One Witch at a Time Read online

  “So you remember her?” observed Rudi.

  “Oh, yes. That day last summer when that nasty mean fiddler sealed us up inside the mountain. She chased him away forever. After you rescued us.” Susanna squeezed Rudi’s hand in gratitude. “I wonder why she lives up there, so near the witch?”

  Rudi tugged his hand out of Susanna’s. “You know, Susanna,” he said carefully, “there are not two old women living up on the Berg.”

  Susanna frowned in thought. Finally her eyes widened, and the words spilled out in a hoarse whisper. “You mean to say the old woman is the Brixen Witch?”

  He nodded and put a finger to his lips.

  “No wonder Mama was worried.” Susanna grabbed Rudi’s hand once more, and pulled him along the lane. “Let’s go!”

  5

  “Susanna,” said Rudi as they made their way through the village, “aren’t you afraid of the witch?”

  “Oh, no,” Susanna replied. “I know she’s fearsome when she sends storms and such, but she’s only doing her job. Like when Mama says, ‘Are you jumble-headed, Susanna Louisa? I told you to bring that washing in off the line yesterday!’ ” She stopped midstep. “Oops.”

  Rudi stopped too. “What?”

  “I was supposed to bring the washing in off the line yesterday. Oh well!” She tossed a braid over her shoulder and set off again down the lane. “To think I’ve already met the witch and didn’t even know it! And now I’ll have another chance. Isn’t that nice, Rudi?”

  Now it was Rudi’s turn to stop short.

  Few people ever made the acquaintance of the Brixen Witch. Oma had, sometime long before Rudi had been born. He himself had stumbled upon the witch’s doorstep, quite literally, when he had found her enchanted coin last year. But very few people wanted such familiarity.

  Now he regarded Susanna Louisa. “You want to meet the witch again? Why?”

  “Why not?”

  Rudi sighed. He tried again, choosing his words carefully. “It’s a tricky thing, getting to know the witch. It brings . . . responsibility.” He thought about the wash line. And then he remembered Mistress Tanner’s “Good morning, Master Rudi” and the itchy feeling it had caused. “People will think of you differently. They may even become a tiny bit afraid of you.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” said Susanna. “After all, I’m not afraid of you. Will we see the Witch’s Chair today, Rudi? I’d really like to see the Witch’s Chair.”

  Rudi squinted up at the mountain. “I suppose so. If the weather is favorable.”

  High on the Berg stood a rocky outcropping. It had been formed eons ago by the forces of the earth, and it looked just like a chair. For that reason—and because it was deep in the Brixen Witch’s realm—it was called the Witch’s Chair. Legend said that those who sat upon it would be met with the witch herself. Some considered this a blessing; most considered it a curse. More than ever, Rudi considered it might be both.

  They passed through the village gates. Just beyond lay the near meadow, and the River Brix and its footbridge. “My bean!” exclaimed Susanna, and she hurried toward the bridge. With a queasy curiosity, Rudi quickened his pace and followed her.

  Susanna Louisa stood on the footbridge, staring at the riverbank. Rudi stepped up behind her, and his gaze followed hers.

  On the riverbank Rudi saw waves of soft spring grass, and the first yellow dots of dandelions, and tender rushes poking up at the edge of the water.

  Susanna Louisa sighed. “No bean plant.” She looked up at Rudi. “Now what?”

  Rudi shrugged and pulled her away from the bridge. “Now we tell the witch that perhaps the magic is biding its time.”

  And so they walked—the lanky, serious boy and the knobby-kneed, chatty girl—across the near meadow, where Papa’s meager dairy herd was munching hungrily at the new grass. Through the chilly shade of the forest, where the blanket of pine needles muffled every step. Up toward the high meadow, following the switchback trail across the steep slope. Past the treacherous field of scree, where Rudi had lost a magic gold coin many months before.

  Rudi thought about the beans he carried in his pocket. He still doubted they held any magic, but their keyhole markings proved they were no ordinary beans. Susanna Louisa had been the one to notice that.

