She reached up and felt the small scar on her neck where the man had cut her. She herself had been ready to die that day rather than surrender. But Erich could not bear to see her harmed.
That was their weakness, she realized. She must never let herself get into such a situation again, because she knew Erich would give himself up again if it happened, and the next time they might not be so lucky.
BERTRAND SERVED them a rough breakfast of acorn bread and wild honey—tossing Shadow some scraps from the remains of the squirrel pie—before they got on their way.
“I have brought you some ways from the main road, which curves to the east going north from where you must have left it,” he said when they were mounted up. “You might save some time by descending the hill on this side. There is a forest trail at the bottom which rejoins the road a half-mile or so north of here.”
“Is it safe?” Erich asked.
“It is, as far as I have taken it recently, which I will confess is not as far as the road. But if there are dangers hereabouts, I would have heard news of them. I would say it should be no more dangerous than the main road to the likes of you three.”
“We thank you for the lodging and company,” Ariel said.
“And I thank you for the healing of my leg,” Bertrand replied. He glanced at Astrid. “Though you have my apologies if you found any of my storytelling upsetting.”
Astrid straightened herself in her saddle. “I would prefer to know what lies ahead than remain content in my ignorance.”
Bertrand nodded. “Just so. However much or little of that story is true, I would advise you to take care in Marburg, for there are many there who believe it is true, and are consequently distrustful of mages.”
“My intent is to spend the night there and move on,” Erich replied.
The troll nodded. “That is wise. I do not, as I said, comport much with your kind, but should you pass this way again, I would welcome another visit.”
“I expect we will be back this way eventually,” Erich replied. “I hope your fishing is less eventful in the future.”
Bertrand laughed. “As do I.”
The three of them rode down the hill, navigating their way between Bertrand’s oak trees. A few squirrels appeared to chitter at them, upset at being driven from their acorn feast, but otherwise they saw nothing. In a few minutes, they reached the bottom of the hill and found the trail he had told them about.
Erich turned left, taking the lead. The trail was too narrow for three horses abreast, so Ariel and Astrid followed behind him, with Shadow loping alongside. The woods here were dense even with most of the leaves—all in red, brown, and gold—coloring the forest floor. The skeletal trees on either side reached over the trail above them, blocking out most of the overcast sky. The tree trunks were damp and thick with lichens.
It was cold, and the breeze through the woods chilled them. Ariel and Astrid tugged their cloaks tighter around them, though Erich seemed not to notice it. Instead he looked up. One by one, tiny sparkling crystals of snow drifted down through the branches above them.
“Look,” he said.
Ariel held out her hand, and caught a snowflake on her gloved finger.
“Snow, and we have barely begun our journey,” Astrid said.
“We may not make it to Wittenberg soon if this continues,” Erich said.
The three of them rode in silence as the snow fell quietly around them. The ground was not yet cold enough for the snow to accumulate, and for a time the snowflakes melted as soon as they came to rest.
Bit by bit, they accumulated on the bare branches of the trees, frosting them like sugar on pastries. Just when the snow threatened to cover the ground, the cloud of flakes thinned, then dissipated. But the sky remained slate gray and oppressive, and the air remained still and cold as they rode slowly down the trail.
6.
FOR THE FIRST few months of motherhood, Julia’s days ran into one another, lost as she was in a dreary fog of kitchen drudgery, sleepless nights, and caring for the baby. She had no choice but to carry the child with her wherever she went, often nursing the babe in its sling as she chopped vegetables or made bread in the baking automaton. Her own cares fell by the wayside as she moved numbly from one task to the next, her hours punctuated only by the baby’s cries, the kitchen mistress’s orders, and what little sleep she could steal.
She had often pondered as a young girl what motherhood would be like, but having had it thrust upon her unexpectedly and unwillingly, she now wondered how anyone managed it at all. Many days, it was all she could do just to put one foot in front of the other without collapsing in exhaustion.
Still, there were a few all-too-brief moments of fulfillment in the midst of this, when the baby’s needs, her kitchen duties, and her need for sleep did not interfere with each other, and she could lie with the child in peace in her bed. Having no other ideas and no energy to think of anything else, she had named the girl Maria, hoping that little homage would compensate for her sins and failings and give the baby a happy life Julia knew she was fated never to see herself.
It was not as if it mattered what she named the baby anyway. Julia did not see how she could take Maria to be baptized when she could not explain how she had borne her. For she knew that, though Philip might have cast the two of them aside, word would reach his ears were she to break her promise not to speak of what he had done to her.
It was a one-sided promise, she knew. She gave up much by adhering to it, and Philip had given her nothing for his sake, but breaking it would have consequences. Even if so many people in the castle already knew the truth, she could not speak it aloud.
Despite all this, she found that she loved Maria. For all her presence meant and did to her, Julia loved her.
She would lie beside her at night, stroking Maria’s pale blonde hair and playing with her tiny fingers. Now and then, the babe would giggle and smile at her. Julia would hold her tight, praying that somehow she would be able to get through the next few years and that Maria would grow strong and healthy. The thought that she might somehow grow sick and die as so many children did chilled Julia to her core.
