  “My father not accepting me is my own fault,” Laurentz confesses. “My parents believed I was theirs, but I knew the truth.”

  “You’re still his son, Laurentz.”

  He shakes his head slowly. “Burg Eltz will never be mine. The castle will stay as my father’s, and should he and my stepmother have a son, it will be his. I’ll make sure of it. I’ll just have to push on to find my place in this world without the help of my father’s name.”

  “Your place is with me,” I whisper. “A fortune I never had the chance for Matilde to read to me.”

  He pulls me close, resting his lips upon the top of my head. “Then what lies on the other side of this door? Is it fortune as well? Or is it the end?”

  I unfold my fingers and hold the key out to him, watch him take it and set it in the old lock.

  The door swings wide open with a groan.

  In my mind I saw this room as I read of it in the pages of the grimoire. I’d imagined it perfectly—small and circular with walls reaching high into the tower’s alcove above, the ceiling merging to a point at the very center above our heads. Now, at its threshold, I notice how the air smells different here, of spice and magick, tingling my nose, stinging at the back of my throat. It isn’t the soured, offensive odor the lower floors have succumbed to. Here, it is pleasant, lighter, drawing us into the space and convincing us we needn’t go back.

  The first thing I see is the wide mouth of the fireplace. This is where it all began, in this room—ashes in exchange for my mother’s life.

  The door creaks to a stop, showing us the wide-planked floor. In its center, a small bundle curls up.

  Relief pours through me. “Niclaus!”

  My hand flies to my mouth and Laurentz grabs my shoulders, ready to yank me back into the stairwell.

  “Careful.” Laurentz warns. “Whoever locked him within could still be here.”

  But I don’t want to be careful. I want to go to him and collect him in my arms.

  “Niclaus?” I edge closer. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

  His tiny body is hunched over, arms wrapped about his legs, knees drawn up to his chest. I can only imagine how traumatic this has been for him—the visions he’d seen, learning I am a witch. And now this.

  “Niclaus, please answer me.” When he doesn’t, I turn to Laurentz, “He must have seen how the castle changed,” I whisper. “It must have frightened him enough to come searching for a place far away from what this place really is.”

  “But how did he get in?” Laurentz steps in closer, ready to lift the child in his arms and carry him back down.

  I step around and bend to the boy’s level, my face searching for his to lift from the shelter of his folded arms. “It’s all right, I’m here now.” His head lifts slowly until he is face to face with my own, and he smiles a crooked little grin. I stumble backward, staring at him as he moves to stand, his eyes shining like beads of glass.

  “Rune!” Laurentz reaches out for me but stops, and then I see why.

  Niclaus and I are in the center of the room, surrounded by a deep, black circle ringed with a smear of white. Salt.

  “Don’t be afraid, Rune.” Niclaus’s voice is calm, as if I’ve just woken from a bad dream and it is he who has come to aid me. “Matilde showed me how to find my way back.”

  I shake my head. “Matilde is dead.”

  His smile grows wider. “Oh, but you’re wrong. She’s always been here. She never left.” His words tear at me, knowing where to lash and strike, knowing my heart won’t take it if he speaks of her that way. My resolve crumbles and my heart aches for her, to see her just one more time and feel her warm arms wrap around me. But Matilde’s death has left me in a continual nightmare—the only good of it is Laurentz and the children.

  “She never left, and neither have the others. Neither have I,” his little boy voice rings out, filling the room. “I’ve been waiting for you, Rune.”

  “Who are you?” I whisper.

  “Do you want to play a game?” I feel my world shifting. His innocence conflicts with the menacing confidence of his words and I wait, and hope, for the boy I know to resurface and leap into my arms. Only, he doesn’t.

  Laurentz leans over my shoulder, “Careful, I’ve heard of this. The bishop once held a homily about evil. It’s some sort of possession.”

  I cannot help but cringe at the mention of the bishop, but realize that something very wrong is sitting in this room, doing a very good job at pretending to be a little boy. Perhaps there is such a thing as possession.

