Love Guides The Wandering Star--Part 2: By @Holly_Gonzalez 

Where was she, who was she? Tossed amid the breakers of space and time, her bearings faltered. A thought-voice of reason returned, an anchor locked to the firm sureness of her own universe while the psi-waves churned in a chaotic storm.

I am Inge-Margriite Helmrich, and I'm not lost.

The first trial ended in a flash of white light, and Margritte's vision coalesced. She still reclined upon the throne, beholden to the Psychometer. A vast murmur swirled through the crowd. She stretched her fingers and pushed against the restraints at her wrists and ankles. The sharp edges of the bands cut into her skin--her own skin, not Nathalie's.

The studio orchestra played a rhythmic interlude as she returned. She felt the press of a hand on her own, and her gaze snapped clearly to the Professor.

"That was astonishing, Madame," he said. "How do you feel?"

She replied, her voice weak, "Just fine, thank you."

How was she to explain what she'd just experienced? Being an actress. she knew how to meld into a role. The transition of personalities hadn't jarred her much. What she hadn't expected was how much of herself had bled into Nathalie. Her most secret desires and traits had become entertainment for the entire nation--and the Party.

The Professor turned to the audience and clasped his hands behind his back. "We'll now hear the assessment from our distinguished panel of judges."

The first judge cleared his throat. The many brass and platinum medals on his coat denoted a respected Party official. "Fraulein Helmrich holds obvious ambition. A drive to establish herself in a foreign land. Her methods for attaining such goals, however, are not duly established. Please continue to the next trial."

The other Party judges answered in a similar manner. None were convinced. Still four trials to go. Would it matter in the end? Margritte hoped Fray was right, that the trials could be sabotaged. There hadn't been any sign of a portal within that trial. Fray had instructed to watch for patterns, but nothing had stood out within Nathalie's corner of the multiverse. Maybe during the next trial Margritte would discover the clues.

Navigating psi-space hadn't been too difficult. There was a small trace of self-awareness as she inhabited another person's brain, seeing through a stranger's eyes, taking part in their joy and fear. Yet somehow she remained a dreamer watching someone else's dream. much as the audience here watched it all on the big telescreen.

"Are you ready to continue?" the Professor asked.

Margritte took a deep breath and nodded once.

The Professor waved to his team of technicians. In minutes, the Psychometer charged with an ominous vibration.

"Another bend in the journey stretches before you," the Professor said. "This next episode is the trial of faith. In this, you must find the heart of the Labyrinth itself. The maze exists in many times, many different ways, but there is only one path in and one path out. Your challenge is to traverse it without fear. We're about to discover what--or who-- guides you when you've lost your way. And we'll learn who shines a light within your darkest corners."

***

THE FROZEN MAZE

By: Jazzfeathers

Ingeborg went down the marble stairway wrapping her wool coat around her, her eyes on the maze in front of her.

It had been years since last she came. She had never come back to Scheezwerg since her father died at war. How could she ever walk the maze without him? But now she was here, the maze was the place she wanted to be.

Dry leaves and morning frost crunched under her city shoes as she slowly crossed the meadow that led to the entrance to the maze. The day was cold, no animal called or moved, no sound came from the deserted mansion.

Would she still remember her way in the maze? Would she still know?

As she approached what used to be the arched entrance, she faltered. How odd. She had walked the maze with her father in many seasons, but now she only remembered the summers. Green and bustling life. Some of the bushes would bloom and the ground would be covered in soft grass. The smell of flowers, grass, and sun would be everywhere in the golden sunlight. The bushes would be clean cut and form a perfect design. Dad made sure of that.

What she saw now was a messy gap in a wall of shrubs. The branches that once gracefully arched over the entrance were tangles of branches. Twigs had overgrown and nearly filled the gap. Everything was grey and dry. Dead.

Her mind did consider to give up.

But her heart – no, her heart wanted to go. It wanted to be there, whatever she might find. And her feet moved on that spur and she found herself inside the maze.

