Chapter Eight
Hansel sat in tense worry in his dark room as time moved painfully slowly. He had full faith in his Gretel’s bravery and cleverness; he simply knew how very dangerous the situation was.
Gretel, having gathered her two buckets of spring water, moved with furtive steps into the garden.
She didn’t know what powers the garden water might have, but she felt certain she shouldn’t touch it.
So she had brought with her a ladle from the kitchen.
She could fill it with water from the pond of mourning and pour it into the slightly smaller of her two buckets.
That water she would set out for the enchantress.
The other bucket she would use for herself and Hansel.
She set the smaller bucket near enough to the pond for easily transferring her ladle of water. She glanced back at the cottage, looking for any sign that the enchantress was awake or, worse still, watching her. All was still and quiet.
Gretel’s heart thudded painfully as she inched closer to the water.
The constant trickle of water from the pillars of stone had made her uneasy from the first moment she’d seen it.
But, knowing now that these stones were weeping for the people they had once been, the sight was both unnerving and heartbreaking.
She knelt at the side of the pond, careful not to touch the water. She reached out with the ladle and dipped it in the water. Slowly, cautiously, she lifted it out once more. But as she drew it closer, she could see there was no water in the bowl of the ladle. Indeed, it didn’t even look wet.
Gretel tried again, just as carefully. It emerged once more entirely empty and as dry as it had been when she’d first fetched it from the kitchen.
Twice more she tried before having to admit that the effort was futile. The water could not be fetched in this way.
Now what were they to do?
***
Gretel explained to Hansel when she brought him his supper why it was she’d not been able to proceed with their plan. Though he, of course, wished they were already free of the enchantress, he did not yet feel defeated. They were close to the answer they were seeking; he was certain of it.
“The answer has to be here,” she said in a quiet voice as she studied once more the “New Life” spell in the enchantress’s spell book.
“We know what the potion does. We know the men are turned to weeping stones. But what of the tears? The water was able to splash out of the pond in a gust of wind, but I cannot carry it away from the pond. There must be a reason why, or at least a means of using it to defeat her.” Gretel leaned forward, reading more closely. “A pond of mourning.”
Hansel had pondered that bit himself, though he’d not sorted out its significance. “A pond of mourning,” he repeated. “Mourning. The stones cry in grief.”
“Or perhaps the tears are their grief, the final remnants of her victims’ thoughts and feelings and existence,” Gretel speculated. “Those tears are what they are reduced to.”
The idea was disturbing but also provided a bit of an insight. “The water is her victims,” Hansel said, certain as he spoke the words that they were true. “That would explain why she fears it.”
“I cannot bring her victims to her,” Gretel said, “but if she were forced into the pond, do you suppose they could have their revenge?”
He nodded. “It is at least plausible.”
“But how do we force her into it?”
He joined her in pacing. “We must get her to the garden, but how?”
“She goes there now and then,” Gretel said. “But she is very careful of the water. I could not, on my own, force her into it.”
“The two of us together might manage it.”
“I could create allurements,” Gretel suggested.
He had read the allurement spell, the one they felt certain the enchantress used to draw men to her cottage. “She would likely realize she was being drawn forward. I do not believe we can rely on our use of magic to defeat her. I believe we must use hers against her.”
“The only way the three of us would be together in the same place is if you are well enough to take supper with her,” Gretel said. “And I must be required to serve it. She has never allowed me to be present during her suppers, let alone required it of me.”
“If I feign an ever-deepening infatuation with her and insist that I cannot bear the thought of losing even a moment of her company and plead with her to leave the serving of the meal to you, do you think she would agree?”
“Possibly.” She pressed her fingertips to her mouth as she thought.
“You could also insist that you’d like to have a meal outdoors, for the fresh air or the beauty of the surroundings.
Make it sound as though you wish the setting to help you woo her.
While she is not the least interested in being courted, I do think she thrives on the attention.
And your enthusiasm for her helps her schemes. I believe she will encourage it.”
