Chapter 8
JACOB
THE BLACK FOREST
As children, Wilhelm and I loved running about in the fruit trees, playing tag, and recreating stories Gretchen, our nanny, would tell us.
Some were quite terrifying, which of course made our prayers all the more earnest. Now, as I tromp through the Black Forest, my muscles taut as a bowstring, it’s almost like I’ve stepped into the world of the wallpaper in my home in Steinau.
Its pattern of earthy browns and forest greens showed off huntsmen adventuring over snow-frosted forests, their swords and bows ever ready.
I pause, taking in the view. My breath curls tentacles of white mist into the cool autumn afternoon.
The Swabian Alps spike above the evergreens, vibrant in crimsons and dripping in honey golds.
They circle the valley where the tiny village of Honau is nestled.
At first glance, this place is paradise, except I know what really lurks within this valley.
I stride to the edge of a pond, sparkling as if it captured the sun’s light, thinking about the other night’s town meeting. The moment I arrived, every villager gave me a suspicious look. It was then I knew there’d be no help among the locals.
Except for one.
Eyes as bright as the stars, even the shadow of her hood couldn’t conceal them from me.
When I spotted Ella tucked into the back corner, it was impossible to focus on anything or anyone else in the room but her.
I found myself following her. I told myself I was just asking for permission to hunt her grounds, but the truth is, it took everything in me not to lean closer and trace my fingers across those plump lips.
I groan and shove all thoughts of Ella von Maier out of my head. They’ll just lead to impossible ideas, thanks to this curse I’m bound to.
Wilhelm stayed home today, taking notes on what we’ve observed in the village, while keeping an eye out for the next name that would appear on the hourglass. Meanwhile, I’ve been tracking these mysterious wolves. Unfortunately, I lost their trail on the outer rim of the Maiers’ lands.
I fill my canteen with fresh water and settle onto a log near an old, abandoned mill.
A little rest won’t hurt, I decide, and pull out my sketchbook and charcoal and start sketching the landscape before me.
Drawing always helps me think and process the world.
The pond comes to life in my sketch, and I soak in the melody of the birds and the wind rushing through the trees.
As I study the pond, a ripple pushes from its center and sends a gentle tumble of waves against the bank. I frown, searching for the source, but nothing is there. Must have been a fish.
Singing breaks the silence. It’s a beautiful voice that joins in with the chirping of the birds. I look around until I spot the woman.
Ella von Maier.
My heart stumbles as if it isn’t sure how to beat. She hasn’t seen me yet. Too busy balancing on a log, arms stretched out with a basket dangling at her elbow.
Her black mourning gown is replaced with a pale green dress. Mud lines the hem, hugging her ankles, and she’s wearing sturdy boots, perfect for hiking. Her golden hair is twisted into two braids that trail down her back, but some strands have fallen loose and now dangle over pink cheeks.
If fairies truly existed, Ella would very well be one of them. She plucks herbs and flowers as she wanders through the forest, tucking them into her basket. I’m mesmerized, just watching her.
“Hello, there,” I call out from my log before she thinks I’m spying on her.
She startles, dropping her basket. A knife flies into her hand from stars know where.
“You,” she says, still not dropping the knife even as I lift my hands and smile. “What are you doing here?”
“If you remember correctly, you gave me permission to hunt on your land. Don’t worry, I paid your steward before entering.
” I rise from my log and gather her herbs and heliotrope flowers as she continues pointing her knife at me.
“You shouldn’t be walking through the forest alone, especially after what happened to the baker’s wife. ”
“I know.” She lifts her chin. “Two of our cows have taken ill. I needed some herbs for a healing remedy. I guess I got a little carried away. It’s a beautiful day.”
“You know, you can put that weapon away. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I suppose that’s true.” She lowers the knife. “You do seem like a gentleman.”
“My mother can be blamed for that. She made sure all of us children were well-trained.”
“Did she now?” She tilts her head to the side, assessing me. “And how did she do that?”
“Do dance lessons at age five count? Or being tutored in Greek and Latin?”