Julia had nothing. Nothing but Maria. To lose her as well would kill her.
ONE BLESSED afternoon, Julia found herself off duty in the kitchen at the same time as Maria—full and happy—decided to take a long nap, on a day after the babe had slept well enough to give Julia a full night’s sleep.
The state of having little to do yet possessed of the energy to do it was so strange and long forgotten that Julia was for a while frozen into inaction, just staring blankly across her room. But after a while, she got up and walked through the castle.
In her days as a chambermaid, Julia had spent most of her time in the upper reaches of the castle or down in her room with the other servants. She had little or no time or cause to wander elsewhere.
So, as it was a pleasant fall day, she went to the rear grounds where the castle looked north past the church and over the woods. Here there was a short path that led to the round tower in the northwest corner of the compound. Julia sat on the wall and looked out on the fiery expanse of red, orange, and gold trees.
Maria stirred briefly in her sling. Julia looked down at her, but the babe was just squirming in her sleep, not waking. Maria had developed a birthmark on her head, a red spot that looked a bit like one of the leaves on the trees below the wall. Julia fussed with Maria’s hair, hoping it would hide the mark soon, knowing how some people found such things suspicious. The other women in the kitchen had noticed it, and Julia knew they saw it as some divine retribution for Julia’s sins.
For a while Julia simply enjoyed the feeling of having nothing to really think about. Yet after some minutes, she looked over at the tower, wondering what went on there. She had never been inside, though she knew part of it served as the castle’s dungeon. She could see the iron bars on the lower windows. But the upper levels seemed to serve a different purpose. She was not brave enough to e
nter herself and see, but looking at it made her realize how little she knew about so much of this huge dwelling where she had spent most of her life.
Then one of the windows in the tower’s pointed roof opened, and a man looked out. He seemed to be seeking nothing but a bit of fresh air, but then he caught her gaze before she could look away. He waved. Embarrassed—but happy at the small gesture of friendship—she returned the wave shyly.
The man withdrew from the window, and Julia returned to her reverie over the woods. Then she realized the man was emerging from the door at the base of the tower and walking up the stone path toward her. His gaze in her direction made his purpose clear.
Julia was torn between concern at having caught another man’s eye and her loneliness at being shunned for so long in the kitchen. The loneliness won out, and she remained where she was.
“Hello,” the man said amiably. He was perhaps forty or so, balding and clean-shaven, dressed in long wool robes.
“Hello, sir,” she replied.
“What are you doing here?”
“Just enjoying the afternoon.”
He noticed the babe around her neck but said nothing. “What is your name? What do you do here?”
“Julia. I work in the kitchens.”
“My name is Constantine. I am one of the court mages, an artificer. Do you know what that is?”
“I am not sure. You make magic things out of metal?”
“Yes. The automata. You have seen them?”
“We have several in the kitchen. They are useful, though I confess I do not understand how they work.”
Julia had said the right thing. The man’s face lit up.
“Would you like to see? My workshop is in the tower.”
Again Julia wavered between caution and a desire for some companionship, brief though it must be. But this man seemed harmless. Surely he meant no ill to her with a babe about her neck? As well, she realized she was curious about the automata.
She managed a small smile. “Yes.”
He motioned for her to follow. “Come, then. It’s just up those stairs.”
Julia rose from the wall and followed him down the path to the tower, where a stone staircase led up the side to a stout wooden door. Past the door there was another set of stairs leading to the top level.
The artificer’s workshop was cramped, for the ceiling sloped inward on all sides with the roof above. A dormer opened to the left through the roof, forming a small open room, and a large fireplace sat in the center of the main room. But Julia’s attention was immediately seized by the bits and pieces of automata all about, strewn over tables and workbenches. There were curved plates of brass, brass shells in many shapes, gears, rods, wires, and other unidentifiable parts of all sorts. Many of the completed automata appeared to be in the form of birds. There was a brass owl on a perch, with a brass falcon beside it. Three crows in various states of completion sat on a shelf, with a fourth, completed version on yet another perch beside them. She saw many other things in a half-finished state, cables and parts hanging out.
The mage stood beside her, clearly pleased at her amazed reaction. “It is a mess, I am sorry, but there is no helping it.” He waved to her again. “Come, look closer.”
She followed him to one workbench, where a small brass man, about the size of a child, lay on its back. Its chest was open, and she could see what looked like a large clock spring inside. But its face was far from childlike, instead being fitted with a large nose and a sheet of brass mail, apparently its beard.
“This is a project for the Landgrave. He asked me to make him a fool. It is meant to resemble a dwarf.”
The mention of Philip chilled Julia’s mood, but she buried the feelings as best she could.
“What will it do?”
“It will be able to dance and tumble and such things, but it will also be able to speak, and hopefully sing.”
Julia had never heard of a singing automaton. “It will speak?”