  And in her turn, Oma had noticed something in Susanna Louisa. An inclination? A talent? Rudi didn’t quite know the right word. Whatever it was, Oma clearly thought it was something the Brixen Witch should know about.

  Rudi watched Susanna now. She jostled along beside him with her coat unbuttoned, kicking at patches of lingering snow, examining puddles for pollywogs, showing not the least hint of fatigue or worry. If she had a talent for conferring with such folk as witches, she did not show it. And if this place stirred up within her the same dreadful memories it did for Rudi, she did not show that, either.

  “Remember last summer, Rudi? When that nasty mean fiddler came? I can’t recall a thing about following him up the mountain, but we must have, because we hiked down this way afterward. Remember, Rudi?”

  Rudi gulped and rubbed his hands on his trousers. “Yes, Susanna. I remember.”

  They were on the high meadow now. Dwindling fields of snow clung to the shady spots—the last remnants of the long and brutal winter. The air was fragrant with the first wildflowers of the Alpine spring. Rudi and Susanna turned up their collars to the biting wind, which was always present here, high on the mountain. But the sun was strong, and it warmed their faces even as the wind bit their cheeks.

  Susanna Louisa gasped. “There it is!” she cried, and she broke into a run.

  The Witch’s Chair.

  Rudi decided it was no use trying to stop her. Perhaps she was meant to climb up and sit there, after all. Who was he to get in the way of that?

  “Give me a boost,” she said, and in a moment she was up. She settled herself on the slab of rock, stretching her legs. “Are you coming up, Rudi?”

  Rudi shook his head. This was not a playground, after all. It was a place that required respect.

  Now Susanna Louisa pointed excitedly. “There’s Brixen! The whole village! It’s so tiny and far away!” She waved a greeting that no one would see.

  “We should keep going,” said Rudi. “It’s not far now.”

  Susanna Louisa scrambled off the rock and brushed at her skirt, which was already too muddy to be brushed clean. “What will the witch do about the beans, Rudi? Do you think she knows who the foreign girl is? My mama says that while we’re there, we should ask her to take pity on Brixen after such a nasty winter. And you should ask her for more cows. What else shall we ask the witch for, Rudi?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t think it works that way.”

  “My mama says it does. Everyone says it does.”

  Rudi wanted to say, “Everyone is superstitious and silly,” but he held his tongue. He thought for a bit. “I think the witch is . . . more like a night watchman.”

  Susanna tugged at a braid. “You mean she sleeps all day, and snores so loudly that the windows rattle?”

  Rudi stifled a laugh. “No. I just think that the witch knows things we don’t. The same way the night watchman can see so well in the dark, and can hear faint noises. The way he stays alert while everyone else is sleeping. The night watchman doesn’t cause a smoldering ember in a haystack to grow into a blazing fire. He’s just the first to see it, and he warns everyone else. I think the witch is sort of like that.”

  Susanna Louisa skipped ahead of him on the path. “But that’s not magic,” she called back to him. “Doesn’t the witch do any real magic?”

  The path was steeper now, and Rudi stepped more carefully. “Oh, yes. There is real magic about the witch, no doubt. I’m only saying that—perhaps—some of what the witch does only seems like magic, because we don’t pay attention as well as she does.”

  “I suppose that makes sense,” said Susanna, stooping to pluck a handful of tiny pink rock jasmine. “How old is the witch, Rudi? Can
I ask her about that, anyway?”

  “I don’t think you’re supposed to ask such things,” said Rudi, following her along the rocky path. He stopped for a moment to catch his breath. “I think we’re almost there. Better hold on so you don’t slip.” And he reached out to take her hand.

  But she was gone.

  6

  “Susanna?” Rudi turned in every direction, but she had vanished.

  She could not have gone far. The high meadow was behind them, and now the path wound steeply toward the peak of the Berg. On one side, the sheer face of the mountain rose toward the sky. On the other side were scattered boulders, and just beyond them was—nothing. The mountain simply fell away on that side. Anyone who wandered more than a few steps off the path might never be seen again.

  But Susanna Louisa was as sure-footed as a mountain goat, Rudi told himself. She had not slipped once on their journey so far.

