At Witches' End

by Annette Oppenlander

  “Sorry, sir, I must haste.” She curtsied and rushed back inside, leaving me standing like an idiot among the tables. I was about to creep inside when I noticed a wagon approaching and stopping in front. Behind the driver sat none other than Ott and… Adela.

  I did a double take because Adela looked so different from what I remembered. Her filthy housedress had been replaced by a dark green gown with long sleeves and a veil across her neck. She wore her hair in braids, not as intricate as Lady Clara, but nonetheless beautiful.

  Except there were dark bruises on her forearm and collarbone and Ott’s filthy fingers encircled her wrist like bony handcuffs. Coming to my senses I slipped back outside and rushed across the courtyard to hide in the shadows of the old oak tree.

  Just then other sounds rose from up the street, men shouting, the clip clop of horses and the rhythmic snapping of a whip. From the corner of my eye I noticed Ott yanking on Adela’s arm to pull her toward the inn’s entrance.

  At the same time several horses came into view, their riders sporting the blue and yellow colors of Schwarzburg. I cringed. I was having déjà vu. Schwarzburg’s troops were once again surrounding the Klausenhof. Why couldn’t the man mind his own business and stay in Heiligenstadt and on Rusteberg?

  Behind the riders rolled a horse cart. Not the nice kind Ott had shown up in, but a primitive wooden box suitable for livestock. And inside, arms and legs tied with ropes like a helpless animal sat Luanda.

  Suddenly trembling I pulled up my gugel hood and squeezed against the oak. Neither Ott nor any of the customers on the patio had moved. Everyone was eager to see what was going on with Schwarzburg’s trek. As the cart pulled around front, I had a good view of Luanda.

  She appeared to be asleep, her eyes closed, her left cheek bloody and bruised. Something cold crept up my back. Luanda who’d saved the lives of hundreds of villagers, including a bunch of Hanstein’s knights was going to be burned at the stake.

  Someone had tipped off Schwarzburg and he’d finally come to take revenge. Since he couldn’t get Hanstein, he was going after those who were easily accessible. My throat tightened. Luanda had helped me time and again, feeding me, saving Bero’s life, always sharing her home.

  I wanted to run to her, take her away from the brutes who towered six feet above her. From the way she hung in the ropes, she could be dead already.

  I almost shrieked when somebody pulled my arm. It was Alexander, his eyes large with worry.

  “I did remember one thing,” he whispered. I had trouble hearing him over the neighing and yelling. One voice in particular made me freeze. It was the cold one, the one that sounded like the speaker was calling from the grave. Wolf.

  “The man who took your bundle was Schwarzburg’s lead soldier. He nodded toward Wolf. “That one.”

  I produced a mumbled “thanks,” but Alexander had already slipped away.

  My brain was ready to explode. I had to get my coat from the worst mercenary in Schwarzburg’s forces, Luanda was in trouble and I had to rescue Adela. All of that while not being discovered in the snake’s nest of the inn.

  You’re nuts, my mind huffed. You’ll not be home by this evening, you’ll be dead or at least in chains sitting next to Luanda. Schwarzburg’s men were shoving their way onto the patio, pushing aside guests while Wolf and a couple of his friends headed inside. I bent low as if I were rearranging my boot ties and kept peering around the tree.

  It was obvious they had wine and food in mind, now that they’d arrested the dangerous witch. Such brave men. Ganging up on an old woman who’d done nothing but devote her life to helping others.

  In the depth of my brain an idea began to form. You’re out of your mind, Max. It’ll never work.

  And if she doesn’t want it?

  Chapter 27

  I raced up the path, then down toward the river. Time was of the essence. Thick smoke billowed between bushes and trees. I crept closer. Luanda’s cabin stood in flames, the front door ajar, her sparse furnishings in pieces, her pots in shards in the front yard.

  Fighting my instinct to run, I hurried to the door. The room was engulfed in smoke, the air so thick I couldn’t draw breaths. I ran to the well, wet my shirt and shoved it over my face.

