Forest of Whispers (27 page)

I jump down from the saddle and approach the door, my hand resting just above the latch. Knowing my father and the bishop are inside disturbs me greatly. This place is a tomb, a death trap, yet they are within these walls, placing themselves in great danger if Plague still lingers here.

The latch turns beneath my touch, and the door slips open, letting me step into the past. I imagine ghosts still walk these halls after having been torn from this earth too quickly—ghosts that will forever be bound here. I think of Rune living among them one day after she claims her inheritance. Only this is not where Rune should be. She belongs in the Black Forest where the trees create an eternal night, where the fern blows wild in the breeze, not penned in by stone walls.

Inside, a strange sound finds me—a wailing that is soft and desperate, that makes me think of Anna’s crumbling little house in the village. The sound drifts to me from the upper floors, and I follow it. I nearly cover my mouth with my sleeve for fear the infection has not cleared, but then realize Plague must have been a game of deadly foolery. My father would never have set foot here otherwise. I soon find myself in a hall facing a half-open door. Movement stirs within.

“Shhh. There, there, my little one,” a woman, who is very much alive, whispers. She cradles something in her arms no bigger than my shoe. It squirms and wriggles, and soon the bundle is set down carefully, as if it could break with the slightest movement. The room comes fully into view and I see now that there are dozens of other cradles filled with more squirming bundles.

It is a nursery.

I stay close to the wall, peering in. The woman is familiar to me. I know her—the way she bends over, her meticulous movements, the way she inspects each bundle as she walks past row after row after row. She turns to the side where I can see the angle of her face, and I am stunned to see it is the woman from the village, the woman who stood waiting for the glassblower to make the witch bottle, the one who met the bishop’s carriage and took the money in exchange for the bellermine. She was the one who I saw sneaking away from the Drudenhaus.

A familiar voice comes from the open door at the opposite end of the room and in walks the bishop, robe-less and in plain clothes, paying no mind that the house could still be carrying contagion.

“A reformation, you understand, is the only way to preserve our society,” he says. “We shall build a new society, a pure society, governed by the Church.”

Have I wandered into a hospital for children who have lost their families to pestilence? And why is it that there are only cradles I see, and not beds? Unless there are rooms full of other patients, other children tucked safely away within the halls of the house.

The bishop cups his hand beneath the woman’s chin, and I am taken aback by the closeness. She is obviously someone with whom he is intimate. He drops his hand as two more women enter, each returning a bundle to a waiting crib. Both glance at the bishop with nervous eyes as they gather up other children and scuttle from the room.

“So many souls.” The bishop surveys the number of cribs in the room.

The woman bends to tuck in the edge of a blanket and quickly recoils her hand from the crib.

“See there?” A worried look spreads across her forehead as she points. “What do you suppose we do with this one? She has a funny little mark.”

“Dispose of it,” the bishop tells her plainly.

I am frozen to this spot watching this peculiar moment unfold in front of me, horrified that he can so unsympathetically tell the woman to kill a baby.

“Before long, these children will be cured and spared the memory of their parentage,” he continues speaking, not allowing the little matter of a birthmark stop him.

“And how can you be sure the lineage will not be a problem?” A second man asks from the far threshold, and my anger boils inside me until I fear I won’t be able to contain it any longer, giving myself away, as my father steps into the room.

“The line ends with the parents, be it either the mother or the father who carried the trait,” the bishop replies, happy to make his point. “Each one of these children has been orphaned, and will grow up without the face of evil tempting them. They will grow up in a world void of sorcery. They will never know of witchcraft in the way their parents did. Denying them the temptation will allow them to see the world for what it truly is, and that most of what we do with our lives is unfortunately the work of the Devil himself.” The bishop motions with his arm, leading my father away from the woman, so that they might speak privately. His voice drops to a near-whisper. “There is, however, one last issue to be addressed before the Viscount’s visit to the friary. Has there been any success finding the girl?”

He means Rune. I am sure of it.

