Chapter Seven
The next morning, Hansel and Gretel continued in earnest their plan for finding the answers they needed. Hansel ate his breakfast—Gretel had already eaten hers—while they both studied the enchantress’s spell book.
Gretel could hardly imagine a larger book with more pages. Hansel had seen a bit more of the world, but even he had to admit that they had given themselves an intimidating mountain to climb. Could he feign illness long enough for them to find what they were searching for?
They had nearly used all the time they dared use for breakfast. Gretel flipped yet another page and read aloud the name of yet another spell. “New Life.” She continued on with the description. “‘The transference of vibrancy for the purpose of attaining immortality.’”
Wide-eyed and hopeful, she looked at Hansel. “Transferring vibrancy.”
“You’ve found it, Gretel.” He put his arm around her.
She set her head on his shoulder, continuing to read.
The potion created by this spell was to be mixed into the food of the victim.
How, precisely, that gave the enchantress these men’s lives, the spell did not make clear, only that the end result was what Gretel had feared: all of the life was drained from the spell’s victims.
“Merciful heavens,” Hansel whispered. “And this is the monster whose servitude you cannot escape.”
“But this is also the fate from which I saved my papa and from which we will save you.”
He kissed her temple, then her hairline, then her cheek. “We will find the answers we need, and we will find a means of deliverance for us both.”
***
Hansel did not have to expend much effort to appear less than well. He spent the next two nights awake, reading through the spell book. Gretel had almost no opportunity to do so herself. The enchantress worked her all day and banished her to the basement at night.
For a few brief moments each morning, Gretel slipped into his room.
He quickly told her anything he’d discovered the night before, and they spoke of their plans for that day.
She also fed him soup and bread a few times each day, though the afternoon and evening meals were not undertaken in any degree of privacy.
The enchantress watched him be fed, checked on his health and progress.
He was careful to appear as though he was, in fact, improving, though slowly enough that she would not yet deem him truly recovered and ready for stealing his life away.
The fourth morning of his pretended convalescence, Gretel came in with a bowl of gruel, the usual morning offering. He was, as always, eager for her company, her presence, and the way his heart both sped and calmed when she was nearby. But this morning, he also had a discovery to share with her.
“Good morning.” She set the bowl of gruel beside him, having closed the door already.
He pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, the greeting that had become customary between them. She usually smiled softly and leaned into his embrace for a long moment. Today, however, she pulled back, worry hanging heavy in her expression.
“Darling?” he pressed.
“We cannot continue this way much longer. She will realize the ruse.”
He shook his head and guided her to the cot. They sat beside one another, his arm around her. He had never known her equal for strength and determination. To see her struggling sent an ache clear to his heart. “I discovered something last night,” he said. “Two somethings, in fact.”
She turned a hopeful gaze on him.
“The first is not good news, I am afraid.”
She nodded. “The more we know, the better able we will be to decide our next step.”
“I believe I found the spell she used to bind you to her,” he said. “It is not breakable. It cannot be undone.”
Though a flash of disappointment crossed her features, she replaced it almost immediately with acceptance.
But he would not give up on freeing her so easily. “The spell does, though, bind you to her and not to this place. If she is destroyed, the spell no longer holds.”
Her brow pulled in thought. “I have always known her death would free me, but her magic protects her from being killed.”
“I read more closely the spell she uses on the men she traps here,” Hansel said. “It prevents her from dying or even aging.”
“Then that spell is the key.”
He nodded as he stood and crossed to the spell book.
He read out loud, “‘Once all life is claimed by the one who executes this spell, the one from whom it is claimed will, in tears, be rendered a thing cold and inert, all remnants of consciousness filling a pond of mourning.’” He looked back at her.
“None of the descriptions I have read in this book are figurative. This spell says the victim becomes something cold and inert. I believe that is literally true.”
“Her victims become inanimate?”
“I believe so. The spell also references tears.”
Gretel rose and paced the small room, her right forefinger and thumb fussing with her lip. “Inanimate but tearful.”
He shook his head in confusion. “It makes little sense, yet it must be true.”
But she spun about, eyes pulled wide. “The weeping stones in the garden. There is a wall made entirely of stone pillars. The pillars drip water in a constant trickle.”
A wall made of the crying remains of the enchantress’s victims. A chill shivered down his spine.
“I believe she is afraid of the water,” Gretel added. “I saw her jump away when a bit of it nearly splashed on her. She also insists I gather water from the stream in the forest, despite the presence of water in her own garden.”
“The question, then, is whether the water makes her uncomfortable because of its source or because it would harm her?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. Still, it is the only weakness of the enchantress’s we have found.”
“She adds her potion to the food of her victims,” Hansel said. “What if you were to add water from the pond of mourning to her food?”
Gretel shook her head. “The enchantress only eats food she prepares herself. I’ve always wondered why. I understand better now: she knows that food can be used as a weapon.”
They both pondered a moment in silence. Hansel ate his porridge, brow pulled in thought. Gretel glanced repeatedly at the spell book, hoping that somehow an answer would present itself. After a few minutes had passed, an idea did occur to her.
“The enchantress does not eat food I have prepared, but she does drink water I have gathered. I could add water from the pond of mourning to the buckets of water from the stream.”
“Best add it to only one bucket,” Hansel said, “then you and I can drink from the other. We cannot know if we might be harmed by water in the garden.”
There was wisdom in that. “If I am to manage this without her seeing me, I need to go about it now.”
Hansel pulled her into his arms once more. “Be very cautious, my darling Gretel. We know she is dangerous.”
“And we know she means to kill you,” Gretel reminded him. “You must be cautious as well.”