  Scrunching his face as if he’d just been scolded, Niclaus is suddenly defiant. “I’ve just been…dormant. My body is borrowed. Much like yours, isn’t it, Laurentz? Like when we’d pretend together. Only now I’m not pretending.” He flicks his finger, and from out of the shadows the grimoire flies to him, the enormous book almost too heavy for his little arms to carry. He thumbs past the opening pages, bits of aged parchment crumbling to his feet. “Each witch, each daughter, since the first stone was ever laid as Pyrmont’s foundation, has breathed life into me, making me stronger.”

  I may see a young boy in front of me, but he is anything but inside. Whatever Matilde broke and banished from Pyrmont all those years ago has found a way back and taken over an innocent child.

  “But the grimoire…” I stumble on my words, my mind having trouble processing that the young boy in front of me could be something more, something much darker.

  “The grimoire was never finished.” He shakes his head like I am a silly girl who should have already known this. “It has only recorded the lives of the witches who’ve allowed Pyrmont to hide them from the villages. It never recorded the one who chose to live among them. And it has yet to hold your story, as well.”

  My mind whirls at the very idea of another witch living amongst us, here—in Bavaria, in the neighboring villages that jut up against Pyrmont. To my knowledge, I am the only one. My mother’s coven had been destroyed years ago. Matilde is gone. There is no one left, and Laurentz and his father have made sure the witch hunts ended before they could spread beyond this area.

  Niclaus sits on the floor, twisting his legs so that the grimoire rests upon them, then opens the great red book and begins reading, as if we are here for a child’s nursery rhyme.

  I feel Laurentz at my back. He, too, seems uncomfortable at the boy’s easy demeanor. “Do you know why no man has ever truly owned this castle? The marriages are but an illusion. It is the witch who owns Pyrmont’s land, not the Electorate. The line was to die with you, dear Rune. But sooner or later, we all come back to Pyrmont.”

  His dark eyes stare through me for a few moments, causing my mind to spin. Who would have chosen to live elsewhere, besides Matilde? Who else has come back? Who else knows?

  “Ah, you’re so close, Rune.”

  Adelaide.

  Adelaide was there the night my mother was born, learning from Matilde, learning the ways of the Craft and the olde magick.

  Why did she come to the cottage long ago for her fortune to be read? Was it coincidence? Or had she intended to visit Matilde on purpose? She was the reason why Matilde wanted me to leave and gather far from the cottage. And as soon as I allow the thought to enter, that terrible day comes crashing into my head, my heart. How I regret not listening and doing as I was told. If I’d only stayed away from the market I never would have traded the mushrooms for the linen handkerchief and later…oh later!

  A childish giggle echoes inside the small chamber. Niclaus has closed the grimoire and now sits, clapping his hands, for I’ve begu
n to piece it all together, and just as I am about to grab Laurentz and run for the door his innocent smile disappears and turns cruel.

  “You stand in the circle with me, Rune, a circle no ordinary Witch may enter, and one that even you cannot leave. Face what you are. Accept your duties to Pyrmont, and to me.”

  The room tilts, the floor slopes, and I feel the force of the circle, holding me trapped within it. The corner of my eye catches Laurentz watching me, helpless. His face is a mask of horror—half-man, half-boy, sewn together with thick black cording and oozing sores. And I know…I know what lurks inside poor little Niclaus.

  A cold hand touches me and pulls me back to reality, only it is another view. The tower chamber is different and beautiful, with rich tapestries upon its bare walls and a warm fire in the hearth. My hand tingles with fierce power that seeps from my fingertips. It is strong and vibrant. I only have to wish for something and it is mine. My head turns slowly to see Niclaus, but instead of a boy, he is a swirling mass of destruction and doom—and I lunge for him, my fingers ready to squeeze around his tender neck.

  “No, Rune!” his voice quivers with fear. “You’ve promised to take care of me! Of me and Margret.”

  I don’t know what the truth is anymore, all I know is he is not the boy I promised to watch over. He is something dark and evil instead. And I must stop him. I’m the last blood-witch. It ends with me.

