The priestess straightens. “Of course.”
Behind us, the rest of the watch gives us space, as much privacy as we can afford in a camp. I have no idea where Alois and Fritzi have gone.
I glance at the fire. I feel foolish, but I still lean close to the flames and say, “Liesel, if you can hear us right now, please go away. I would like a private conversation.”
Cornelia snickers. I have no idea if Lieselisactually in the flames, eavesdropping, but I decide to risk it anyway.
I pull out the golden crucifix I keep with me always. “This was my father’s,” I tell Cornelia.
“Ah,” she says, clearly unsure of what else to say.
“I hate him,” I say. Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t interrupt. “I hate him, currently, still, even though he’s dead, and the only comfort I have when I think of him is that he burns in hell.” I look down at the gold, warm from my skin. “I have hated him ever since he accused my stepmother of witchcraft and had her burned alive for it. But even though he did it in the name of our God, I did not hate God.”
Silence lingers, broken by popping embers. Eventually, Cornelia says, “Do you hate your god now?”
I frown at the crucifix.Can you hate someone you’re no longer sure is real?Those are the words I cannot quite voice.
“You see your goddesses,” I say instead. “Ihave seen your goddesses. At least Holda. And I know Liesel speaks to Abnoba, and I know Fritzi just walked away from a meeting with Perchta. I cannot deny your goddesses exist.”
Cornelia’s eyes grow soft. “Do you worry that because our goddesses are real, your god may not be?”
I cannot look away from the crucifix. I cannot stop biting my lip, even when it hurts.
Cornelia puts a hand over mine. “Do you know why the goddesses gave us the three stones, warrior?”
I nod. I was in the library when she, Philomena, and Rochus spoke about how the stones are protective, a means to remove magic from our world if it becomes too dangerous.
“They gave us the stones because they wanted to give us achoice,” Cornelia says, emphasizing the last word when I raise my eyes to hers. “The way I see it, it’s impossible to have a choice without options. What use is the gift of magic if it was forced upon us? We chose magic, and we chose the goddesses, and we choose now to fight to continue protecting both.”
My jaw is still too tight to speak. Cornelia’s smile is sympathetic and full of understanding. She and Fritzi aren’t too far apart in age, but there’s a deep wisdom to the priestess that I think may come from her different connection to Holda. The goddess chose Fritzi to fight for her, but she chose Cornelia to speak for her.
“Otto,” Cornelia says, “I must confess that I don’t know terribly much about your religion. But I have read some of the book you worship with.”
“The Bible?” I ask.
She nods. “In the beginning, wasn’t the whole story of an apple really about choice?”
I suck in a breath, my fingers clenching around the crucifix. The very first story of the Bible, the story of the Garden of Eden, revolved around Adam and Eve’s choice to take the apple from the Tree of Life. God could have removed the tree, surely. He could have made Adam and Eve never fall for the temptation. If God is all-powerful, as the priests say, He could have made it so that Adam and Eve simply never had a choice.
But He didn’t.
Thepointof the first story of the Bible is that he gave humanity achoice.
“Not every witch can hear the goddesses,” Cornelia goes on, turning back to the fire. “I counsel some who are upset about it. I recognize that it’s not exactly fair for me to be so certain in my beliefs when I have proof of Holda’s voice. But at the same time, I envy you, Otto Ernst.”
“Me?” I ask, surprised.
“In a way, all of the gods have given us the gift of choice. Except for those of us who’ve had godliness thrust upon us. I will never know if my faith could ever be as strong as yours, because I have never had to decide whether or not to have faith.”
She reaches over and touches the golden crucifix in my palm. “Do youwantto believe in your god?”
Emotion wells in my throat.I do.My rage sustained me through the loss of my mother, the years infiltrating the hexenjägers, the horrors I witnessed. But my faith gave me purpose. My faith gave me peace.
My faith enabled me to act, rather than to burn.
“For what it’s worth,” Cornelia adds, smiling when she sees my face, “Holda doesn’t care who you believe in, or why. She’s judged you worthy based on you as a person, not your faith. And the fact that your god’s notbrought down lightning upon us makes me inclined to believe he finds your actions worthy as well.”
“He’s not Zeus,” I mutter. “I don’t think lightning is used as a deterrent.”
