Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart - By Jesse Bullington Page 0,36
in her chair. It had taken her a moment, but she had it.
“So she’s a witch, what you waitin for? Get’er quick fore we’s hexed!” Manfried shook his head in an effort to rattle out the sleep-mist.
“What are you waiting for, Hegel?” she asked in the same unique cant.
Both stared in shock, their code never before cracked.
“Maybe, Manfried, your brother is a man of his word?” Her smile widened.
“Dunno what word my brother gave, but any words we give’s ours to take back when we want, and don’t apply to heretics and witches no-way,” Manfried fired back, dropping any pretenses at secrecy. “Stab her, Hegel!”
Hegel took a step forward despite the ringing in his ears and the chills lancing through every other part of his body that cautioned against such an act.
“You break your word, Hegel, and I break mine.” She leaned forward in her chair.
Hegel paused, like a child working up the nerve to plunge into frigid water. Manfried held his breath, not understanding his brother’s hesitation. Perhaps he had already fallen under some charm.
“Why’d you heal us, if that thing out there’s your husband?” Hegel asked.
“Husband!?” Manfried slid back to the floor.
“Everything that happens to me or him is Her Will,” she said softly.
“Very enlightened,” Manfried croaked from the floor. “Least she respects the Virgin proper.”
Nicolette’s laughter hurt their ears. “Hekate’s Will, Grossbarts. The only lady of true quality.”
“Heresy,” Manfried groaned, the stress taxing his consciousness. “Quick, brother, quick!”
“Hekate?” The name struck Hegel as familiar.
“I’d heard Her Name whispered in my youth, in my dreams. I learned Her Ways mostly myself, but twenty years ago a traveler came to our house, a traveler even Magnus feared. He taught me what I didn’t intuit, which I assure you can and does fill volumes.” She had the same pleasant tone as when she told her earlier tale, nostalgia bringing a joyous glaze to her eyes.
“The Devil,” Manfried managed, lights bursting in his vision. “She met with the Devil!” He passed out again.
Hegel could not move, and while he would later attribute it to some spell, in truth he was too frightened to do anything but gawp at her.
“Not the Devil,” she sighed. “Or even a devil. A man of letters, a scholar of sorts. He spent a winter with us. I knew how to farm a bit, and Magnus hunted, naturally, but times are always lean when one’s appetite is so pronounced. In addition to the unusual seeds from the East, he showed me how to make my own food, as well as auger and curse and all the other goodness the Church warns against.”
“We.” Hegel swallowed. “We should be—”
“You leave when I say. I lied. I healed you not for Her Will but my own. You will die eventually, Grossbarts, and it will be hideous.”
Manfried caught that much, breaking back into consciousness and conversation as though his participation in both had been unfailing. “Yeah, everyone dies, witch, and then we’s gonna ascend. Might take us a while, but there’ll be no escapin your fate. You’s gonna be burnin for all time, long after we’s paid any penance we owe.”
“Neither here nor there, I certainly don’t intend to debate theology with two such learned and pious Marionites as yourselves. If I was to slay you now, no matter how painful or drawn out, you fools would cling to your faith, and cheat me of my reward.”
“Damn right we would,” Manfried snorted, trying to keep the lights at bay.
“Take that sack down, Hegel,” she said wearily, motioning to a high shelf.
He obeyed, telling himself his action was born only of curiosity. It felt heavy and lumpy, full of gravel. He held it out to her, the sword quaking in his other hand.
Shaking her head, she squinted at him. “Look inside.”
Unknotting the top, Hegel peered in. His brow knitted, and he looked closer. Manfried laboriously got back up and also had a gander.
“What’s this?” Hegel whispered, paler than milk.
“Teeth?” Manfried pulled out a handful.
“My children’s.” She sighed.
Manfried hurled the teeth away, wiping his hand on his shirt. “Cut’er!” he yelled but fell on his brother, who dropped the bag and supported him.
“Lean times.” Her eyes might have been misty, the room too dim for the Brothers to be sure. “Early spring sowing, to make sure they arrived before the snow. Then I’d have milk to last us through the winter, and some meat as well.”
Hegel’s sword swayed in his fingertips, its tip brushing the teeth on the floor. Manfried dug his thumb