  “Susanna?” He steeled himself and peeked over the edge.

  Nothing.

  “Susanna Louisa? This isn’t funny!”

  She must have gone ahead on the trail. Of course. Rudi followed the path upslope once more and called her name, and swallowed a growing sense of panic.

  There were stories of menacing things here, high on the Berg. Wolves. Lynxes. Unsavory travelers from the far side of the mountain. But those were only stories—or in any case, not likely. That’s what Rudi told himself as he stepped warily along the trail. He reached into his pocket and felt the reassuring heft of Marco’s key. He might need to throw it, after all.

  Rudi crept around a bend. Ahead of him the path led directly through a tall, narrow crevice that split the black rock of the mountain in two.

  He knew this place. Within that crevice lay the Brixen Witch’s front door.

  Rudi hurried forward into the cold shadow of the cleft. He stopped for a moment, blinking in the dim light. The bright sunshine at the far end of the crevice made the shadows all the darker. “Susanna? Are you here?”

  Had she already found the witch’s door and gone inside? Rudi crouched in the shade of the crevice, searching for the low door that led into the mountain. To the untrained eye, the door looked like only another facet of the rock, but Rudi knew better. He found the spot and he knocked.

  But his knuckles made no sound. So he kicked at the rock. Once, twice—

  And on the third kick Rudi’s boot met nothing but air. His foot swept into a pocket of darkness—an open doorway that had not been there a moment before—and he landed on the ground with a thud.

  Something stepped in from the bright sunshine of the path beyond the crevice and stood over him. It was Susanna Louisa, her braids swinging. “There you are!” she said.

  Rudi scrambled to his feet. “I thought you fell off the mountain!” he growled, allowing his fear and relief to melt into anger.

  “Why would I do that?” She gasped. “Look! You found something! Is it the witch’s door? You go first.” She pushed him through the open doorway.

  The door slammed shut behind them, and they stood in utter darkness. Rudi straightened himself and tried to blink away the blackness. Something nudged him from behind; a small hand found his and grasped it tightly. He did not resist.

  Now the small hand tugged at Rudi’s. Instinctively he lowered his head.

  “This was a good idea, right, Rudi?” came Susanna Louisa’s wavering whisper.

  “Oma said it was,” he whispered back. “I suppose she must be right.”

  Now came a noise from deep within the cave. Footsteps. The small hand squeezed his so tightly, Rudi had to bite back a yelp.

  He decided to set a brave example and announce himself. It was the polite thing to do, after all. Besides, he and the witch were old acquaintances. He opened his mouth to call “Hello!” but something happened to the word on its journey from his lungs to his lips, and the sound that emerged was more like a squeaky “ ’Lo?”

  The footsteps ceased. Something told Rudi that even though his own eyes could not yet see in the dark, other eyes could see him quite well.

  “Wipe yer boots,” said a voice, surprisingly close. Rudi automatically obeyed, and he could tell by the tugging on his hand that Susanna Louisa was doing the same.

  Somewhere in the gloom a light flared brightly, and then it settled and softened. Rudi heard the creak of an iron grate, and gradually he saw the outline of a piped stove. Next to it stood the familiar shape of a small person in ragged skirts. He blinked, and as his eyes adjusted, her form took further shape.

  Her shoulders were wrapped in a threadbare shawl. Tufts of white hair escaped from under a faded kerchief. Her face was crossed with a thousand lines, and her mouth was twisted into what might have been a grin. Or it might have been a grimace.

  “So,” she said without further introduction. “I were not expecting visitors again so soon. What has you brought me? Gifts? Offerings? Supplication?” The tiny old woman held out her hand.

  Rudi was ready for this. He shrugged off his pack, pulled it open, and drew out a small package. “Elderberry tarts. Sorry there aren’t many. It’s been a . . . lean year.”

  “So it has,” said the witch, unwrapping the package with care. “And how is your family, young Rudolf? Is Gussie well?” She broke off a bit of tart, nibbled it, and sighed contentedly.

  “Oma is well, thank you, mistress,” said Rudi. “Though we are all a bit thinner than last time I saw you.” He hoped she couldn’t hear his stomach. The sight of the tarts had sent it gurgling.

