I try to change the subject. “Was she pleased with her fortune?”
I gently lay the gathered stones on top of the table. When she doesn’t answer, I open my mouth to ask again, but the look she shoots me stops my words instantly.
“Her pain is in her heart.”
“But you’ve always helped with—”
She grabs my hand fiercely, stopping what I am about to say.
“She has darker intentions than merely finding love.”
With my free hand I lay the last stone beside the others and pretend all is normal.
“Why were you in the village today, Rune?”
It doesn’t surprise me that she already knows. I can never hide anything from her. I am trembling, fearing I’ll spill it all, and she will be so upset with me. It is no use to lie, either; she will surely find me out. It was bad enough I defied her and spoke back like an unruly child. It’s unacceptable that I tricked an old woman out of something she worked very hard on, something she intended to sell for money, or medicine.
But no, I had to come along and talk her into trading it for a basket of murderous mushrooms.
Murder
, I think to myself.
That’s what it has come to. That’s what I’ve done
.
I suddenly feel very ill again.
Regardless of the wrong I’ve done today, I’ve committed a greater offense. I’m sure I’ve angered the Sacred Mother. Something Matilde has taught me never to do.
The Sacred Mother will forgive you, child
.
I pale at the voice that whispers gently in my ear, knowing it is the very one that spoke to me in the village, at the stream. Matilde gathers the stones I’ve just collected into a heap and spreads them with her palm, completely unaware that something, someone, has touched me. Matilde, of all people, has not heard the voice, and that frightens me. From her skirt Matilde pulls a small knife. I recognize it as the one we use to cut herbs and flowers, only she brings it dangerously close to my open hand. Before I can ask, she slices a steady line across my palm. It beads at first, then wells into a river of deep red.
“Mutti, what is this about?” I try to pull my hand to my side, wanting to cradle away the pain. She is never rough with me, and now she is squeezing my hand so tight it hurts. “Mutti, please! I’m sorry! I’ll tell you!”
She does not free my hand, but rakes it over the stones. There is a searing heat beneath it that at first I believe is the combination of the deep gash and her grip, but I realize it’s much more than that.
The stones are calling to me.
“You don’t need the runes to tell you what happened today! I promise I’ll tell you.”
My hand grabs a stone, and I drop it onto the cloth. She doesn’t bother to hide the etched symbol it holds, and I stare at the crude drawing of a triangle with a square inside and a straight line beneath it. From one of my earliest lessons, I know it is the rune that symbolizes Home.
My hand burns to choose another, and I reluctantly reach, choosing the one that is a stick with a triangle at the base of it. It represents a Woman, only I cannot take the time to wonder if it’s symbolic of me or Matilde, as my hand is grabbed again.
More stones follow; the more the casting continues, the more my hand burns with the urgency of what the runes have to tell. The stone of Disordered Thoughts, the stone of Protection, the stone of a Man, the stone of War. The last stone—the rune of Poison—is chosen and laid upon the table with the others in an order I cannot follow. At long last, the runes no longer call to me.
This isn’t the same casting Matilde used on the cloaked woman earlier this morning, nor is it one she has ever used in teaching me the Old Ways. Instead, it’s intricate and confusing, and the symbols could be extremely volatile, depending on how Matilde interprets them. Right now, she is saying absolutely nothing.
My hand is left throbbing. I can’t help staring at the etching that depicts Poison, and feel a sob form inside my chest. I am afraid to ask what this means. I am afraid to look at Matilde and see the answer on her face.
Minutes go by, and still Matilde reveals nothing to me. Is my fortune that horrible she can’t speak of it? Does she regret the promise she made sixteen years ago? I’ve been nothing but a burden to her. She should have been left to live in peace in her little cottage in the woods. She’s worked hard to sustain us, to protect us, while I’ve only ever been another mouth to feed, a person to worry over. The anger I feel over my birth mother wanting to hide me away like this comes in a wave. Did my own mother know the stones would someday reveal I’d be a terrible burden, or worse?
