“Not sure why I’ve even kept some of those,” muttered the witch. “I know there are scholars who see value in the old tales, but if you ask me, they’re poison to young minds.”
“You can’t mean that,” said Serilda, even though she was fairly certain she did. “There’s no harm in a fairy tale now and then. It prompts imagination and clever thinking, and good manners besides. It’s never the nasty, greedy characters that live happily ever after. Only the good ones.”
Madam Sauer straightened and fixed her with a dark look. “Oh, true, they might be bits of whimsy intended to frighten children into better behavior, but in my experience, they are most ineffective. Only real consequences can improve a child’s moral aptitude.”
Serilda’s hands clenched, thinking of the willow branch that had struck the backs of her own hands so many times when Madam Sauer was trying to punish the lies right out of her.
“Far as I can tell,” the witch continued, “the only thing those nonsense stories do is encourage innocent souls to want to run off and join the forest folk.”
“Better than wanting to run off and join the dark ones,” said Serilda.
A shadow eclipsed Madam Sauer’s face, deepening the lines around her frowning mouth. “I’ve heard of your latest hoax. Carried off to the Erlking’s castle, were you? Lived to tell the tale?” She loudly clicked her tongue, shaking her head. “You are inviting misfortune to your doorstep with such stories. I would advise you to take caution.” She snorted. “Not that you’ve ever listened to me before.”
Serilda bit her lip, wishing she could tell the old bat that it was far too late for caution. She glanced once more at the cover of the book the librarian had given her, before sliding it onto the shelf beside the other history tomes.
“I trust you’ve also heard that I will be gone to Mondbrück in a few days,” she said. She was tempted to tell her that she would be going and never coming back. “My father and I are going to see the spring market.”
Madam Sauer lifted an eyebrow. “You will be gone during the Crow Moon?”
“Yes,” she answered, trying to keep the waver from her voice. “Is that a problem?”
The schoolteacher held her gaze for a long moment, studying her. Finally she turned away. “Not so long as you help the children with the Eostrig’s Day preparations before you go. I haven’t the time nor the patience for such frivolity.”
Chapter 19
Her heart ached when she thought of how much she was going to miss the children. Serilda had every reason to believe that she would be even more of an outcast when they reached the big city—a stranger with unholy eyes—and she was dreading the inevitable loneliness. Yes, she would have her father, and she hoped to eventually find work and perhaps even make friends. She would certainly try to win over the people of Verene, or wherever they ended up. Maybe if she spun the story of her god-blessing just right, she could even persuade the people she met that it portended good fortune. She could be quite popular indeed if people believed her to be a good-luck charm.
But none of that eased her sadness.
She was going to miss these five children desperately, with their honesty, their laughter, their genuine adoration of one another.
She was going to miss telling them stories.
What if the people of Verene didn’t like stories?
That would be dreadful.
“Serilda?”
She snapped her head up, startled from the maze of thoughts that she was so often lost in these days. “Pardon?”
“You stopped reading,” said Hans, gripping a paintbrush.
“Oh. Oh, right. Sorry. I was … distracted.”
She looked down at the book Madam Sauer had handed to her, insisting that the children hear the first five chapters before they were released for the afternoon.Truths of Philosophy as Found in the Natural World.
They had made it through twenty pages so far.
Twenty dense, dry, atrocious pages.
“Hans, why did you say anything?” said Fricz. “I’d rather suffer silence than another paragraph of that book.”
“Fricz, preferring silence?” said Anna. “Now, that’s saying something. Could you pass me that straw, please?”
Straw.Serilda watched as Nickel handed a few handfuls to Anna, who proceeded to stuff them into the large sackcloth doll laid out on the cobblestone road.
Serilda shut the book and leaned forward to inspect their work. For Eostrig’s Day, the schoolchildren were traditionally tasked with making the effigies that would symbolize the seven gods at the festival. Over the past two days, they had completed the first three: Eostrig, god of spring and fertility; Tyrr, god of war and hunting; and Solvilde, god of the sky and sea. Now they were working on Velos, who was the god of death, but also of wisdom.