The branches had overgrown here too and formed a sort of tunnel, like in that comic – Fray - so popular at university. In number seven, the hero had to cross some such tunnel. Didn't find anything pleasant at the end, but maybe... Twigs tore at her coat, her cloche, her scarf. She had to move them apart with her gloved hands.

Nothing looked like she remembered. There must be grass on the ground, though now it was covered with frosted dew crackling under her feet, an ominous sound. Even if she remembered the way clearly, it would be hard to see it in the gloom of this mess.

Ingeborg stopped at the first turn. She knew she had to turn right, instead she paused. This wasn't a good idea. She had known it. She should just—

She walked on along the next branch of the maze, squinting in the dusk. She turned left at the next split, then right again.

She almost missed it even knowing it was there.

"Professor," she called softly.

A small boulder sat on the side of the path, nearly engulfed by the shrubs. It was round and smooth, and although at a distance it looked just like a boulder, Ingeborg knew it was actually a statue. A dwarf. One of the seven who guarded the maze.

As she stepped closer, the dwarf took shape. It looked very ancient, time and weather had obliterated its features, though the big round head and the ponderous beard were still visible. A few details of the clothing, one hand resting on his stomach – maybe clutching a sword, as her father said. She had always thought it was actually a cane, the same way the round circles around the dwarf's eyes were not the slits in his helmet, but the frame of his spectacles. He raised the other hand, palm open, welcoming any newcomer.

Ingeborg walked up to him, smiling, and touched his helmet. A gesture she had done so many times since she was as small as the dwarf, who now stood barely up to her waist.

"I'm back," she whispered. "I am back."

As she brushed the surface of the stone, a smell of summer drifted from nowhere to her nostrils. Unexpectedly, her eyes stung.

***

"Ingeborg!"

She whirled toward the voice, her hands still on the stone.

"Ingeborg!"

A smile crept over her face. Aunt Dagmar. Ingeborg ran back.

Dagmar stood on the last step of the stairway, the big white mansion with the black shutters and the red roof loomed behind her. She looked as the mistress of the house and the maid at the same time. Tall, straight, her chin high, but her coat simple, almost plain, her scarf and hat of undyed wool, no gloves. Her face lit up when she saw Ingeborg.

"Ingeborg. Child." She opened her arms and Ingeborg ran into them.

Dagmar laughed, holding her tight then gently pulled her away and, her hands on Ingeborg's shoulders, looked into her face.

"Ah. Not a child anymore," Dagmar said, her smile kind of sad, but also bold.

Ingeborg couldn't say anything, the knot in her throat choked her.

"I knew I'd find you in the maze," Dagmar said. Her face still bore her beauty, though lines had appeared at the corner of her eyes. But the wool hat she wore gave her a hint of naughtiness. And her earrings...

They dangled from hooks that were clearly of some common, tarnished metal. Two droplets that sparkled like precious gems but were in fact just shards of glass catching the light of the overcast sky and reflecting it.

"You look like a posh university student come from the big city," Dagmar said with a mock scold.

Ingeborg laughed. "Maybe because that's what I am."

"Are you cold?" Dagmar asked, her face becoming worried. "You look pale."

Ingeborg smiled sheepishly. "A bit. I forgot how cold it is out here."

Dagmar took Ingeborg's hands in her own and squeezed tight. "So we should go inside and have a warm cup of tea." She started up the stairs. "You'll excuse if the mansion looks gloomy. I normally live in the village, and even when I'm here, I only use a few rooms."

Ingeborg looked at her aunt's profile as they reached the terrace in front of the big glass door. Dagmar turned to her. Again, Ingeborg saw that sadness in the lines of her smile.

"A house is supposed to be lived in, you know," Dagmar said. "It's supposed to be home."

There was no reproaching tone in Dagmar's voice, still Ingeborg dropped her gaze. A little pang tagged at her heart.

She startled when a honk shattered the silence.

Dagmar didn't turn, but a mischievous expression appeared on her face. "Well," she said, "Sounds like Grete has arrived."

* * *

Grete's big touring motorcar was parked in front of the house. Her heels clicked on the flagstones leading up to the door. Her red lips curled charmingly as she approached the two women.