  Head low, eyes biting from the acrid fumes, I rushed back inside. Surprisingly, the wood siding hadn’t caught well because it was aged as hard as rock. Most of what was burning were the burlap sacks and herbs Luanda had lovingly collected over four decades.

  My heart ached remembering me sitting at the table eating nut bread and drinking peppermint tea, Bero on the cot more dead than alive.

  Quit thinking and get busy, my mind roared. I made it to the wall with the shelf, but it was empty. Closing my tearing eyes against the smoke, I dropped to my knees.

  It was impossible to see more than two feet, the air thick and painful to breathe and getting hotter. Quick, you must be quick. I kept crawling and rummaging, when my fingers made contact with something solid and rectangular.

  The box.

  I lifted it. The same rattle.

  As I turned toward the door, a roof beam dropped across the entrance, its flames two feet high. I took aim and leaped across, half-falling half-flying off the front porch and landing among the broken furniture.

  Sucking air, I inspected my hand, my fingers clutched tightly around the box. I slid it open, removed Luanda’s driver’s license and hid it in my pant pocket.

  By the time I reached the intersection where the path split going to Hanstein and the Klausenhof, my resolve fizzled. They were going to kill me if I helped Luanda. And how could I rescue Adela and at the same time find out what Wolf had done with my cape?

  I needed help… I needed Bero.

  I turned sharply and hurried uphill. By the time I reached Hanstein’s gate, my lungs ached from smoke and exertion.

  “Let me in, it’s urgent,” I panted. My eyes must’ve looked like I was going crazy, the guard opened the door without comment.

  I scanned the bailey, painfully aware that every second brought Luanda closer to death. Bero was practice-fighting with a younger squire while Enders sat watching from the sidelines. He looked pale, but the knot on his head had shrunk and his eyes flashed once more.

  “I’ve got to talk to you.” I barged in. Bero seemed as alarmed as the guard.

  “Why are you black as coal at night?” he asked, scrutinizing my face.

  “Luanda’s cabin is in flames. They’re taking her to the city to burn at the stake.”

  Bero began to squint, the way he does when he’s mad.

  “I need your help. Now!”

  “I am ready.” Bero grabbed his real sword from the wall and attached it.

  “You can’t attack them openly,” I said as we hurried downhill. “I’ve got another idea.”

  “Tell me.”

  “Just help me get close to the cart. Distract Schwarzburg’s men for a bit.”

  “Did your brain fall out of your skull?” Bero said. “Schwarzburg’s soldiers will kill me before I make a move.”

  “You’ll think of something. Oh, Adela and Ott are at the inn.”

  “What?” Bero took in a loud breath. He obviously needed a minute to digest this bit of news.

  “I’ve got something to make him tired, if you can get it in his food.”

  “First you want to deliver me to Schwarzburg, now you want to poison Ott again? I think your brain fried in the fire.”

  I was about to snap back when I saw Wolf appear on the inn’s patio. I pushed Bero behind the oak tree as Wolf smacked one of his men across the face, his gauntlet leaving a bloody tear in the guy’s chin.

  “I told you to leave them alone,” he sneered, his voice as icy as the arctic. The girl in question stood cowering to the side, her cap askance and her cheeks glowing while the offending soldier stood with his head bent low.

  “Watch the cart,” he said. “We shall leave soon.”

  I exchanged a glance with Bero, new panic making my l
egs tremble. Why hadn’t I gotten here five minutes earlier? Now we had a pissed-off soldier standing guard on top of all the other holes in my plan.

  Luanda may not want to go and the game may not let her because of her outfit. I scanned the cart where the old woman still lay with her arms and feet tied. From my viewpoint I couldn’t tell if she was awake. Chances were great they’d beaten her half to death already.

  “You go and talk to the guard,” I whispered.

  “About what?”

  “I don’t care, anything.”

  Bero made a face but headed downhill. Halfway to the cart, he straightened his shoulders and sword. He stood tall and proud. Almost as proud as I was of him.

  As Bero approached the soldier who leaned against the cart, throwing dark glances at the inn, I hurried after him, my hood pulled low over my forehead.

  “…it is a shame,” Bero was just saying as I crouched on the other side of the cart. “Why can a man not have a bit of fun?”