“Only Greek and Latin?” A smile creeps on her lips.
“It was quite a sacrifice, especially when our friends were out running wild, building forts and snowmen.”
“Hmm.” She taps her mouth. “You say you’re hunting, but it appears as if you’re drawing.”
She marches to the log I was sitting on and snatches up my sketchbook before I can stop her. I reach for it, but she side-steps, holding it away from me.
“Perhaps this will tell me the secrets you keep,” she says, those mischievous eyes taunting me.
“That’s personal.”
“And a lady being alone deep in the forest with a man isn’t?”
“Fine. Look at the sketches if you must.”
She sets down her basket and, with careful fingers, begins flipping through the pages. Her brow puckers, making the tiny scar on her forehead more prominent. Slowly, she eases onto the log. Unease shifts through me as she scrutinizes my art. I’ve never shown my sketches to anyone.
“They’re nothing but scribblings of a novice.” I try to take the book from her again, but she twists out of my reach.
“These are good. Quite good, actually. You have an eye for detail. The bark on this oak looks like I could touch it. And the way you drew the neck of this swan is lovely. Interesting name. Mute Swan.”
“My brother and I are working on a story relating to swans.” My gaze strays to her lips.
“It’s beautiful.” She traces its lines. “So you’re a hunter, drawer, dancer, and writer? What can’t you do?”
“You give me too much credit. Let’s see, I despise school.”
“Now you sound pretentious.”
“My brother would agree.” I chuckle. “I was always bored in school. Felt like a waste of time, I guess. My teacher, Master Zinckham, was mean as typhoid and would give us beatings for no reason. What else? I’m highly opinionated, and I don’t like large crowds. Have I scared you yet?”
She shakes her head and laughs. “I still don’t know what to think about you.”
We talk for too long, and yet not long enough.
She explains the different healing properties of the herbs, and I sketch them into my notebook for reference.
She’s telling me her plans for her estate when my attention is pulled to a thin trail of water snaking across the ground, heading directly toward us.
“We need to move,” I say, leaping to my feet.
I push Ella behind me, but the liquid is too quick. It coils around her ankle and rises up her leg.
“What’s happening!” she asks, fear rattling her voice.
Whatever it is, it can’t be good. “Run, Ella!”
She screams and reaches for me, fighting against the cord of water. I grab her hand, but her grip slips from mine as the water yanks her to the ground and drags her body into the pond. She vanishes into its murky depths before I can even blink.
Horrified, I race for the shore, but as I splash into the pond, water rises and forms a wall.
“Ella!” I throw myself into it, but it only pushes me backward. “Let me through! She doesn’t belong to you.”
As if hearing me, the wall pulls back to form an archway. In the center stands a woman with flowing ebony hair and stone-white skin. Iridescent sea-green eyes study me. Her white lips turn up in a hungry smile, and a forked tongue flicks out, licking her lips.
A nixie.
“What brings you, Hunter, to my pond?” Her voice rises and falls like rushing water. It’s the most beautiful voice I’ve heard. One that lures victims to their death.
“What did you do with her?” I growl, pulling out my sword. “Give her back or I’ll slice you to ribbons.”
“She’s a sweet thing, but does she know of your violent nature? I think she might not ask to be your friend if she knew what you really are.”
My pulse rams against my temples. I don’t have time to chat with this creature. I splash through the pond searching for Ella. How much longer can she stay underwater before she drowns?
“She’s not very exciting,” the nixie says. “But you, you’re a prize. Let’s make an exchange. Your life for hers. I could make you happy in my little abode.”
It takes all my willpower to resist the pull of her voice. With a cry, I run at the nixie, ready to plunge my sword into her heart, but she disappears into the water. Panic seizes me. Ella is going to drown if I don’t find her soon.
I dive under the pond’s surface, searching for her, but it’s too murky and dark to see anything. Desperately, I come up for air and then go back under. Again and again.
I refuse to let her suffer because of me. I live in a world haunted by nightmares. I knew better than to let Ella get close to me, but I didn’t listen to that warning.
Now she’s paying the price.