  “Stop!” a figure steps from the shadows, terror upon her face, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please stop! He’s just a boy!”

  Chapter 38

  A delaide pauses at the edge of the room. Wringing her hands, she throws herself upon the floor just outside the circle, clawing at the air, as if it will break away and let her cross to the inside. It is so hard to believe that the girl I’d read about in the grimoire and the cunning visitor come for her fortune long ago are one and the same.

  Niclaus stares at her with cold eyes, watching her crumple, weeping. A soft muttering flows from her lips, causing my heart to soften, for the sound is so desperate, so heart-wrenching. Somehow, she finds the strength to stand and stare at me from the other side of the circle. We are only feet apart, yet the distance is that of a canyon.

  “I remember this room,” she whispers. “Your mother was born in this very tower.” Her eyes leave mine and gaze upon the broom. I know what she is remembering. I can see it in my head as if it is happening before us. Death and life exploding in one horrifyingly beautiful moment—a midwife’s death cries melding into a newborn’s quiet coos.

  “She frightened you.”

  “The Lady of Pyrmont?” Her eyes return to mine. “Yes. More than you’ll ever know. But Matilde kept me strong, and before long I learned the way of the Pyrmont witches and what it meant to serve them. My fear turned into awe, and then respect. And while Matilde and I both served our Lady, it was to Matilde whom I remained ever loyal, even when she left for the forest.”

  Even though I had spent hours reading the grimoire, learning how Matilde fit in here long before she was the softly bent woman I’d loved more than anything in this world, it still brought a thick wave of sadness to my heart to hear someone say her name out loud.

  “It was Matilde who showed me that magick and sacrifice could be things of wonder, not of destruction. It was she who opened my eyes. When I came back and hid the parchment in the grimoire like she had asked, I had no idea that opening the box would awaken such a terrible wanting inside me.” Her red-rimmed eyes soften in the pale light of the room as she looks upon the little boy beside me, as if she cannot help but fall under the spell of his youthful face.

  “What happened, Adelaide?” I whisper, prompting her, hoping it might prove to be useful to get Niclaus back.

  Adelaide’s voice trembles, “I knew the line fell to the female born. I had hoped all I’d learned would be enough, that while I could never bear a blood witch, I could teach her, as Matilde had taught me. It could be enough… I so wanted it to be…but the Sacred Mother had other plans.”

  The room falls silent and my eyes take in what I’ve missed all along. How Niclaus’s hair is soft and curls like hers, how his cheek follows the same line to his jaw bone. “You kept him a secret from the bishop?”

  “That man would have killed him, even if he were mine,” her eyes are bright, nearly feverish, as she begs for me to understand. “So I brought him to Pyrmont with another lie—that he’d been orphaned. If he were here with the other children then I’d be able to be with him. Only, it wasn’t enough for me.”

  Laurentz steps forward and stands beside her, offering his hand as she sways with unsteady emotion.

  “I called upon the darkness, coaxing it from its corners, praying it would take pity upon me and let me live in peace with my son.” Adelaide’s face drains of color, stark white against the black dress she wears. “I’d never belong to Pyrmont, but my child could, trained by shadows and darkness, he could keep the line, and he would make it stronger.”

  The idea is almost unbelievable. “A male witch? That’s…”

  A strong grip seizes my wrist and when I look down, I am stunned, for the grasp upon my skin does not fit one so young.

  “Do you want to play with me now, Rune?” Niclaus’s voice is so sweet, so taunting, but before I can answer he is gone, and I am alone in the circle, trapped, and Laurentz and Adelaide are helpless on the other side.

  Childish laughter chimes throughout the tower chamber. Our heads turn to follow it in confusion. It is here, and then there.

  Adelaide’s eyes flicker with maternal concern, searching for him. “Where has he gone?”

  Laurentz hurries to the other side of the room, checking the space Adelaide hid in just moments before, then to the window, peering out into the black night. “I don’t know.”