"Girls. How splendid to see you."

With her perfect, modern make-up, her very elegant deco-designed clothes and her fashion cut coat with the enormous fur collar, Grete would not have been out of place beside any film celebrity.

She reached for Ingeborg and affectionately squeezed her shoulders – before sizing her up head to toe.

"Your make-up isn't up to date, my child," Grete said, wriggling a black-gloved finger in front of her. "And what is this?" Grete grabbed the lapels of Ingeborg's coat and turned them up. "Why didn't you tell me you needed a new coat? We live in the same city. I could have given you one."

Ingeborg shook her head. "This one is fine, Grete. It does the job."

"No, it doesn't." Grete scolded slightly. "People will always judge you by your appearance, remember that."

Dagmar cleared her voice. "So, will you tell us what this meeting is all about?"

Grete waved the matter away. Ingeborg wondered whether she practiced that movement in front of the mirror, so elegant it appeared.

"I'll tell you everything over dinner."

"Why?" Dagmar didn't quite sound surprised. "Are you getting remarried?"

The scold Grete shot her didn't lack amusement. "No." Grete raised her chin. "Now, shouldn't we go in? It's quite cold."

"I was telling Ingeborg we should have a cup of tea," Dagmar said, turning to the house.

"That's an excellent idea," Grete said. "I hope you've taken out the porcelain set."

***

Ingeborg pushed the food around on her plate.

"Don't you like it, my dear?" Grete asked.

Ingeborg looked toward Grete, sitting at the head of the long table. She wore a dinner dress of that new fabric, sequin, that seem to take the best of the light from the crystal chandelier in the middle of the ceiling.

"Oh no, Grete, it's lovely."

"I would think so." Grete curved her red lips in an elegant smile. "I had to pay quite dearly to secure this chef. Besides, lots of things are settled over a good meal in my line of business."

Ingeborg frowned. What kind of business did she want to settle tonight?

"Is something troubling you, dear?"

Dagmar sat opposite Ingeborg, and had eaten very little herself.

"No, no," Ingeborg said. "I was just thinking."

"Of your dad?"

Ingeborg didn't glance at the other head of the table. Her father had sat there, as always, the last night they had dinner together. Her stomach clenched. She lay the fork down beside the place.

"Julian fought to protect us." A steely strength rang in Grete's voice. "He knew he might die, but he went nonetheless. To make sure we would live." Her voice trembled in the end, her eyes lowered. Everyone said Grete was vastly different from Ingeborg's mother, some even wondered how Julian could remarry with such a different woman. There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice, he had once said to Ingeborg, and she had never doubted his nor Grete's feelings.

Grete pressed her lips together. When she raised her face, her mask of self-confidence was back in place.

"He was a clever man too. He knew I would take care of the family business at the best."

Dagmar sat still and straight in her chair and didn't say anything.

Ingeborg fidgeted at the cutlery. Here it comes.

Dad had entrusted the entirety of the Wassers' wealth to Grete - all but Schneezwerg, which was always Ingeborg's - and Grete had administered it skilfully, always sharing the profits as Dad had requested.

"The war was a rough time for the business," Grete went on. "Last year's hyperinflation was a hard blow too, but I weathered it."

"We're grateful for your generous work, Grete," Dagmar said, her face stern. "You surely know that."

Grete signaled the maid to clear the table, then lit a cigarette from her Ecrivain's Specials pack. Ingeborg knew she only smoked when she was upset. She started to feel upset too.

"Now it's actually going exceptionally well," Grete went on. "The city dwellers love keeping beautiful and active. The beauty centres are always full. There is room for expansion. So I thought—"

She looked at Ingeborg. Then at Dagmar.

"I thought we could turn this manor into a beauty centre too."

Silence.

Dagmar shattered it. Darkly. "That's not a decision you can make."

"I'm not making it, am I?" Grete snapped. She brought the cigarette to her lips, smoke swirling around her, then turned to Ingeborg. "This is the perfect place. With the forest out there and the meadows. We could build swimming pools and tennis courts and horse paddocks. People will kill to come here."

