The forest grimm, p.5
The Forest Grimm, page 5
I draw up a simple kitchen chair for Henni, who gives me a pleading look as she takes her seat. I squeeze her arm. The worst is almost over—for her anyway.
Grandmère sits across from her and starts shuffling the cards, splitting the deck, fanning it faceup and facedown, her customary routine to ensure the cards are in random order.
Henni’s knee bounces. Her hands wring in her lap. “Such pretty cards. Yes, yes, so pretty,” she babbles. “I love the contrasting shapes and colors. I don’t see this style of painting in the mountain regions. Is it common in your homeland?”
If anyone else, including me, had asked about Grandmère’s past, her eyes would have shuttered while her jaw clamped closed. But because Henni is guileless and the sweetest person in existence, Grandmère answers, “Not in my homeland, but among the family I had there. They taught me how to paint the cards and then to read them.”
A shadow of a smile flickers across Grandmère’s mouth. I wish she would share more about what she remembers, but all too soon, her eyes grow heavy and her almost-smile ghosts away. I know from experience she won’t say more.
What I’ve gleaned of the life she led before coming to Grimm’s Hollow, I learned from Grandfather while he was still alive.
Marlène Danior, who became Marlène Thurn, had a wanderer’s heart, he told me. It drove her to this place from a far-off land, hundreds of miles beyond our mountain ranges, though she stopped her wandering after she discovered our haven. But I suspect the true reason Grandmère drifted to our village was because her heart was sore and lonely, and falling in love here with Grandfather had eased some of that pain.
She was the sole survivor of her family. The Daniors were brutally killed in their native country. If Grandfather ever learned how or why, he never shared it with me. And when I dared to ask Grandmère once myself, she only answered, “My gift lies with the future, ma petite chérie. I never had any talent for divining the past. Let it be buried where it burned to ash.”
Part of me feels buried with it—the bloodline I’ll never know, the connections we might share—but I’m living my life half in the grave anyway, tiptoeing around my fated death as long as possible. The only thing that emboldens me is my vow to save Mother before my time runs out.
“If only I could find such vivid colors for my paints.” Henni prattles even faster now that Grandmère’s shuffling is near an end. “Nothing vibrant grows here anymore unless it’s near the forest border. I’ve had the most difficult time searching for the right shade of red. Thankfully Clara came along today and—”
“We made do with lingonberries.” I talk over her before she can reveal anything about how I crossed the line of ashes.
Oblivious to my concern, Henni asks, “What did you use to make paint for that card?” She points to the Red Card. Grandmère has just exposed it in cutting the deck.
A sudden hitch mars Grandmère’s fluid movements. She clears her throat. “The root of a flower called red rampion,” she answers. “It only blooms on rare occasions. Sometimes years pass before I can find it again.” She slips the card back into the deck and out of sight.
Her words ring in my ears along with the whooshing of my heartbeat. I can’t believe it. The same root that dyed the cape red was also used to paint the Red Card. It’s another sign that the time is ripe to save my mother. But I need a real sign. I need that card—Changer of Fate—to be drawn for me.
“Rampion! Yes, of course,” Henni says. “I forgot the name. Until today, the purple ones were all I—”
“Ready to begin?” I ask before she can divulge anything more. I press the veil into Grandmère’s hands, and she frowns at me, one eye squinted.
“Patience, Clara. Do you need to wait in your room?”
“No.” I retreat a step. “You won’t know I’m here, I promise.”
She grumbles and slips the veil over her head. It’s silky black and covers her face entirely, the hem hitting just below her shoulders. She fans the deck of cards facedown one last time. I poke Henni’s arm and hold my finger to my lips.
What do I do? she mouths.
I motion for her to move out of the chair. She does so with a rare silent grace that would have made Ella proud.
Just as quietly, I slide into her vacated spot, but tug on her skirt to keep her beside me. Catching on, she crouches so our heads are level.
“Set your hand on top of mine,” Grandmère instructs.