When I can no longer stand it, Matilde faces me with those soft gray eyes of hers and smiles that wonderful smile that’s always felt like home. The sobs release and I fall into her arms, and she holds me tight.
“There, there, Schätzchen. It’s all right. Everything will be all right.”
I want to tell her I’m a horrid girl and she has every right to be angry with me, but the only sound that escapes me is a whimper.
“Come, my lovey. Dry your eyes. The moon is rising and I’ve something to show you.”
“But the stones…”
“Leave them. They will still be here when we return, and when we do, I will tell you who you are.”
I lean upright and feel dizzy.
Tell me who I am?
She didn’t say, “
I will tell you what the stones say.”
No, she said something very, very different.
I don’t ask this time, even though I want to more than anything. Instead, I rise to my feet, and although I am trembling, I follow Matilde outside into the night beneath the light of the full moon.
Chapter 9
Rune
“C
ome this way, Rune.”
I follow Matilde’s voice as it leads me out into the darkness, away from the reassuring warmth of the little cottage. For her age she walks briskly, and I find I’m the one lagging behind, my feet stumbling over roots and arms scraped by burrs. It’s hard to see so I focus on the bobbing flame of the thick candle she carries, but the further we walk, the darker it seems. The moon peeks in and out through the treetops, making everything around me appear thick and wobbly. Things that shouldn’t frighten me play tricks on my mind. What should be solid shifts and bends in the splattered light, and I begin to think that the stories that come from this place may hold a strange and terrifying truth.
We come to a stop and I am lost. This part of the forest looks foreign to me, though I am sure I would recognize it in the daylight. We stand in a small clearing; from where my feet are, it looks to be a complete circle swept clean of all woodland debris and underbrush.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Some say this is the oldest part of the forest,” Matilde says proudly, looking around. The wind makes the branches dance between the slices of moonlight, and she protects the small flame with her cupped hand. “Now take this for me and hold it tight.”
She hands me the candle and pulls four more wax stubs from her apron pocket. One after another, they are lit and placed upon the ground. Framing the edge of our strange circle, their flames flicker to and fro, while the fifth sits at the center, shining enough light so that I can see. It’s small and tight, and I am not sure where to place myself within it. I hold my skirt close to me so I don’t accidently knock into the tiny fires and set myself ablaze. That chills me and brings a disturbing feeling to the edge of my senses.
For the first time in my life I am afraid of where I am. This place is my home. The boughs of green have always been comforting walls, but tonight I feel they are arms that stretch not only too far, but too close, and I am penned in. I used to think that living in the woods gave me an advantage over a girl my own age who might have grown up in the village. I’ve had room to roam, freedom. Tonight, I’m not so sure. Is it possible for a person’s world to shrink before their eyes? To feel what was once comforting transform and become unrecognizable? The forest normally teems with life at this time of night. Wolves roam, owls hoot, mice scurry, but like earlier at the stream, all is dreadfully silent, as if the forest waits for something.
The knife Matilde used to cut my hand is now in the open air, circling high above her. She points it toward the sky, and then over each flame. I’m worried that she will use it on me again, so I begin to back away.
“You must stay within the circle, Rune,” she tells me. “Don’t step outside of it.”
I will my feet to stay put, but the effort makes me sway.
“This is the altar to the Sacred Mother. As long as you remain within the circle during the invocation, you will be safe.”
“Safe?” I am struck with fear that I’ve been found out in the village, and that I will forever be labeled a liar, a thief, a murderous girl.
“You are very special, Rune. Believe that.” Matilde’s hand coaxes my chin a little higher. I go to argue that point, but am stopped with a finger on my lips. “I know what happened today, Schätzchen. You don’t have to relive it by telling me. Know that I love you still, as if you were my very own.”
My heart breaks at this. Even after what I’ve done today, she still loves me. There is a place for me in her heart that promises to keep me safe. I want to reciprocate; I owe it to her to tell her what the butcher said to me on my way home. I want to warn her that I’ve done more than con an old woman at the market. I’ve brought death to the butcher’s horse. I’ve brought death to an innocent woman and her child. I should take the blame for it, not her.