  But if she noticed, she made no sign. Instead, she turned her attention to Susanna Louisa.

  The two stood eyeing each other—the little girl and the littler witch. Despite her extra inch of height, Susanna Louisa took a halting step backward.

  Rudi knew how she felt. He got the same squirmy feeling whenever the witch turned her full attention on him. It was something like stepping barefoot into a fresh cowpat—not entirely unpleasant while it was still warm, but someplace he’d rather not stay for more than a few seconds.

  “Well, missy?” said the witch. “What about yourself?”

  Susanna blinked. Then, remembering herself, she hitched a curtsy. “What about me, mistress?”

  The witch held out her hand and tapped her foot. “Gifts? Supplication? It’s how things is done hereabout.”

  Susanna Louisa cast a pitiful glance at Rudi. But before he could reply, her face brightened. She reached into her pinafore pocket, drew out the bunch of rock jasmine, and placed the jumble of tiny pink blossoms onto the witch’s outstretched palm.

  The witch regarded them with a raised eyebrow. “It’ll do. Come in. Sit down.”

  Having been here before, Rudi knew the way of things. He stepped toward the glowing stove and perched himself on the low footstool that faced the solitary chair. Without prompting or complaint Susanna Louisa settled herself on the braided rug, tucking her gangly legs under her.

  The witch stirred the fire, and now it warmed the air and chased the dampness. “I’m sorry I hasn’t any tea to offer. It’s been a lean year up here, too. Those blossoms you brought are lovely to smell, but I’m afraid they doesn’t make a good tea.”

  “That’s all right,” said Rudi quickly. “We haven’t come for tea.” Which was true, strictly speaking. Still, he had held out a small hope for a steamy mug of her chamomile. He told himself it was just as well. A sip of tea would only make him crave a bite of tart, and he had brought too few to expect her to share.

  The witch settled into her chair. “What has you come for, then? Are you in trouble again already?”

  “Not trouble, exactly,” Rudi said. “It’s only—”

  “It’s these.” Susanna Louisa nudged Rudi. He pulled the small pouch from his pocket and handed it to the witch.

  “So,” said the witch, her face crinkling into a grin, “you has one more little giftie for me?” She opened the pouch and peered inside.

  “Oma said you might know what to do about them,” said Rudi.

>   The witch emptied the contents of the pouch into one hand. “Do about them?” She frowned. “I has no place to plant a garden up here. And this is not even enough beans to make a proper soup.”

  Rudi leaned forward on the footstool and cleared his throat. “No, mistress. Look again.” He stole a glance at Susanna Louisa, a glance that said, Keep quiet. To Rudi’s mind, even a witch might yield to the power of suggestion. If anyone was going to utter the words “magic beans,” Rudi wanted it to be the witch herself.

  The witch held the beans in the dancing light of the stove’s grate, causing their keyhole markings to shiver. She tilted her head and stirred the beans with a finger.

  “What’s this?” She pinched one between finger and thumb, held it close, and examined it. She looked up with a start. “Where did you find these?”

  “At the market in Klausen,” said Susanna. “We were—”

  “Klausen?” The witch scowled. “Klausen is under my protection. Who dares bring these beans into my province?”

  “A shearling girl gave them to us in trade,” explained Susanna.

  “In trade? For what?”

  “For one of our cows,” admitted Rudi. “And Papa is anxious to undo the bargain.” Rudi suddenly decided that asking the witch for help was neither silly nor superstitious.

  “Your papa is anxious over nothing,” said the witch. “An entire cow for not enough beans to make a proper soup? ’Tis hardly a fair trade.”

  “It is fair!” cried Susanna. “Because they’re special beans. These beans are—”

  “Magic?” said the witch.

  “Yes!” said Susanna Louisa.

  “No!” protested Rudi. “How can they be magic?”

  The witch dumped the beans back into their pouch and yanked the string tight. “I’d know that keyhole mark anywhere. These beans belongs to him. To the witch of Petz.”

  7

  Petz. There were many stories about the place, and they all made Rudi shiver.