I do as she says, my fingers trembling. You shouldn’t tempt fate, I recall Axel saying this morning.
“Relax, child. I must feel your blood sing.”
I blow out slowly through my mouth and try to clear my mind. I push out the image of Axel’s earnest blue eyes and struggle to make room for the hope I once had as a little girl that my fate could indeed change.
“Good.” Grandmère’s hand hovers across the fanned cards, gliding back and forth, searching for the right one. It isn’t long before her fingers stop abruptly above a card with a torn corner.
Cold flashes through my body. I know that card before she turns it over. Once she does, its silhouetted trees, painted black, stare up at me. A yellow crescent moon winks behind them.
The Midnight Forest, always the first card drawn of my two-card fate.
It’s fine, I reassure myself. The Midnight Forest means anything forbidden, and for me it must mean the literal Forest Grimm—a forbidden place. Of course my fate lies there. That’s where I need to go to save Mother. That’s why she made me the cape.
Grandmère’s hand moves again, only momentarily, and then stills a second time. My breath snags. It’s too soon. I’ve never seen her draw a second card so quickly.
She flips it over. I curse inwardly, glaring at the animal on the card, indeterminate in breed, but with sharp canine teeth. The Fanged Creature. It foretells an untimely death—my untimely death.
Henni’s large brown eyes pin me with sympathy. I squeeze my own eyes closed, vainly trying to shut out the burn of my unchanged fortune. I just wanted a blessing for once, a good omen rather than a bad one.
It doesn’t matter. I don’t need a sign. I’ll try my luck in the forest, anyway. I’ll throw the red cape over my shoulders and bring back my mother and the Book of Fortunes.
“Your blood is dancing, Henni.” Awe trickles through Grandmère’s voice. “It isn’t finished singing to me yet.”
My pulse leaps. I exchange startled glances with Henni. Her expression mirrors my cautious hope.
Grandmère leans closer, her veiled face tilting. Her hand below mine moves over the deck, suspending in the air over the only card in the spread with crisp edges. The Red Card. Changer of Fate. The card Grandmère has never drawn before in a reading.
Her hand doesn’t still above the card. It swings left and right, like the pendulum of a cuckoo clock.
My heart is in my throat. Stop, stop, stop, I command Grandmère’s hand, but it keeps rocking, undecided. Maybe I’ve confused her. She thinks I’m Henni. I’m Clara! I want to shout. You painted the Red Card for me.
Please let it be true.
Her pointer finger lowers, touching the overlap where two cards meet, the crisp-edged card and another one. “Interesting,” she murmurs. “Which card is yours?”
The Red Card, unturned, is on the left. It takes all my restraint not to press her hand toward it.
Grandmère seems to feel my inward push.
Her finger slides left.
She turns the Red Card over.
My mouth drops open. Light-headedness rushes through me. Laughter bubbles up my throat. I swallow to trap it in, but my shoulders tremble and my cheeks ache from smiling. My whole life locks into place, a puzzle piece that never fit before.
My fate is my own now. Because I can change fate. That’s what this card means: Changer of Fate. Which also means I can change my mother’s fate. The red rampion, the red cape, the Red Card. They must all add up to this.
Grandmère’s hand shifts right. “This is also your fate, child. This is where your blood stops singing.”
My mind grinds to a halt. She reaches for the last card, the one the Red Card overlapped.
What’s happening? I don’t want another card.
She turns it over anyway, and I gasp.
CHAPTER 5
Goose bumps prickle down my arms. My gaze drops to the most beautiful card in Grandmère’s deck. Two white swans with curved necks touch beak-to-beak, their joined shapes forming a heart. Within that heart, two arrows cross, piercing the swans’ breasts.
The Pierced Swans.
The card with dueling meanings.
It either foretells truest love or star-crossed lovers, a happy fate or a miserable one. The other cards drawn determine the outcome—the story, as Grandmère calls it. But I don’t know how to weave those meanings together. That’s her gift, not mine.
She pulls her hand away and reaches for her veil. She hasn’t seen the upturned cards yet. Her readings are always blind until this moment.