  The soldier grumbled something unintelligible, but Bero was unperturbed. He positioned himself in front of the inn so the soldier had to keep looking that way instead of toward the cart.

  I peered over the edge. Luanda’s eyes were closed and by now, one side of her face was swollen as if she’d stuffed a sock in her cheek.

  “Psst.”

  Nothing.

  “Luanda?”

  Slowly, Luanda opened her eyes. She was having trouble focusing.

  “That wench is pretty sweet,” Bero could be heard. “I would love a piece myself.”

  “It’s me, Max,” I whispered. “I collected your driver’s license. You’ve got only one chance to get out of this and that is to leave the game.”

  Luanda moved her head. I couldn’t tell what it meant.

  Glancing toward the inn, I climbed over the rim and crouched next to the old woman. Unless somebody watched from the second or third floor, we were hidden by the cart’s walls.

  “Here.” I placed the license into her hands, half-expecting her to disappear.

  Nothing happened.

  I remembered my struggle with Wade in Fort Sumner when I hadn’t returned until all the foreign objects had been removed from my neck.

  “Let me be,” Luanda mumbled.

  “They’ll burn you.”

  Luanda shook her head as if to say “so what.”

  “You don’t want to burn, it’s a horrible death. Go home.”

  “How?”

  “Take off anything that you didn’t bring into the game, any herbs or potions. And all these skirts.” A terrible thought came to me. “Do you still have any of your original outfit?”

  “I burned my clothes long ago. After I…” Luanda nodded at her bound arms. “I have something around my neck.”

  Reluctantly I bent low. I didn’t exactly want to get close to a woman who could be my grandmother.

  She’s from your time. Untying a leather strip around her neck, a pouch slipped from under her shirt. I flung it aside. Still nothing.

  “Anything else?”

  Luanda shook her head.

  “Your top and skirts then.” My mind raced. What if it didn’t work? Luanda would lose her clothes and be cold and miserable, the laughing stock of the men.

  “Do it.” Luanda’s voice sounded feeble yet determined. I untied the ribbons that held her skirts and slipped them from her waist until she was in some kind of long underpants. I sighed. I couldn’t go any further.

  Shouts and laughter filtered from the inn. I peeked across the edge, heart pounding in my neck. Things were taking way too long.

  Luanda feebly tugged at the leather straps that held her wrists. “Cut the ties. I can’t get my shirt off otherwise.”

  With shaky fingers I pulled out my pocket knife. I’d not used it once in the game.

  The leather was tough and squeaked when the blade hit it. Faster. I wished for a saw.

  “Cut my top instead,” Luanda urged.

  Worried what she might wear beneath, I moved to her shirt, cutting and tearing. The same pale fabric as her underpants emerged.

  As soon as I’d stripped the last shreds from her arms, a vibration went through the wagon, followed by a gush of energy that pushed me against the cart’s wall.

  The air around Luanda dissolved into a grayish glow that shifted and wiggled as if it were alive with tiny shapeless creatures.

  Like with Karl, the edges of Luanda grew thin, then transparent. The last thing was Luanda’s gaze on me, her rain cloud eyes filled with unbearable sadness. Then she was gone.

  I shuddered, my body momentarily frozen. Poor Luanda. It was hard enough to return after a few weeks, or in Karl’s case after three years. Luanda had been here more than forty. Her identity, her life, everything she knew was here.

  Dishes clattered. A woman shrieked.

  I glanced over the rim. On the patio, a maid was on her knees picking up shards. Bero and the guard stood nearby discussing something intently. The soldier laughed as I caught a glimpse of Bero nodding at me. Heart in my throat, I clambered out and crouching low, hurried toward the oak tree.

  What had I done? Any moment they’d discover Luanda missing. Bero would most certainly be suspected. And we hadn’t even made it into the inn to find my cape or lure away Ott. My timing was lousy as usual.

  Bero and the guard strolled toward the privies.

  “Come on,” I mumbled. “Hurry up.” As the soldier disappeared behind one of the doors, Bero scampered uphill and collapsed beside me.

