1 Otto

1

Otto

"So, let me get this straight," I say. Brigitta looks smugly down at me. "I am supposed to participate in a mock battle, after which the guard will toss me into an ice-cold pond, then I have to climb to the top of the waterfall before running through literal fire?"

"Yes, that's about the sum of it," Brigitta says, chuckling. We're at the outskirts of the Well, in the shadows of the trees that hold most of the witches' homes. A safe distance away so that none of the others will be caught in the crossfire of today's activities.

"But… why ?"

"Tradition." Brigitta shrugs. "You may be a goddess-chosen warrior, Otto Ernst, but you've not yet been chosen by us ." Joining the elite guards of the Well will cement my place in the coven, despite my lack of magic.

"And the way to get chosen is to first fight and then be tortured by you?"

Brigitta smiles. "That'd do it."

I stare at her flatly, but I can appreciate the activity. Call it bonding, call it hazing—after I survive tonight, I'll be an accepted and respected member of the society in the Well, inducted into the Grenzwache itself.

But first I have to survive.

Alois snickers, his shoulders shaking. Of them all, the redhead is closest to me in age, but even then a few years my senior. Behind them, I can see the other members of the guard openly laughing at me, elbowing each other and whispering.

They're witches. They have spent their whole life in the Well coven, and most of them have spent decades in the guard, every day honing their skills in both combat and magic to ensure the protection of the Origin Tree. They've been so secretive about the damn tree that I've yet to even see it, despite being here for months and being a goddess-chosen warrior. But I suppose that's the point. When the Origin Tree is the literal source of all magic on the entire planet, it gets protected.

Regardless, though, they have not only years of training, but intimate knowledge of the land and magic on their side. I eye Brigitta's tattoos swirling over her biceps and up her shoulders, the sharp lines of the black ink competing with the sharp lines of her clavicle. The ancient Celtic markings aren't just tradition, as Brigitta implied. Each one enhances the warrior's skills, protects the body, strengthens the muscles. The sigils and runes are further magic. And, once all this bonding with the guards is done, Fritzi is going to mark me with tattoos of her choosing, gifting me magic through my skin.

Witches who fight, Brigitta told me, do not always have time to craft a spell, carefully gathering ingredients to brew a potion or whatever the witch's specialty may be. The heat of the battle requires action . That's where the tattoos come in. The traditional Celtic designs serve a purpose, a way to draw from magic without the sometimes slower and more tedious spell work.

This would not be the case if the Guards used wild magic like Fritzi , I think, but I press my lips closed. This is one of the secrets she wants me to keep. The Well coven is deeply traditional, and wild magic is decidedly not.

For now, my skin is still blank. I'm just a human without magic, who's spent most of his time as a soldier…but a soldier who never intended to truly fight. My time as a captain of the hexenj?gers was a front; I never wanted to be a witch hunter. I just had to pretend to be one to bring them down from the inside.

"Don't worry so much, Ernst," Brigitta says, laughing at my serious face. "Today is just for us, the border guard. The real induction comes later."

"And on the day of the actual trial, I'll be scaling waterfalls and leaping through fire while Fritzi…" I say, waving my hand, "Fritzi will be taking a bath?"

"That's a bit of an oversimplification," Brigitta says. "But essentially. Yes."

"A bath." Alois laughs. "Is that what you want, warrior?"

"It would be nice," I grumble. I quite like the baths here. I shift in my seat, hoping the others don't notice how much my mind has wandered at the idea of Fritzi in a bath.

"I think he's grown a bit soft," Alois says. My mind panics for a moment, but then Alois steps closer and pokes me in my belly. I'm pleased that he winces, his finger finding no fat to cushion the jab. "Lazing about in the trees."

Fritzi, Liesel, and I have been in the Well for months. It's become our home.

Brigitta tosses me a pouch. Inside are a dozen red sacks sewn shut. I weigh one in my hand, and a red powder coats my palm. "You must ‘kill' twelve of us before you win," the captain says.

Twelve to one. I glance behind her. There are easily thirty people participating in the battle. I only have to hit twelve with the red markers, but I'll have to go through more than three times that many to make a hit.

"There are only twelve markers in the bag," I say, counting again.

"So don't miss." Alois grins with all his teeth.

"Meanwhile, we'll have these." Brigitta makes a movement with her hand, and Alois picks up a basket and starts distributing five spell pouches to each member of the guard.

"What do they do?" I ask warily.

"Each hit will freeze you just a little more," Brigitta says cheerily. "One will tingle, like pins and needles at the spot where you're hit. It'll get progressively worse with each strike until you're numb."

"Numb's not so bad."

"Yeah," Alois calls back, shooting me a wicked look I don't trust. "It's not so bad at all. "

My stomach twists. Got it. Don't get hit.

"Game's over when you mark twelve of us, or when you can no longer move." Brigitta smirks. "Well, ‘warrior?'" She somehow makes the word sound like a mockery. "Are you ready to be truly worthy of Holda?"

Holda? No. I could care less what a goddess thinks of me.

But I'll be damned to any hell that exists before I let Fritzi down.