I jerk to my feet. The table tips sideways. The cards slide off and flutter to the floor. I hop back and shoot Henni a pointed look. She doesn’t follow. I wildly gesture for her to take my place.
Grandmère’s veil is lifting. Henni stumbles forward.
The veil is off. Grandmère looks in dismay from Henni’s flushed face to the toppled cards. “Are you well, ma chère?”
“Yes—I mean no! I f-feel faint.”
“Sit back down then.” Grandmère motions me toward the kitchen window. “Clara, open the shutters and let in the breeze.”
I rush to do her bidding.
“I warned you, child.” Grandmère tsks at Henni. “I asked if you were truly ready to know your fate.”
“I thought I was. Sorry.”
“Which four cards did I draw?” Grandmère asks her.
My hand freezes on the shutter latch.
“I-I don’t remember,” Henni says.
“It’s better to tell me, dear. The meanings might not be as grim as you think.”
I peek over my shoulder. Poor Henni looks like a deer caught in the aim of an arrow. “It’s all right,” I tell her. “You can go home. Your father is waiting.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. She springs away and darts out the door.
My gut needles. Somehow I’ll make this up to her. I’ll make her jars and jars of lingonberry jam. I’ll raid every house in the village for sugar. Someone must have a hidden crock.
“You’re too protective of your friend, ma petite chérie.” Grandmère’s head shakes side to side. “You should have made her stay. I could have comforted her.”
I avert my gaze. “She’ll come back when she’s ready to know what the cards mean,” I say casually. I flip the latch, push open the shutters, and fill my lungs with a deep breath of summer air. It’s not as stifling anymore, not as tainted by the curse of Grimm’s Hollow.
I’m the Changer of Fate. I pinch myself like a child would to see if they’re awake and not dreaming. The Red Card, never drawn before, was finally drawn—and for me. None of the other cards matter anymore.
Or do they?
I squint past the hedgerow to the Forest Grimm beyond. How much of my fate has been predetermined in those dark woods?
“What cards did I draw for Henni?” Grandmère asks again, her chair squeaking as she rises.
I open my mouth to say, I didn’t see the cards. The room was too dim. But I can’t spin that yarn convincingly. I was always the child to sneak in on Grandmère’s readings and spy the cards she drew, even by the light of the dying hearth fire. And she was always the woman who pretended not to notice.
I think through the meanings of the four cards drawn.…
The Midnight Forest: a forbidden choice.
The Fanged Creature: an untimely death.
The Red Card: Changer of Fate.
The Pierced Swans: either truest love or star-crossed lovers.
“The Pierced Swans and the Midnight Forest,” I answer, beginning with two truths. “What do you make of those cards paired together?” I fiddle with my sleeve cuff. “Do they mean forbidden love? The Pierced Swans would represent star-crossed lovers then, right?”
“Oui.” Grandmère kneels to gather the cards. “Unless a more powerful card changed their meaning.”
I drift closer. “Are there any cards more powerful than the Midnight Forest?”
She points to two faceup cards on the floor. “The Fanged Creature and the Red Card.” Throwing me a sharp glance, she adds, “Please tell me I didn’t draw those for Henni.”
I shake my head, forcing a smile while my stomach churns. “You drew the Ice-Capped Mountain and the Woodsman’s Hatchet,” I lie.
“Hmm. I wonder what card upset the poor dear then.”
I shrug and crouch to help clean up the mess. “Must have been the Midnight Forest.”
“Perhaps.”
The breeze whistles through the empty spaces of our cottage, the nooks and crannies and dusty corners—places Mother’s presence would have somehow filled and buffered the silence.
I suck in a tight breath. “What if you had drawn the Fanged Creature and the Red Card?” I labor to keep my voice steady. “The Fanged Creature wouldn’t matter then, right? None of the cards would. The Red Card would cancel them out. It would change fate.”
Grandmère laughs and scoops up the remainder of the deck. “The Red Card does not change the meaning of the other cards, Clara.”