"And where do you plan to build all that stuff?" Dagmar asked.

Grete made an elegant swatting move, which didn't dispel the smoke. "There will be plenty of space when we take the maze down."

Ingeborg's back snapped straight. "Take down the maze?"

"We are doing no such thing," Dagmar stated.

Grete glared at her, then leaned to Ingeborg. "You certainly see it's necessary, darling, don't you? That place is devilish. People can get lost in it."

"Julian would never agree." Dagmar's voice was both colder and darker.

Grete barely turned to her. "Times change, Dagmar."

"But some things don't."

"This place is dying, don't you see?"

Dagmar pressed her lips together.

"If we don't do something, it will soon start to eat at our earnings."

"It isn't money that's needed here."

Grete snapped straight. The two of them exchanged a fiery glance and Ingeborg perceived unspoken words between them. She saw the effort under Grete's elegant, intentional movement of relaxation.

"I understand you, Dagmar," Grete said with a smooth smile, which Dagmar met with a glare. "I know you love this place. And like Ingeborg, I'm grateful for all the care you've given it. But we cannot afford to just leave it as is anymore. Expenses will rise. We have to find a way to cover them."

"Don't you think this is something Ingeborg should decide?"

"Sure." Grete grounded the cigarette in the crystal ashtray. "But don't you think I'm the best to provide guidance? While you've looked after the people who live here and Ingeborg studied at the university, I taught myself how things can be used profitably in today's world. At first, people thought a woman doing business was interesting. But I don't want to be interesting, I want to be good. I want to be the best. I have grown our wealth. I'm a businesswoman, like my father before me. I found my way next to the magnates who live in the city. People listen to me when they decide how to spend their money. Now tell me, dear sister. Who do you think is the smartest of us all?"

They looked at each other. Dagmar, with her clean face, her fiery eyes, the broken glass sparkling at her lobes and her wool, plain dress. And Grete, perfectly coiffed and made-up even for their informal family dinner, wearing the latest fashion of the city, with expensive jewelry at her lobes, neck, and wrists.

"That would be you, Grete," Dagmar said darkly, causing Grete's lips to twitch into a smile. "If money were the only measurement."

Grete's face darkened. Again she leaned toward Ingeborg.

"You understand what I'm saying, darling, don't you? The maze has become unmanageable. You'll have to take it down anyway. Give me the estate and I'll turn it into a fairy tale."

Ingeborg wavered, then shook her head. "I can't decide. Not now." She stood. "Please, excuse me."

Ingeborg had the weirdest dream that night. A typewriter. Made of glass. It wrote by itself, and the weird thing was that, although Ingeborg could see every gear through the glass of the typewriter, she could not see what it was writing on the white paper.

When she opened her eyes, every part of her body ached. She rose and, fastening the silk belt of her gown, walked to the window. She could see all of the maze from there. A mass of grey, wintry plants with no forms or design, which in the distance merged with the forest as if it was the same thing.

A sense of loss seized her so hard she felt her eyes stinging.

Then she saw Dagmar, standing on the last step of the stairways just like yesterday, wrapped in her simple wool coat.

Quickly, Ingeborg dressed. She hurried out and walked up to her aunt. In silence, they looked out on the maze. After a while, Dagmar turned with a sad crease of her lips and rubbed Ingeborg's arm affectionately.

Ingeborg's heart shrunk.

"I don't know what to do, Aunt Dagmar," she whispered.

Dagmar squeezed her arm tight. "Will we have a stroll in the maze?"

It had frozen in the night and part of that frost was still in the ground. It penetrated through Ingeborg's soles, giving her a sense of discomfort. The path was barely visible. The unruly branches tugged at her clothes, as if trying to hold her, snapping with a dry sound when she went by.

"It used to be so beautiful," Ingeborg said.

"It used to be cared for," Dagmar replied.

Ingeborg kept her eyes on the frosty ground.