In a flash, the small silver knife is pointing and circling at the night.
“I call to the four corners of the earth and invoke the elements!” Matilde cries out. “Water, may you cleanse this girl of harm and wash away her fears. I invoke thee!”
She turns and points the tip of the knife over the next flame. “Earth, may you give solid footing to this girl. May she make choices that provide her with stability and wisdom. I invoke thee!”
Over the third flame, Matilde cries out, “Air, embrace this child and comfort her. Let harm blow away, and allow the power she must harness to stir within her. I invoke thee!”
At the fourth flame, where I stand, Matilde turns to me, and holds the knife upward toward the dark and endless sky. She appears to not notice me, although I’m sure she is aware that I am standing right in front of her.
“I call to Fire and ask that you give this girl, your servant, the power you possess. She will need you most of all. That by which her birth mother met her end, give her the flame of life to endure what is marked for her. Give her the power to fight fire with fire. I invoke thee!”
Matilde steps around the center flame and faces me over it. The light between us flickers and illuminates our features. Where she is old and wise, I am young and naïve. I have no idea what she is doing or how she intends this to help me, but something inside feels right. There is a strength in me that was not present when I followed her here, and I hold my breath, waiting along with the rest of the forest.
With one hand she takes mine and wraps it over hers. Together, we hold the blade aloft.
“I invoke Spirit, the essence that is the Sacred Mother and the spirit that is Rune to join together. Keep this child steady. Never let her falter. Guide her, Mother. Keep her safe.”
Matilde pulls her hand away, leaving mine the only one holding onto the hilt. I haven’t been properly trained. I’ve had to leave the cottage on several occasions so that I did not witness certain ceremonies and words, and now I’m in the middle of something that seems so incredibly significant. I’m suddenly terrified of my place in it.
“Hold it steady, Rune.” She urges me to keep my elbows locked to support the blade.
A warmth trembles through me from my fingertips to my shoulders. It spreads and warms its way down my back and chest, into my legs where it stretches out toward my feet, and then disappears.
When my skin has grown cold and my arms are trembling from holding the knife high for so long, Matilde guides my arms to my sides. She bids thanks to the Mother, as well as to each element, then blows out each flame and pulls my hand to follow her as we step to the edge of the small clearing. My feet feel useless. All I want to do is go home where, hopefully, Matilde will read the runes. Then, I want to lie down and sleep in my warm bed. But we aren’t leaving the circle just yet, and I follow her around, and around, and around.
She senses that I am spent, but does not release my hand. “Widdershins,” she says.
I think I’ve heard her wrong, because it’s a word I don’t recognize anyone ever saying. At last we stop, and my legs ache at the sudden stillness.
“Widdershins is when you walk against time to rid the circle of negative energy, before closing it.”
“Oh,” I say. I am too tired to try and understand it, and force myself to give a little smile.
Leaves and twigs crunch beneath our feet; the walk back to our cottage feels tremendously longer than the time it took venturing away.
“How did you learn to do that? The circle, I mean.”
“I didn’t know. I’ve heard of circles being drawn in the past, and the invoking of spirits. I’ve just never had the courage to try it until now. My guess is that it was you who allowed it.”
“But I thought you were trained to do all this. Healing, circles, fortunes…didn’t your own mother train you?”
Matilde chuckles a raspy chortle. “Oh goodness sakes, no, my grandmother was the one who taught me tricks to make money, to earn a little in order to survive. Folk remedies and intuition tend to skip a generation with peasant folk, with the exception of witches.
Real witches
. I’m no magick weaver like…”
I stop her then. “Like who, Mutti?”
She stares me in the eye and takes my hand. “Like
you
, Schätzchen. Like you.”
I stare at her.
“Tell me, what did you feel?”
I know well what she is speaking of, but I don’t know how to describe it. “It was very hot. In fact, it burned in the beginning, but then it just sort of tingled, like tiny butterflies fluttering beneath my skin.”
“Then it was the Fire that spoke to you,” Matilde says with a reflective smile. “I had a feeling it would be.”