“Why not?”
In the shadow of the card table, Grandmère’s violet irises shrink, eclipsed by her pupils. “Let us say that the cards I drew for Henni had indeed been the Fanged Creature and the Red Card, as well as the Midnight Forest and the Pierced Swans. If Henni had a fate to change, it would be something different from what the other cards foretold—her untimely death, that which is forbidden, and her truest or star-crossed love. Those fates are still required. The Red Card cannot alter them. In fact it needs them. It is like a spider in that sense.”
“A spider?” My eyes fall to the gathered cards in my hand, and their painted images swirl together, a labyrinth that runs deeper the longer I keep staring. “I don’t understand.”
“Fate is a web, you see,” Grandmère continues, “and every card drawn is one of its silken threads.”
“Except for the Red Card?”
“That is right, ma chère.” She shifts closer, and one of her violet eyes comes out of shadow. “And a spider needs a web to catch its prey.”
A bitter and coppery tang fills my mouth. I don’t like her comparing catching prey to changing fate. I’m not trying to kill someone. “Are you saying that fate has an order, one that must play out before it can be tampered with?”
“Fate has an order, yes, but think of it, rather, as an order of harmony and balance. That balance must hold or the Changer of Fate cannot change anything.”
I start to understand her meaning.
Although the Red Card foretells that I can change fate, I’m only able to do that if I hold the rest of my fate in balance. Which means I must also follow through with what the other cards have divined for me.…
The Midnight Forest for a forbidden choice. That must mean entering the Forest Grimm wearing the red cape.
The Pierced Swans for a love that’s either true or star-crossed. Axel and Ella flit to mind. That card describes them perfectly. They’re necessary to my journey.
And finally the Fanged Creature for my untimely death—how my own fate must end after I change fate. There’s no other alternative.
This is the story of how I save my mother.
And, as it has been from the beginning, this remains the story of how I die.
CHAPTER 6
That night, after Grandmère has fallen asleep, I take the shears from her sewing basket and cut eight inches off the length of the red hooded cape. I hem the raw edge, as well as the edge of the strip I’ve cut away. I tie the cape around my shoulders and stuff the strip in a pack I’ve prepared with food and supplies.
My heart pounds in a flurry, a drumroll to a battle march. You’re doing the right thing, Clara. Now is the best time to leave. Over the last several days, in preparation for the lottery, I slaved in the pasture and cottage, tending to every chore I could think of to ease Grandmère’s workload if I was chosen.
Our farm hand, Conrad, will help her as well. And when I return—no, when Mother does—she can also help like she once did. Running the sheep farm will be easier after I find the Book of Fortunes and use it to lift the curse off Grimm’s Hollow.
I leave a note on the kitchen table and hurry into the darkness outside. I don’t light my lantern. The crescent moon is just bright enough to illuminate the path leading to the Dantzer farm.
Axel lives in a small house, once meant for dairymaids, on the north end of the property. The Dantzers fixed it up to serve as his first home with Ella. The two of them never got the chance to share it, but it’s his now. He doesn’t have any other family he’s willing to live with. His mother died giving birth to him, and his father was a merchant from the lower valley. One winter, he left Axel in our village with his uncle while traveling through the dangerous pass between the Ottenhorne Mountains.
That was before the curse, but the mountain pass may as well have been cursed anyway. An avalanche struck, and Axel’s father never returned.
My friend lost someone before the people of Grimm’s Hollow had any Lost Ones of their own, and his uncle, a drunkard, was lost long before he ever took Axel in.
I rap on his door. Axel doesn’t answer. I sneak over to the east-facing window. The shutters are open. His bed is tucked lengthwise against the windowsill. The scarce moonlight shines in on him, casting a faint silvery sheen across his tanned skin. He’s sleeping without a shirt on and has an arm draped over his face.
I jostle his shoulder. “Axel.” Why am I whispering? No one from the big house will hear me unless I shout. “Axel,” I say louder, and shake him again.
He mumbles, eyes closed, and swats my hand away.