“No, I’m afraid not,” my father replies back to the bishop. “There is no trace of her.”

He does not reveal that Rune is alive and well, staying under his roof, and I am glad of it, because his willingness to lie to the bishop tells me she is safe.

“Nonetheless, you will give word as soon as she is found.”

“Of course,” my father nods as he places a leather pouch in the bishop’s hand.

The bishop nods acceptance, a delighted grin raising his ruddy cheeks. “Your donation to the Church is always appreciated.”

I don’t miss how my father’s eyes linger on the pouch, almost regretful that it has been handed over. I wonder why this disturbs him. I try and read him—his actions, his emotions. And while I draw a breath of relief that my father honors my wish to keep Rune a secret, today I am convinced I do not know my father at all.

Chapter 42
Rune

L
aurentz will find the letter I’ve pushed beneath his door when he returns…if he ever returns. I will be gone by then. I’m much too wild to be kept here. There is something in me I don’t understand; while I try to, I must be alone.

These walls are too thick for me to breathe, lined with too many eyes that watch me. I don’t believe it is because they are curious. I feel that, without Laurentz here, I am stripped of an unseen protection I otherwise would have had. No, I need to go. I need to escape into the forest. It’s the only place where I feel I can truly protect myself.

My slippers are soundless as I hide in the shadows of the pantry. Cook has already prepared lunch and will not be looking for ingredients among the shelves anytime soon, and from here I have the best view of the barn from the servants’ entrance. I wait, holding my breath until a young stable boy crosses the lawn, leaving the barn door open just a crack.

I slip outside, cross the warm sweet grass, and disappear into the stable. I don’t know why I haven’t come here before; it’s the closest thing to being in the forest. The hay is sweet and reminds me of the lichen that grows between the roots of the trees. It smells like the moss that carpets the hillsides and the pungent earth as the stream swells from the rain.

I long for home in a way I am no longer able to contain. The boy who left must have just saddled the young stallion for a ride, but I take it as a sign from the Mother that it is for me and climb up, not needing anyone’s help. Once I am seated upon the beast’s back I begin to doubt my escape. I peer over the animal’s enormous neck and feel dizzy, feeling his body sway as his hooves take tentative steps, confused that I have not given him direction. I swallow hard and press my heel into the horse’s side. I feel his muscles tighten as he starts out through the back of the stable and into the open air. My arms wrap around the steed’s neck and I imagine it to be Laurentz’s back, feeling safe as the trees inch closer. I smell the pine, already feeling the cool shade from the trees as, with a strong leap, the horse scales a downed tree trunk and we become part of the black that inhabits the forest.

Chapter 43
Laurentz

“L
aurentz.” My father’s eyes widen as I step into the makeshift nursery.

“What is all this?” I walk around the cradles. There are more than I thought, now that I am actually in the room. The woman stands off to the side, stifling her gasp as she recognizes me, and I can’t help wonder if one of these infants came from the witch prison where I saw her last. “Am I correct to assume Pyrmont is no longer a victim of the Black Death?”

The bishop, not my father, is the one to walk toward me. His eyes tell me he is skeptical of my visit but his arms are open. “She is clear of rats, fleas, and sorcery, my good boy. Allow me to introduce you to the next generation of Bavaria. Before long, this area will be cleansed of all evil and a new generation will guard its borders. I’m sure in time, when you are Electorate, you will be proud to live in a pure and reformed Germany.”

“I may not be Electorate for a number of years.” My eyes dart over his shoulder, resting on my father’s face. I refuse to promise my allegiance. I refuse to tell the bishop anything.

“No matter,” he says simply, as if it isn’t a matter worth worrying over yet. “By that time, any number of the infants here might be worthy of serving in your Guard, Laurentz.”

“Who are these children?” I walk up one of the rows, looking down. The colored blankets signify whether the infant resting inside is a boy or a girl. Otherwise, each is marked only by a number. No names. No identity. Nothing that reveals who they are, or who they belong to.

“Laurentz.” My father’s tone urges that I don’t ask too many questions.