"I miss Scheezwerg, Aunt Dagmar," she said. "But I'd miss the city life too, if I renounced it."

"Is that why you're hesitant?" There was a special warmth in Dagmar's voice. "Because you think it's one or the other?"

Ingeborg looked ahead – and she spotted the Professor. A sense of relief spread over her, as if she had expected not to find him. She hastened up to him, and like yesterday, she hugged him. The cold and the greyness was forgotten. It was nice to be here.

"Did you know I call him Professor?" she said to Dagmar. "Don't you think this design looks like spectacles?" And she traced the rim with a finger.

Dagmar chuckled. "I've always called him Der Alte, because he looked older."

Ingeborg caressed the top of the statue lovingly, then they walked on. The crunch under their feet was the only sound accompanying them.

"Do you think the maze is devilish?" Ingeborg asked in the silence.

"Grete sure thinks so."

"Dad used to say the maze is magic."

They stopped and looked into each other. Everyone knew Ingeborg's mother crossed the maze the first time she set foot in it. They whispered the woman had something. Ingeborg was about to ask about it when Dagmar turned her looked ahead and smiled. Following her gaze, Ingeborg made out an arm with a reaching hand from the bushy wall. Dagmar walked on and took the hand.

"Do you have a name for him too?" she asked.

Ingeborg came closer and saw the second dwarf almost completely swallowed by the shrub. Stocky and armed, like the first one, but reaching up to Ingeborg's shoulder.

"I've always called him Willkommen."

Dagmar nodded. "That's what your father and I also called him." Then she walked on. After a hesitation, Ingeborg followed.

"Who cared for the maze?" she asked, walking beside Dagmar. "Dad never had many gardeners."

"He didn't need to. He cared for the maze himself."

That surprised Ingeborg. She didn't recall her father ever trimming or doing any gardening in the maze.

Dagmar was silent. The ground moaned under her feet. She gazed ahead, into the gloom of the inner maze. Eventually, she said, "During the war, Schneezwerg was very near the front. It didn't take long before wounded started coming in. There was no doctor here. Our people didn't know what to do and they turned to me."

She braced herself. Might have been for the cold.

"I asked one of the doctors to stay with the wounded. He said he would as long as some of us learned how to tend to the wounded, then he would have to go. There were too many soldiers to look after at the front. If I was willing to help, he blessed me, but I had to take care of that by myself."

They stopped in front of the third dwarf... which was taller than both her and Dagmar. He stood with his feet apart, a big axe resting its head between his feet and his head inclined. Because he stood on a corner, he was mostly visible.

"I thought about Julian." Dagmar's voice cracked. "What if he would be brought here and nobody could help him? So I learned whatever I could and when the doctor left, I continued with whoever would help. Tens and tens of soldiers came, and then hundreds. And they weren't just Germans. There were French, and British, and Belgian and Polish. Our people protested against it. They said we shouldn't tend to the enemy."

They walked on. The ground cracked under their feet. Dagmar's earrings occasionally caught little shards of light.

"I thought the same, at first. But then I thought, what if Julian ends up in a French hospital, instead of here? The Red Cross didn't mind a soldier's uniform, they just cared about his life. I figured I should do the same, and I hoped, I hoped so much, that someone on the other side thought the same."

She smiled ruefully at Ingeborg.

"I know it sounds stupid. What I was doing didn't make any difference on the other side. But... you know. It might have. Maybe someone was thinking the same on the other side, fearing for a loved one."

She fell silent again, looking ahead in the indistinguishable path in front of them. Her mirror earrings caught the feeble light and seemed to be the only light in that grey no-man's land.

"Do you think caring made the difference?" Ingeborg asked.

Again they stopped. In front of them stood a giant with the build of a dwarf, his feet wide apart, his arms spread out as if to bar their path – or to point in two different directions. This was the farthest Ingeborg had ever gone inside the maze.

"People expected me to be patriotic," Dagmar said. "And I think I was. I cared for my soldiers, and I also cared for other young men who were as wounded and lost as ours. I don't think I ever betrayed my country, but caring showed me a new path. My own path."

