What if she couldn't find the house? What would she do, then? She didn't relish the idea of spending the night in the swamp. There was no telling what manner of creature would come out at night. She didn't think there was any chance of making a fire. The thought of being in this place in the dark, with no hope of even the light of the moon or stars, gripped her with fear.

When she emerged at last on the shore of a broad lake, Jennsen paused to catch her breath. Trees, fat at the bottom where they emerged from the water, stood like a series of poles supporting a low roof of green. The light was slightly brighter over the lake. To the right side was a wall of rock that provided not so much as a handhold, much less a way to traverse it. It dropped straight down into the water, suggesting how deep that end might be.

Scanning the shore to the left, she was startled to see footprints. Jennsen ran over and went to one knee to inspect the depressions in the soft ground. By the size of them, they looked to be made by a man, but were not fresh. She followed the prints along the shore and in a few places found fish scales from a catch that had been cleaned on the spot. The growth beyond was thick and tangled, but the grass and dry ground at the edge of the lake provided a good path, and the footprints, hope.

At the far side of the still lake, she followed the footprints along a wellworn path through a dense stand of willow and up onto higher ground. When she peered through an open place in the vegetation, she spotted, off through the trees, beyond the tangled growth of brush and the veil of vines, up on a rise ahead, a distant house. Wood smoke curled from a chimney to blend into the gray fog overhead, almost as if the smoke itself were creating the ashen overcast.

In the gray gloom of the dark swamp, the light coming from a window at the side of the house shone like a golden jewel, a beacon to welcome the lost, the desperate, the forsaken and defenseless. The sight of her journey's end, after so much terror and loss, brought tears of relief. The tears might have been joy, were it not for her dire need.

Jennsen hurried along the path among the willow and oak, up through the tangled undergrowth, past curtains of vines, and soon reached the house. It was set on a foundation of stone, painstakingly fit without mortar. The walls were made of cedar logs. The roof overhung a narrow porch running around the side, with steps down the back to the path to the nearby lake from where she had come.

Taking the steps two at a time up to the narrow porch and following it around the house brought her to a door flanked by pillars of stout logs supporting a simple but welcoming portico. From the door, down wide steps, was a broad and well-maintained path out through the swamp in front. That was the way people came when they were invited to visit the sorceress. After the way she had come in, it looked like a road.

Wasting no time, Jermsen knocked. Impatient, she rapped her knuckles again. Her knocking was interrupted when the door swung inward. An older man stood staring out at her in surprise. Gray hair was taking over from the dark brown and looked to have receded some, but it was still thick. He was neither lean nor stout, and average height. His clothes were not the clothes of a trapper or a man of a swamp, but those of a craftsman; his brown trousers, clean and well kept, were not coarse, but a more expensive tightly woven fabric. Flecks of gold sparkled from his green shirt. He was the gilder, Friedrich.

His discerning face scrutinized her more carefully, taking in the red hair under her hood. "What are you doing here?" He asked. His deep voice fit well with the rest of him, but it was none too friendly.

"I came to see Althea, if I may."

His eyes turned to the path, then back to her. "How did you get here?"

By his suspicious expression after checking, she reasoned that he had some way of knowing if someone had been up the path. Jennsen knew of such telltales; she and her mother used them all the time to be sure that no one had sneaked up on them.

Jennsen gestured off around the house. "I came in the other way. In the back. From beyond the lake."

"No one can go beyond the lake, not even me." His brow of wiry black and gray hairs drew down without so much as considering her words or questioning her further. "You're lying."

Jennsen was stunned. "I'm not. I came the back way. It's urgent that I see your wife, Althea."

"You have not been invited to come here. You must leave. You will not wander off the trail, this time, if you know what's good for you. Now, go away!»

"But it's a matter of life and death. I must-"

The door slammed shut in her face.