The Well has become a home.
Our steps slow as we reach a clearing. Hilde stands near Brigitta, both of them beaming at me—they must have arrived here earlier. The other council members—Rochus and Philomena—are behind a table that’s been placed in the shallows of a crystal-clear glacial pool.
And behind them—
My eyes grow round. The Origin Tree—for what else could that massive, sprawling tree be?—growsinsidethe center of the pond. And it’s not one tree.
It’s three.
The roots sprawl out, tangling like vines, knobby knuckles peeking up over the surface of the otherwise still water. The roots are a knotted mess, and so are the branches, woven almost as tightly as a basket. But I can see, even from the distance where we stand, that there are three separate trunks. I stop, shocked, looking up at the way the three trees interlock, the trunks braided together to form one.
It’s early spring, but one of the trees already has new growth on it, crisp, pale green leaves still uncurling. In contrast, its branches are tangled with a tree whose leaves are more red and yellow than green. The other tree’s branches are bare and spindly.
Fritzi tugs at my arm, and it’s only then that I realize I’ve been awkwardly motionless, gawking at the massive tree. I had heard the legends, of course, the ancient beliefs of Yggdrasil from a Norseman I met in my travels, or the axis mundi, that invisible line between the realms, an astronomer told me about. But seeingthistree makes mewonder if there is a seed of truth in the legends, a history that I have not yet uncovered.
I don’t really grow aware of my surroundings until I splash into the pool—the same pond the tree grows from—stopping at the table where Rochus and Philomena wait for us. The water laps at our ankles, cool but not cold. Cornelia moves to join the others, with the priest and priestesses on one side, and Fritzi and me on the other.
And between us, a bottle.
The noises of the crowd of onlookers fade. A still silence wraps around us.
Cornelia speaks first, then the others. It is so quiet now that no wind rattles the leaves, no bird breaks into song. The entire world, it seems, hears what Cornelia says.
But not me. Her words fade into the background. I should listen, but…
I’m watching Fritzi’s eyes, wide, rimmed in a barely suppressed panic. I hear the thrum of her heartbeat, louder than anything else. I feel the whisper-light tremble in her fingers.
I rub my thumb over her knuckles until she lifts her eyes to mine.
I love you.My words are silent, my lips barely forming the words, but I know she hears the truth of them.
There it is. The shadow of her smile as her gaze focuses on me, her mind focuses on us.
Nothing else.
Cornelia’s voice raises, loud and clear. “And now, to seal your fates together, you will both drink of the potion that binds your souls and your powers.” She raises the bottle so everyone can see it and then offers it to us.
Fritzi reaches for it first. I watch as her throat muscles work,swallowing half the potion in several big gulps. Her eyes seem to darken; her body grows still.
Is something wrong?
I glance at Cornelia, panic flaring, but the priestess just nods, indicating that I drink next. I pluck the bottle from Fritzi’s fingers and down the rest of the potion.
Black.
Cold.
Fierce rage, washing over me—something wanting my head to turn, tolook.At what? My neck muscles twitch. My eyes grow dim. My body is being jerked, pulled, tugged to look at—
The Tree.
Covetous fury blinds me.
Black.
Cold.
The frigid darkness fades. A connection stretches between us, an invisible tether from Fritzi’s soul to mine.
