I see it happening slowly, time stretching thin. His hand, shrouded in witch fire, reaching for the bark.
I’m in motion before I can think of a way to stop this. Next to me, Otto shoves Liesel to relative safety and follows me, the two of us climbing, fighting our way up to reach Dieter and stop him before he ignites the Tree. We are close—
Not close enough.
Dieter’s hand slams against the trunk of the Tree, right next to the three stones, just as I trip and fall against a root and my bloodied hand slaps to the base of the trunk. Otto’s grip on my other arm doesn’t budge.
The vibrations in the Tree go silent.
There’s a pause.
Like a breath.
Like stillness before a thunderclap.
Then the fire launches across the Tree’s bark in a wave of scalding blue and white that ripples down the roots, across the branches, and consumes the entire glen in a flash of incandescent light.
27
Otto
One moment of pure white heat.
And then—
Nothing.
I blink, whirling around.Where’s Dieter?I have to stop him, I have tokillhim, I have to—
That was the wrong question. I don’t need to know where Dieter is. I need to know whereIam.
A hand reaches through the foggy white surrounding me, and before I have a chance to panic, I recognize the feel of the fingers weaving through mine. Fritzi clutches at me, pulls me closer, and she is clearer in focus now, all the red lines of her wounds made starker in the brightness of the light. The brightness fades to misty white, just like—
“Remember when we were tested?” Fritzi murmurs. “Before the goddesses let us into the Well?”
I start to agree with her, and then we see a figure approaching us through the mist, swirling clouds parting in her wake, a stick tapping on the ground with each step. The sound echoes hollowly.
I’ve met Holda, the Maid; she tested me and forged my tattoo.
I saw Perchta’s monsters in Glauberg, another test, that one from the Mother.
“Abnoba,” I say. The Crone.
“And you’re the warrior,” Abnoba replies. Her voice is scratchy, as if she’s not used to speaking. She’s bent over a cane, her long silver hair sweeping almost to the ground as she hunches. But when she lifts an eye to me, I can tell her vision is clear, even if her face is lined with deep wrinkles.
Without moving, her gaze flicks to Fritzi. “And the champion.” Fritzi’s fingers tighten around mine. She’s on edge and, I know, tired. Drained. Emotionally, physically, magically.
“If I’m a warrior, why did you take us from the battle?” I ask.
“So eager to kill?” Abnoba says. There’s no judgment in her voice, only curiosity.
I glance at Fritzi. Dieter is a monster.
Dieter is her brother.
“No,” I say, surprised at the truth of it.
Abnoba focuses on Fritzi. I can feel Fritzi trembling—fear of what must be done, I think—and I step forward, shouldering in front of her. I cannot protect her from everything, but scheisse, I wish I could.