“With luck. If I can overcome certain problems I have not yet solved. Here, look.” He indicated a brass cylinder on the bench beside the fool. “This is the voice box. I can make sounds with it, but so far not speech. The enchantments are complicated.”
“I cannot imagine.”
Constantine showed her several other things he was working on. Julia’s attention wavered—too much of it was beyond her comprehension, such that things began looking all the same—until he pulled out a small automaton bird about the size of a sparrow.
“A simple thing, just a toy, really, but look.”
He set it on a table, and it hopped about bobbing its head. Julia suddenly felt Maria moving and realized the baby was awake. Constantine held up the little bird, and Maria let out a giggle, reaching for it clumsily. But Julia tucked her back into the sling.
“Your husband,” Constantine asked slowly, “does he work in the castle?”
Julia took a short breath. “I have no husband. Her father . . .” Her voice trailed off. What could she tell him?
“He is dead,” she said finally.
What else was she to say? He might as well be, for all the difference it made to Maria.
“I am sorry,” Constantine replied.
She did not like the look that came into his eyes, though it was far from unexpected. She looked down and fussed briefly with Maria. When she looked up again, Constantine was holding out the bird toward her.
“For the baby. If it amuses her.”
Julia shook her head. “I cannot.”
“Please. It is nothing. Just a toy. I specialize in birds. I have so many.”
Again, she wavered. But it had been so long since anyone had shown her such a kindness that Julia finally relented and took it.
“Thank you. But I must go. I have work to do soon.”
Constantine nodded. “Will you visit me again? So few people ever come up here.”
Julia managed a smile. “If I can.”
THAT NIGHT when her duties were done, Julia sat in her room holding the little bird for Maria to watch and giggle over. Each time it would flap its wings, Maria would squeal and jerk her arms and legs in excitement. They played with it together for a long time.
Julia was not ignorant of why Constantine had invited her into his workshop and given her the bird. A mage working alone in a tower like that no doubt yearned for some companionship. Perhaps a wife.
She felt no attraction to him, though he seemed pleasant enough. Still, her life might be easier with a husband. It would certainly be less precarious. Of course, as a wife, she would likely bear more children, and she could not imagine trying to raise another, at least not for a few years.
Deep in her heart, the innocent little girl she had once been ached for a man she could love, but she knew this was a foolish dream. She had never known love in her life, not once, neither parents nor siblings nor friends. Why should that ever change?
7.
PERHAPS AN HOUR after leaving Bertrand’s house, with the sky still gray and threatening more snow, the three of them came to a fork in the path. The right fork seemed to continue the main route, while the left was narrower and darker—there, the trees bent in more steeply and they could not see more than a few tens of yards beyond the fork.
Erich stopped his horse and considered the situation.
“The left path would seem to take us toward the main road,” he said, “assuming it goes that far at all.”
“How far could it be?” Ariel asked.
“A quarter-mile, maybe a bit more, unless my sense of direction has gone awry.”
Astrid looked down at Shadow, who was looking back and forth between the paths uncertainly.
“Can you smell anything?”
Shadow sniffed at one path, then the other. Then she walked over next to Erich as if she was waiting for his decision.
“Husband?” Ariel asked.
Erich fumed. He wanted to get back to the main road, but the left path troubled him. On the other hand, the
right seemed to veer well away from the direction they needed to go, at least as far ahead as he could see.
He spurred his horse forward, to the left.
“This way. Wherever it goes, it cannot go far out of our way.”
The path narrowed almost immediately, forcing them into single file. Astrid took up the rear while Shadow stayed close to Erich, moving in and out of the trees. But it seemed to continue in the direction they wished to go, so Erich tried to still his doubts.
The trees here seemed older and broader, and the branches above grew together into a dense thicket. The breeze had stopped, or could no longer penetrate the dense forest to reach them. The smell of damp rotting leaves grew stronger. Though the forest had been quiet before now, the oppressive weight of the woods around them stilled the air even more.
The going was increasingly slow. Soon they had to duck under one branch after another, though the path below remained clear. Erich finally dismounted and walked beside his horse. Ariel and Astrid did likewise.
About ten or fifteen minutes later, almost without warning, the forest opened into a small clearing—though it was more chamber than meadow, as the dense branches nearly blocked out the sky above. But this bare circular patch was empty of trees for about twenty yards.
In the center of the clearing was a ring of moss-covered stones. The stones were uneven, some about three feet high while others were six feet or more. In the middle of the ring of stones was a small spring. The water in the hollow was clear, though there was no effluent they could see.
Shadow clung close to Erich, tail down, as they entered.
“What do you think?” Erich asked.
Ariel and Astrid walked slowly around the clearing. Here and there, though they were difficult to pick out from more than a few feet away, were rotten, moss- and lichen-covered logs set around the stones, forming a sort of amphitheater.
“I am thinking of Bertrand’s story,” Astrid said finally.
“The witches,” Ariel added.
The Witches' Covenant (Twin Magic Book 2) Page 5