Ingeborg looked at the dwarf's stern face. She felt a need to go on, but she could not decide which turn to take.

"Have you ever crossed the maze, Aunt Dagmar?" she finally asked.

Dagmar smiled tenderly at her. She cupped Ingeborg's face in her hands, then took Ingeborg's hands in hers.

"There isn't just one path through the maze," she said. "You can't learn it by heart and just follow it. You have to uncover it every single time. Choose which way to go, every single time."

Ingeborg stared at her aunt's face. So... wouldn't she teach her? How was she supposed to cross the maze without guidance?

Dagmar's earrings sparkled. Somehow they caught the light inside the gloom.

Dagmar smiled and brushed one earring with her fingertips. Then she unhooked them from her lobes and placed them in Ingeborg's cold hands.

Ingeborg looked up in surprise.

"I've seen you looking at my earrings often. You can have them, if you like them."

Ingeborg looked down at the earrings in her hands. They had a simple metal hook and from it dangled a droplet made of clay on which Dagmar had cast little faces of broken mirrors.

"Why do you use this broken glass for your jewelry, Aunty?" she asked. "You can create such beautiful things. The city people would love it, if you used more precious materials."

"The clay comes from our land," Dagmar said. "The mirror from our people. The first time I used it, it was during the war. A woman was throwing away her mirror. I asked her to give it to me instead, and she did it because she thought it had become useless."

She brushed the droplets in Ingeborg's hands softly.

"But I thought, in its shards, the mirror had a possibility to multiply its use. If its old life was over, it could become something completely new and beautiful. Still a mirror, but not just." She smiled. "It could be one and the other."

Ingeborg looked down at the shards of mirror in her hands. She looked up at the stern face of the dwarf and something inside her stirred. She looked toward the path on her left. Then to the one on her right.

She closed her hand around Dagmar's gift.

"I think we'd better go back, now."

***

That conversation unsettled her. Ingeborg kept thinking about it all through the day and was still thinking about it at dinner. She almost never met Grete's gaze, for fear that she would bring up the matter of the maze again, but Grete engaged in her best charming conversation and talked about anything but that – though Ingeborg was sure Grete studied her very closely every time she paused in the conversation. After dinner, the three of them spent some time in the library, beside the fireplace.

It was almost midnight, now. Dagmar and Grete had retired, but Ingeborg could not even think of going to bed. Her feet were restless, just like her mind.

In her dinner clothes, she stood by the window, staring out at the dark mass that was the maze at night.

Dad had always said she would cross the maze when the time came, but Ingeborg had never allowed that time to come. That morning, in the maze... had she let that moment pass?

Have I ever truly tried? Or had she convinced herself, like Grete did, that there was only one way to be a modern woman, when in fact, there are many paths across the maze?

Before she knew what she was doing, she put her coat on, grabbed the gas lamp and went down to the stairway. She stopped on the last step and looked toward the maze.

She didn't see anything but solid darkness. She had to step closer.

So she crossed the meadow between the mansion and the maze, guessing her path in the dark. The lamp lit a little portion of the way in front of her, only when she was upon it did Ingeborg see the entrance to the maze.

Her slippers were soaked. Her feet and hands cold. The lamp gave only little warmth and light.

She stepped into a tunnel of darkness where the light from the lamp uncovered only a very small part of the path. A mockery. It was of no use. She would get lost.

But she went on, peering into the night. The crack of the ground and her own heavy breathing were the only sounds she heard. She didn't see anything, but this was the part of the maze she knew best. She would find the Professor. She knew she could.

And she did.

She made out the rounded form of the dwarf and ran to him, hugged him, her heart pounding. The stone was strangely warm in all that cold. Ingeborg rested her cheek on his head and listened. Was the maze truly magic?

She raised her gaze on the darkened path ahead. She needed some magic to find Willkommen. She would at least go as far as that. Alone, this time.

Ingeborg lifted the lamp to illuminate around the Professor – and her heart skipped a bit. Had there always been three ways parting from there? She was pretty sure there had been two that morning.