Brigitta raises a horn to her lips. "The hunt starts when I sound the horn."

"I thought this was a battle, not a hunt," I say, already staggering back.

Brigitta towers over me, her lips curled into a sardonic snarl. "Every battle is a hunt until you figure out how to fight back."

Skokse, I think as I dash through the underbrush, using the scant grace Brigitta allowed for me to make the first move. I skulk through the trees, already hearing the horn signaling that the hunt is on.

I need my horse. Skokse is the closest thing I have to an ally in this battle, and if I'm mounted, I can be faster. I can have a chance.

I circle back. In my time here at the Well, I've gotten a feel for the place, both in the trees with Fritzi and on the ground with my sister, Hilde, who has been embraced by the coven despite not having magic herself.

Hilde. There's an idea. She might help me to hide.

I shake away the thought as soon as it forms in my head. First, she is my sister, not a soldier. Second, I don't want to hide. I want to win.

Another blow of a hunting horn. Louder this time.

"Skokse," I remind myself, cutting through a copse of saplings toward the stables.

I break out into a run, not caring about stealth.

An arrow whizzes by, close enough that the fletching stings my skin.

"Hey!" I shout, spinning around to see Alois on the wooden fence near the animal pen, giving me a mocking salute.

"If it hits you, I promise to heal you!" he calls, already knocking another arrow.

"If!" I shout back, zigging over the worn grass where the horses graze. "I thought you were supposed to use the spell satchels?"

"Oh, I'm just having a bit of fun!" Alois laughs.

Another arrow flies, missing me by a whisper.

I pause long enough to point behind him. "Hi, Cornelia!"

Alois spins around, already squaring his shoulders and tilting his head to show off. I laugh so loud that I blow the ruse; he aims another arrow at me with lightning speed, letting it fly just as I reach the barn and throw myself into the stable, eyes frantic. I have seconds at most. There. Last stall. Skokse's head, black as night, dark eyes watching as I race to her.

"Help me out?" I gasp, throwing open her stall door.

Skokse's steps are heavy thuds as she strides forward. She has no saddle, but I kick a bucket over to use as a step and grab her withers, swinging my leg over her side. Before I have a chance to give her a command, Alois and three others of the guard burst into the far side of the stable, and Skokse pivots, kicking dirt and hay as she darts toward the other side. I lean low over my horse's back, clinging to her as more arrows land with thunks into the wooden wall, and Skokse leaps over the low, wide door.

A burst of green and blue as we enter the meadow. I straighten on Skokse, then nudge her with my right foot, circling her back around the stables to the other door. As I'd hoped, Alois and his three fellow guards are racing down the long, wide stretch of barn in the direction of Skokse's stall. Behind them now, I get one of the witches in the back with a red marker. She shouts and cranes her head, cursing as she steps to the side. Out of the game.

I throw another—missing the witch I'd aimed for, but thankfully hitting Alois right in the face, a giant stain of red powder sliding over his cheek.

"Just a bit of fun," I say, and Alois snorts in appreciation.

The witch I'd aimed for hurls a spell satchel at me, and my arm burns from the hit. Much worse than just pins and needles, as Brigitta said, but at least it wasn't a direct blow. I hit him with a marker, and he steps back. One more down. I whirl Skoskse around in the limited space of the barn's corridor.

The last guard—a young woman with slick black hair named Mella—must be hiding in a stall. I twist my head around, my scalp tingling, wincing at an attack that hasn't come.

Skokse blows out a breath. My hands tense in her mane.

Suddenly, the horse kicks, slamming both back hooves into the stall behind me. I hear a groan and turn to see Mella crumpling under the remains of the wooden door. I curse. It's a game to us, but Skokse doesn't know that.

"We've got her, don't worry," Alois says, rushing over. The two others have potions and spells at the ready to heal their comrade.

I toss a red marker on Mella's limp body. Alois shoots me an annoyed look, but I just shrug, turning my horse around. Four down. Eight to go.

Skokse and I charge out of the barn. The commotion in the stable was loud enough to summon more of the Grenzwache, but they're too far away to risk my throwing a precious red marker. I kick Skokse, and we head down the hill. My horse is pure muscle and strength, barely showing any signs of exertion as she races toward the relative cover of the trees.

Every battle is a hunt , I think. Time to fight back.

Behind me, I can hear horse hooves.

I squeeze Skokse with my legs but let go of her withers. The bag with the markers is securely tied to my waist. My heart thuds as I look around.

There. A relatively low branch that's thick enough…

Carefully, I pull my legs up. Sensing my movements, Skokse slows, but not by much. Her pace is even. I nudge her toward the tree, and before I can tell myself what a stupid thing it is to do, I kick up with my legs and grab for the branch with my arms.

Oof. The wind is knocked out of me as I cling to the branch. I scramble, pushing my feet against the trunk to launch myself higher. Skokse wheels around, nodding her big head at me.

"Go," I gasp, pointing.

The horse thunders into the thicker trees as I climb higher. This fir has enough cover that I won't be easily spotted. I stand on the branch, leaning my back against the trunk, watching. Waiting.