The plan was not without risks, but it was the first promising idea they’d had. “I will plead for a more ‘romantic’ supper and the convenience of a servant . . . if you’ll pardon my referring to you that way.”
“Pardon you?” Gretel smiled with amusement. “Should you refer to me in any other way, she will likely suspect you of being less than enamored of her.”
Hansel took Gretel’s hand in his and raised it to his lips, kissing her fingers. “Once we have managed the impossible and defeated this foe, remind me to tell you just how enamored of you I am.”
She set her free hand lightly on his cheek. “And I of you.”
He turned his head enough to kiss her hand. “I will make my request of her tomorrow. With luck, our supper tomorrow night will mark our last night of imprisonment.”
***
Hansel must have made his appeal very convincing. Gretel was pulled from her usual afternoon duties and charged with moving a table, two chairs, and two place settings to the garden.
She had wondered if the enchantress would find the request annoying.
Far from it. Undertaking yet another bit of heinous magic while surrounded by the monoliths of her previous horrid deeds seemed to please her immensely.
As expected, she insisted on preparing the meal she meant to take with Hansel.
Gretel stood in the garden at a bit of a distance from the table, where the enchantress waited when Hansel arrived that evening.
He made a good show of being healthy but still a little worn.
No one looking at him would doubt that he had recently recovered from a prolonged bout of illness or that he saw a beautiful woman when he looked at the hideous enchantress.
He offered a bow. “I feel I have waited a lifetime for this moment,” he said to the enchantress, watching her with adoration. “I am so pleased you were willing to meet me in such an appropriately beautiful setting.”
“Of course.” The enchantress motioned to the table. “Shall we begin our meal?”
He held out her chair. She sat, and he made for the other side, pausing before sitting as well. “This table is rather too bland.”
“It is the girl’s fault,” the enchantress snapped. “She is not a very reliable servant.”
Hansel did not show even the tiniest bit of surprise. “Have your girl begin serving the meal. I know precisely what will make the setting perfect.”
The enchantress fixed Gretel with a look of bone-chilling disapproval. “Serve quickly,” she said. “And remain near at hand should you be needed. I will not abide laziness.”
Gretel nodded and did as she was told, all the while keeping an eye on Hansel. He had bent low on one side of the pond of tears, tugging at a wildflower. He seemed to be struggling to pull it, though she knew it likely gave him no trouble at all.
“Flowers will be the perfect touch,” he said from his position at the edge of the pond. “I’m still weakened by my illness. Will you pull it?”
“Will I?” The enchantress looked shocked at the very suggestion. “The girl can do it.”
“But this is our special supper, not hers. I wish it to be perfect.”
The enchantress sighed and stood. “I am not at all certain you are going to be worth the effort.”
“Do not say that,” Hansel pleaded. “I will do all I can to please you.”
That appeased her enough to gain her cooperation. She crossed to where he was, quickly eyeing the wall and the pond. “Which flower?”
“The purple ones, just there.” He stepped back, giving the enchantress room to place herself in front of the flowers at the pond’s edge.
Hansel looked at Gretel, his gaze pointed.
She did not require further prompting. With quick, quiet steps, she joined him directly behind the enchantress and held her breath.
Should they manage to get the enchantress into the water only to discover it had no effect at all, they would surely pay with their lives.
The enchantress bent low, reaching for the small flowers. Hansel nodded firmly.
In unison, they pushed the enchantress from behind, putting all their force behind the effort. Her arms flailed. Hansel slipped one leg in front of hers and swept it backward, knocking her feet out from under her. Gretel gave one final shove, and the enchantress toppled over into the pond.
For one horrifying instant, nothing happened. Then, great ripples of bubbles began, as if the water simmered.
“What have you done?” The enchantress’s growl rang with anger.
A waft of bright green mist rose from the water. The enchantress swatted at it, attempting to push her way through. It clung to her, holding her back, yet she made progress.
Gretel watched in horror. “She will escape.”
“A stick or something.” Hansel looked around. “Something to push her back in.”
What did they have? What could they use?