The darkness is playing tricks on you. What if the maze was devilish?

Although there were three ways to choose, Ingeborg was particularly attracted by one, the further-most on the right. Carefully, Ingeborg went on. And after a while, she heard something. A crunch, as if someone walked behind her. She turned, panting, but she could see only darkness, even if she raised the lamp high above her head.

Her heavy breathing was so loud in the silence it nearly scared her. But she walked on tentatively, and soon she saw Willkommen's hand reaching for her.

She ran to him, touched his hand and immediately she walked on, raising the lamp. She would find the mourning dwarf. She was finding her way. Her heart beat right in her throat – and jumped when she saw the mourning dwarf. In the same moment she heard, "Ingeborg!"

She whirled. What was Grete doing here? Leaning to the mourning dwarf, Ingeborg called, "Grete!"

Grete emerged from the darkness. Still in the dinner dress, a face pale like snow under her make-up, an electric torch in her hand.

"Ingeborg." Her face shone with relief and soon hardened. "What is this madness? What do you think you're doing out here at night? You'll get lost! Come back with me."

Ingeborg hesitated. "I'm not getting lost."

"You will!"

"No."

"Ingeborg." Grete stepped closer, the torch illuminating her face eerily. "Stop this madness."

"I need to know, Grete," Ingeborg said, stepping up to her. "How can I decide about your offer, otherwise? Schneezwerg is my responsibility. I need to know."

Grete grabbed her arm so tight it hurt. "You need to know?" She looked straight into Ingeborg's eyes. "This is an evil place, Ingeborg." A hiss. "It's designed to get you lost. It doesn't want you to learn the secret."

Ingeborg wrenched her arm free. Took one step back, panting.

"It's a maze, Ingeborg," Grete said, her voice a warning now. "There is no straight way, no straight answer. It's a trick. A deceit."

Ingeborg shook her head no and stumbled back until she found herself with her back against the dwarf. Her heart was pounding. Her feet had started to hurt with cold. Her fingers too, so that gripping the lamp handle was getting difficult. But there, against the stone of the mourning dwarf, she felt a warmth, as she had felt by the Professor. As if the dwarf were hugging her. Comforting her.

"No," she said. "No, Grete. I'll find the way."

And she ran ahead.

"Ingeborg!" She heard her calling. "Ingeborg!"

She kept running, taking ways at random, going on and on, her heart hammering, the pounding in her head confusing her. When she stumbled against the next dwarf – it was

Willkommen.

She'd come back.

She turned to the way she had come from – or did she? She saw two ways parting from Willkommen. There had been just one, a straight one, both times she'd passed by.

She heard Grete calling for her from afar. How was she so far away? Maybe Grete was right, maybe the maze was playing tricks on them. Ingeborg tried to move in the direction of Grete's voice, but it echoed around. The turn she took brought her on an unknown path. Then, out of the darkness, she saw a statue and she almost dashed against it.

The mourning dwarf. Right on the corner of a bend. Hadn't there been a widening when she had talked to Grete just minutes ago? Ingeborg was panting even if she hadn't been running.

She leaned her forehead against the dwarf's shoulder. "I'm lost," she breathed. "I am lost."

She felt like letting herself fall in a heap on the ground and waiting for the daylight, hoping that someone might come to find her. But she felt again that peculiarly comforting sensation around her shoulders. Then a little nudge.

She looked up at the downcast face of the dwarf, barely visible in the flickering light of the lamp. She felt the nudge again.

She turned toward the direction she was nudged to. There was a path. Then a fork. Then a bend. She knew it. She didn't know how, but she knew it.

Carefully, she stepped onto the path and up ahead she saw the fourth dwarf, the one with his arms spread. The light of the lamp trembled in her hand, but now she knew which turn to take.

Ingeborg walked without hesitation, following the light in her hand as it uncovered the new path. Finally, light took a form out of the darkness. A tall statue. Taller than the dwarf with the spread arms, the fifth dwarf wasn't looking at her. He was looking ahead, an arm raised to show the way.