  “How is that possible?” Adelaide’s cries fill the room and I shake my head. I’ve never seen anything like this in all my life.

  Pacing the small circle, I place my hands in the deep pockets of my dress…and then freeze. “He’s stolen the key from my pocket.”

  Adelaide pales at my words. “The chamber below the castle.”

  “Are you sure?” Laurentz asks her, then turns to me, only to find the answer in my eyes.

  “What have I done?” Adelaide cries out. “What he will have at his fingertips—the potions and poisons, all for the taking. The cabinet! The darkest of charms are kept inside it. If he finds them, there is no telling what he’ll use them for.”

  Laurentz lingers in the doorway, “Isn’t he dark enough? What use could herbs and spells be to whatever has inhabited Niclaus? Does one so dark need such things?”

  “It’s the intent,” I whisper. Both turn their heads toward the circle and wonder what I mean. “There is no white or black magick, it’s the intent within the witch’s heart that allows the spell to Cast for good or for harm. Magick is magick.” I let my words fall like weighted stones, as my thoughts form a plan. “I say we fight it with our most powerful weapon.”

  Adelaide frowns in confusion.

  “We have a circle,” I say, stretching my arms wide, looking at the floor beneath my feet. “I say we Cast.”

  Chapter 39

  “Power comes in three,” I tell them. “There is a reason the lineage of darkness and light fell to my family. It fell to the Maid, the Mother, and the Crone. My mother was born of darkness. Matilde was a harbinger of light, raising me to honor the Mother. It was how I was able to cross the water when no other Pyrmont Witch could.”

  “There are three of us,” Laurentz looks from Adelaide, then to me. “Can it be done?”

  But Adelaide shakes her head. “I’m no Witch.”

  “You learned from Matilde, as I did.” My tone urges her to find some strength. “Laurentz is of her handiwork. We’ve all been touched by her…and I know Niclaus saw Matilde in his visions. She was warning us, but we didn’t understand in time.”

  We each wait for the first of us to speak—to agree, or to argue against
the idea of working together to banish this ancient evil once and for all, and to save Niclaus.

  Then finally, “If there’s one thing I learned, it’s to have plenty of salt handy.” Adelaide reaches into her cloak, producing a small leather pouch; upon her tear-stained face, a sly smile curls on her lips.

  We set to work. Adelaide sprinkles a line of salt over the residue of past circles, while Laurentz builds a torch, wrapping torn strips of Adelaide’s cloak around a piece of wood he’s pulled free from the door’s frame.

  “You’ll find a few things in a sealed jar atop the kitchen mantle,” I tell Laurentz. “Pepperwort, Red Storax, and Saffron. The basket at the door contains White Sandalwood Bark, there isn’t much there but bring all you can.”

  Adelaide’s job will be much more dangerous, but she’s assured me she is more than willing.

  “I made the mistake of summoning, Rune. You must let me search for the rest.”

  I am leery of letting her go into the forest in her state. She and I both know it feeds off emotions, and when witchcraft is mixed in, the outcome is never good. “Are you certain you know what you’re looking for?”

  “I’ve accompanied Matilde on a number of gatherings. I know where the Nightshade grows.”

  It is a great risk to hunt for the herb, let alone touch it, but I agree to let her go. The spell won’t work without it, and the leaves should be less toxic in the winter cold.

  “And Hemlock,” I tell her. “I noticed the burrs along the forest’s edge the other day. I’m certain Agrimony grows there. I’ll need that, too.”

  When I am alone in the tower I begin my own work. Confined to the circle, I Cast my petition to the Sacred Mother to guide me and then, I call upon my mother and Matilde. “Please hear my call, help me in this most dire hour. For the three of you have each been my mother—Sacred Mother, I am your daughter of spirit, Leise, I am your daughter of flesh, and Matilde, I am the daughter of your heart. By the power of three I invoke your spirits to fill me and give me strength against this malevolent darkness.” Eyes closed, palms out, I search for them. I know they are near—they’ve been with me always.