“It’s all right,” the bishop intervenes. “If the boy is to hold a position of power one day, then why not give him a taste of it now? Once he understands the importance of removing witchcraft and heresy from our villages, he’ll be
with
us, rather than against us.”

The glimmer of his plan is becoming clear in my head. The bishop alluded to this that day in the chapel, and I see that his plan has been executed.

“These are pure souls, Laurentz—each one a victim in its own right. Each one a product of a parent who has been stained by evil, and destroyed so that the sins they’ve harbored will not pass to the younger generation.”

“These children were born to people accused of being witches?”

It’s such a tainted word,
witch
. The woman’s face reddens before she slips through the door.

“Your son is perceptive.” The bishop turns to my father. “He’s a leader through and through to have picked up on such matters. Yes, Laurentz, do you remember that day in the chapel? I came to speak to your father about the prospect of contamination throughout our regions. You showed interest. If that interest is still there, perhaps you’d like to join us. We have one more to collect.”

“I don’t collect babies.”

His laugh cuts through me. “No, she’s not a child.” He leans in, and I see the strong wish for power in his eyes. “She’s the very reason for the rectification of the sovereigns. Hers is a soul so black, it’s like peering into the eyes of the devil himself.”

He doesn’t know her like I do. She isn’t what he says.

“What do you plan to do with her?” I ask. “Keep her in an orphanage?”

The bishop releases a tight laugh from his throat. “What a funny boy you are. Of course not. She’s beyond help, and she’s a fugitive, the only person to escape the Drudenhaus, as well as her own execution. No normal person could have done such things.” He tilts his head and watches me. “No indeed. She should be put to death immediately, just as she would have been the day she escaped.” The bishop steps closer. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you, my good boy?”

My father stands rigid and determined. He gives an almost imperceptible head shake, and briefly, I wonder how loyal he is to the bishop.

I shake my head. “No. I don’t.”

The seconds grow long as he looks at me. What is it that he thinks he might find by breaking me? I will never tell him about Rune. I will never give her away. I owe her that, and so does my father, yet his involvement in this does not fully reflect that debt.

“Very well,” the bishop says.

He turns away from us to stare out the window. “It will not be a moment too soon the day she is captured,” he says. “Sixteen years ago, the greatest witch of all Bavaria was put to death. For sixteen years this land has been spared.” He turns back to face us with dark, determined eyes. “Until now. This girl is a most dire threat. She must be stopped before she has the chance to become just as strong, stopped before she can ruin my plan to rid Bavaria of all evil.”

He holds his hand out to me, and the garnet ring catches the light.

“Your father has pledged his allegiance to me. Will you do the same?” the bishop asks me.

If I respect him, I will kiss the stone, pledging that I side with him. Beneath their stares I have no choice and let my lips bend to his hand. When I pull back, I see the hairline sliver in the stone nearest the filigree edge of the band. So small is the portion missing from the setting, I nearly miss it as I lean away to stand up. I remember the red stone from the church and know it still lies at the bottom of my pocket.

“I trust I have your loyalty, as I do your father’s?”

I nod, knowing what I agree to is a lie.

My father holds up a hand, keeping me silent, and walks to the window. Once the bishop’s carriage has rolled away, he turns back and points to the open doorway, reminding me we are not entirely alone. The woman who is nursemaid to these orphans is still here, and there must be more wetnurses. And I have no doubt the woman the bishop so openly favors will report anything questionable to him.

“You’re funding this.” My open arms create a wide arc above the cradles.

“For now, yes.” With heavy eyes, my father lowers his voice. “It’s best that we leave now so I can explain it all to you.”

I pitch my voice low. “I think I’ve heard enough.” Ignoring his stricken look, I continue. “I know where your loyalties lie.”

My father steps closer, but I back away.

“This isn’t about loyalty,” he explains. “This is about honor.”

I follow my father down the stairs, away from those who might have reason to eavesdrop.

“What about Rune? What about her honor? What she’s done for you means nothing?”