  “You going to slay me?” he panted, his eyes filled with wonder and fright. “If the others had come outside, that Wolf…”

  I smiled grimly. “The main thing is, it worked. She’s gone.”

  “You, she…traveled away?” He shook his head. “You told me… I did not believe it, I wanted to, but…” Bero swallowed several times.

  I threw a nervous glance at the outhouse where the guard would show up any second. “We can’t stay here. They’ll know we had something to do with it.”

  “I am not returning to Schwarzburg’s dungeon.”

  “What about Adela?” I whispered, yanking at Bero’s sleeve.

  The guard reappeared from the privy and leisurely walked toward the cart, secure in his perception that the old woman was in no condition to escape.

  A muffled cry rang out. The man bent over the cart, pulling at the ropes that were still knotted and attached to the sides. He lifted the skirts as if Luanda were hiding beneath. Throwing a worried glance at the inn, he flung down the clothes and hurried toward the Klausenhof. Seconds later, Wolf with two of his friends rushed outside, circling the cart.

  I heard “witchcraft, trickery and hell” as the men crossed themselves. Around them a crowd assembled. Every last guest of the inn hurried to gawk at the wondrous disappearance of Luanda, the witch.

  “I always knew something was amiss,” one of them cried. “She is dancing with the devil,” somebody else screeched.

  After all the things Luanda had done for the villagers, they called her names. Ignorance was hard to combat in modern times, but here it was infinitely worse.

  “You miserable dog,” Wolf shouted over the din. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

  The guard cringed and lowered his head, anticipating a beating. But Wolf had other plans. His face red as a beet he unsheathed his sword, bringing back memories of him and his thugs in the woods on the first day when he’d cut off Karl’s finger.

  In a movement so swift I always had trouble recalling how you’d maneuver so quickly, Wolf’s sword sang. The guard’s head plunked to the ground, followed by the man’s body, the sound reverberating in my ears. Blood spurted, soaking the ground and the shoes of Wolf who didn’t seem to notice. The crowd exhaled as one and quickly retreated inside.

  “We must leave, get back to Hanstein, quickly,” Bero said, tugging at my sleeve.

  I dug in my heels, frozen in disgusted fascination. “Not until we help Adela.”

  �
�They will kill us both,” Bero hissed. “Look at him. He will take our heads, too.”

  “Ott will finish Adela. She has bruises everywhere.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  With a sigh Bero slumped against the tree trunk. “What do you propose?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve got something to make him sleep. We must put it in his drink or food.”

  “Is it going to kill him?”

  I swallowed a comment about murdering people. “You want to wait or come with me?”

  “I go.”

  We hurried around the back of the building, Alexander throwing us a dark glance as we passed by the barn. The inn’s backdoor stood ajar and we slipped inside.

  We were near the kitchen, the hallway leading toward the bar and restaurant rooms. Question was where was Adela? We’d have to snoop around each room to find her.

  “I’ll check the bar,” I said. “You search the restaurant.”

  Putting up my hood, I slowly walked toward the barroom. But before I reached it, the front door swung open and Schwarzburg’s soldiers swarmed in once again. Against the bright light I recognized the silhouette of their leader, Wolf. I quickly bent low to pretend-tie my shoes, watching the men disappear into the bar.

  Hood low over my forehead I snuck closer. Smelly, drinking men filled the room, standing room only. They’d all assembled around Wolf who was sucking down some kind of ale from a pewter mug. Wiping away the foam in his beard, he announced, “Finish your beakers, we shall leave at once.”

  Low mumbling erupted as the men sucked down their drinks. Two of the soldiers were holding Wolf’s breast and back plates.

  Through the crowd I took a double take. The man was wearing my cape.

  I recognized the clasp, a silver colored piece of plastic I’d found at a carnival supply store six-hundred years from now.

  Icy fear crept up my stomach, sending bile to my mouth. The cruelest man around, aside from Schwarzburg, wore my cape. And without it I couldn’t go home.

  Head low I turned away when I collided with a grimy apron. Beer sloshed as the barkeeper swore and shoved past me. Then he froze and turned.