Six guards on horseback race toward Skokse. I see one wave to the others, pointing toward the trees. Skokse is visible, but only just. The riders slow, fanning out along the edge of the grove.

Skokse, bless her, moves closer to a path near my tree, drawing them in. The riders start heading into the denser woods.

Six. I take a breath, holding my markers in my left palm, gripping one with my right. I have to be quick. I throw one, aiming for the second rider, and my next marker is already leaving my hand before the first hits. In quick succession, I get three hits. The remaining three riders circle around, looking erratically, everywhere but up. I get one more hit before the other two pinpoint my location. I toss a fifth marker, striking the penultimate rider, then I leap from the tree—right at the last guard. She screams in surprise as I land on top of her, mashing the red marker on her back.

Her horse bucks, and we both fall off, a tangle of arms and legs. The others rush, making sure no one is gravely hurt. Now that each of the six bears a red mark from my attack, they're friendly. Out of the game.

"Better hurry," one says as I whistle for Skokse, who weaves between the trees back to me. "Brigitta's coming."

I use a stump to help launch myself onto Skokse's back.

Sweat and dirt streak down my face as I lean over Skokse, letting the horse skirt the edges of the dense trees. I'm reaching the end of my ideas, and exhaustion and fading adrenaline are making it hard to think. I've gotten ten of the guards with my markers. I need two more.

I could head deeper into the forest, into the areas that have been forbidden. I know the Origin Tree is…somewhere there. But that area will likely be guarded even more heavily.

I narrow down the locations. As captain of the Grenzwache, Brigitta is the most elite warrior, and she knows the game better than any. Where would she be?

On my tail.

She would follow the blood trail—even if the trail is red powder and not literal blood. I close my eyes, envisioning her seeing Alois in the stable, finding the riders at the trees. None of them moved, I realize. They stayed where they were after I marked them—dropped like bodies. Dots for Brigitta to connect, making a line straight to me.

I pull Skokse up to the tree line and hop down, patting my horse on the neck. "Thank you," I tell her. She stomps, her sharp hoof cutting the soft earth.

I slip into the trees. I'm not that far from the riders I struck down. I move silently through the forest, careful of every step, creeping closer, closer. Back to the very guards I've already marked.

Hunting.

None of them hear me as I position myself behind the trunk of a huge oak.

I wait.

The riders are all chatting, laughing. Horse hooves approach. They hail someone.

"He got all six of you?" Brigitta's voice. She sighs. "Honestly, pathetic. He doesn't even have spells."

"Well, he has muscles," one of the witches grumbles. I smirk, tensing my biceps. Nice to be appreciated.

"He was in the trees," the rider I knocked out of the saddle says.

"Hardly an excuse." Brigitta sounds caught between amusement and exasperation. "He used to be a j?ger."

"Not a real j?ger," one of the riders protests. "He's on our side."

I grin silently.

" Still ," Brigitta says, laughing at the others. "You're all on extra night patrols for failing so spectacularly."

Some more chatter.

"He rode off," one of the other riders says. I don't even peer around the trunk.

I wait.

Footsteps crunch through leaves and forest detritus. Brigitta steps closer to my tree.

She stops. "You three go east. You three go west."

Horses gallop off, the group splitting up to cover more ground and find me.

"Where are you going?" A male voice. I think that may be Theodar.

Brigitta moves slowly, carefully.

She's guessed my play.

I hear the sound of heavy pouches thudding. She's testing the weight of at least one in each hand.

I wait.

"Come," Brigitta commands Theodar, and they stride into the forest.

Closer.

Closer.

I see the tip of her boot. In another moment, she'll be beside me.

I scream, the sound raw and jagged, and it works—Theodar shouts, whirling around as I leap in front of them both. I toss one red marker, smacking his panicked face.

Brigitta, however, is not so easily distracted. She raises her hands, both heavy with spell bags, and I dodge, rolling through the leaves and sticks and mud, tossing the red marker up. She ducks, easily avoiding the hit.

I've lost my red marker, and she has spell pouches in each hand, still very much my enemy.

"You can just give up," Brigitta offers. "You don't have to win."

"You're wrong there," I say.

Brigitta kicks at me; I scramble over the forest floor. One spell bag slams into the back of my thigh, and my whole leg goes numb so abruptly that I stumble again and nearly fall over. Brigitta advances as I struggle.

"Give up," Brigitta says good-naturedly, tossing the other spell pouch in her gloved hand.

"Never going to happen," I say. I roll, grabbing the red marker that I'd hit Theodar with.

I stagger, limping—but my injured leg and the red marker in my right hand distracts Brigitta enough that she doesn't notice that I have a rock in my left hand.

I slam the stone into Brigitta's knuckles.

Stunned, she drops the spell pouch to the ground. I raise my hand to throw the red marker at the same time that Brigitta grabs up two more spell pouches from her belt.

I could duck.

But then I'd miss the shot.

I lunge for her, the red marker in my palm slapping against her chest at the same time Brigitta slams both spell pouches on either side of my head.

The hunt is over , I think as I drop like a stone to the forest floor.