Gretel Müller's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Gretel carried the charred cloth out of the forest before dawn. She found Hansel where she had left him, slumped at a table in the countryside tavern. He woke when she dropped the cloth in front of him. "You went alone," he said. He did not sound angry. He rubbed his eyes and looked at the mark. "Three thorns in a ring. Pretty. Means nothing." "It means something to someone," Gretel said. "We find who wears it, we find the coven." Hansel turned the cloth over. He smelled it. "Twenty years we've chased these people. You think a rag tells us their names?" He dropped it. "It's a lead that goes nowhere." He was right, and that was the problem. The mark was proof. But proof of nothing until she could match it to a face, a town, a trade. A sign no one recognized was just ash. Gretel folded the cloth and stood. "Then we ask people who read marks for coin." They rode to a cluster of countryside houses by midday. Steep roofs. Stone walls dark with moss. Gretel went door to door with the cloth open in her hands. Three villagers stood laughing by a well, an older woman between two men. Their smiles died when they saw the weapons strapped across Gretel's chest. She showed them the mark. The woman shook her head fast. One man stepped back. Children ran past, chasing each other, until the woman called them close and held them still. "We don't know it," the man said. But his eyes stayed on the cloth too long. Gretel watched him. "You've seen it." "No." He wiped his hands on his tunic. "But the old shepherd north of here lost sheep last winter. Found that mark burned on the gate after. He wouldn't speak of it. Moved away." Gretel's grip tightened. "Where." "Gone. Took his family at night." The man lowered his voice. "But the one he blamed still lives. A dealer. Trades cures near the Dark Forest. Folk say he reads witch-signs because he keeps witch company." Hansel laughed under his breath. "A witch-dealer. Of course." Gretel did not laugh. She had a direction now. Not a name, but a door. Someone who could read the mark and say who wore it. They left the villagers at the well and rode toward the forest edge. The sun dropped behind the trees. "You know what dealers like that cost," Hansel said. "They don't take coin. They take pieces of you." "Then we pay," Gretel said. The scrap in her belt was no longer silent. It had an owner now, or soon would. The dealer near the Dark Forest could read what Gretel could not. Finding him was the next hunt. And a dealer who kept witch company would not answer questions for free.