Ingeborg stood still. Her heart pounded directly in the back of her skull.

Be still. Be calm. Listen. Feel. Don't be afraid.

She closed her eyes. She felt the cold in her body, the warmth of the flame from the lamp. Silence all around. And a whisper. As if the bushes around tried to tell her something. It was such a tiny voice she nearly missed it. What had the voice said? She didn't know, but let her body react to it. She stepped forward, peering in the dark, still trying to listen. And then – the light of the lamp was engulfed by darkness. No more walls of shrubs around her. No path in front of her. Just darkness.

Had she stumbled out of the maze unwittingly?

Her heart ran away.

She didn't see anything in spite of the lamplight. She walked ahead tentatively in the absolute black void. Step by step.

Her heart skipped one beat when she saw the boulder. A statue. She let the lamplight move up. A gigantic dwarf stood tall over her, one arm raised. The axe in his hand crossed with another identical axe, which was held by a mirroring dwarf on the other side.

The last two dwarves.

A smile crept on Ingeborg's face.

Only darkness beyond the portal. The forest. The sprawling Black Forest, unknown to her. She didn't want to cross in the night. She was going to get lost. But there was that whispering. That calling.

Ingeborg stepped nearer, and the space in the portal moved. It rippled, trying to take a form. Ingeborg could see a shape emerge, becoming clearer, until she could recognize it. Then she smiled. She had no fear of crossing the portal.

***

Ingeborg opened her eyes and stretched in the bed. She turned her face to the window. It was a milky morning.

As she curled under the warm blanket, she remembered stepping out of the maze last night to find Grete, Dagmar and the staff of the mansion all coming to find her, lamps in their hands.

Grete ran to her and hugged her tight, crying. That must have been the first time Ingeborg had ever seen Grete losing her control, and in public too. Ingeborg hugged her back, but over Grete's shoulder she saw Dagmar, a smile on her face and a knowledge in her eyes.

She remembered the mirror in the portal. The woman she'd seen wasn't her own reflection, but a woman she had seen only in grey photographs.

Mum.

Ingeborg rose and put on her gown, walking to the window. She looked out at the maze – and gasped, clamping a hand to her mouth.

The maze still stood there, not a mess anymore. It was clean and trimmed, the design sharp. The bushes were still naked and grey, but they had the form Ingeborg had always known. And she could see the maze as far as it went, far away to the forest. She could almost see every path, knowing exactly where it went.

She leaned against the windowsill, her breath misting the glass.

Then she heard her aunt calling, "Grete, you don't have to do this. Wait."

Down on the terrace, she saw Dagmar and Grete. Grete wore her traveling suit, and before she knew it, Ingeborg ran down to meet her.

"Just speak to Ingeborg," Dagmar was saying. "You came to speak to her."

"Grete." Ingeborg ran past her aunt. "Where are you going? Why are you leaving?" She grabbed Grete's hand.

"I know when I'm not in my place," Grete said, sternly, glancing toward the maze. "I'm going back to where I belong."

Ingeborg's mind couldn't grasp the meaning of it.

"What are you talking about? This is your home."

"No, Ingeborg. This is your home."

"But... but... this means it's your home too."

Grete's face softened, something Ingeborg had seldom seen. A small, sad smile curved her red lips. Grete freed her hand and caressed Ingeborg's cheek. Then her face went back to stern. "I'll see you in the city, child. When you'll be back to university." Then she turned and walked to the front of the mansion, where her motorcar was waiting.

Ingeborg ran after her, but she was too slow to stop Grete. She sensed Dagmar behind her and turned.

"Aunt Dagmar, what's happening? Why is she running away? This is her home."

Dagmar put a hand on Ingeborg's shoulder. "Not everyone will look in the mirror, Ingeborg, for fear of what they'll see." Ingeborg immediately understood. A tear ran down her cheek and Dagmar dried it. "But Grete is a strong woman, Julian always knew that. She will be back."

Ingeborg took in a shuddering breath, then turned to the road leading out of Schneezwerg. Grete's black motorcar drove away as snow started to fall.