Sacrifice

by Sadie Moss

  Mother runs her rag across his skin, cleaning away dirt and debris from the wounds. The more blood she wipes away, the more his leg resembles nothing but raw meat.

  My jaw clenches, and my ears ring with the sound of Nolan’s muffled moans. Nish, I hate this.

  When she speaks again, my mother’s voice is pitched low, meant only for my ears. “I’ll clean and dress it as best I can, but I don’t have the herbs necessary to treat for infection. There’s been such a shortage recently.”

  “Do we have any alcohol?”

  She shakes her head. “No. Not for many months now.”

  “I might have a remaining bottle of some aged whiskey.” Jacob stands from the bed, his face drawn. He motions to my brother. “The ordeal has gotten to him. He’s passed out.”

  “Good.” Emotion creeps back into my mother’s voice for a moment, and she nods once. “It’s best he get some rest.”

  The three of us leave the bedroom for the crude wooden table in our kitchen. Jacob excuses himself to go see about the bottle of whiskey, and Mother pours me a fresh glass of water.

  “You’re covered in blood,” she comments dully, setting the glass in front of me.

  I hold up my hands, wincing—I look as if I’ve gone swimming in blood. The sight of it turns my stomach. I’m no stranger to violence and gore, but knowing it’s Nolan’s blood coating my skin makes me feel weak in the knees.

  “I’ll go take a dip in the river. Maybe see if I can find some antiseptic herbs.”

  “Ha. Good luck. Even the weeds no longer grow here.” Mother trudges to the fireplace, staring deep within the flames as if they might give her answers to the many unsolvable problems facing us. “Zelus has withheld much this past season. I’m not sure how much longer our people can endure this, Sage. How much longer can we last?”

  I remain silent. My mother is the optimistic one, but even she has had a difficult time finding hope lately. Right now, with Nolan so gravely injured and the entire front of my body covered in his blood, it is not the time for my special brand of doom and gloom.

  Mother takes a deep breath. She plucks a fresh log from the dwindling pile beside the fireplace and shoves it into the flames. “You might look near Noonan’s blacksmith shop. I’ve often seen wild herbs grow near the output for his forge.”

  “I will.”

  I press a kiss to her cheek, trying not to notice the tears that glisten in her eyes. Then I carry a fresh dress and a block of my mother’s homemade soap to the river, where I make quick work of rinsing off Nolan’s blood in the icy water. I stand rooted in the muddy silt for several long moments, attempting to wash my dress clean, but to no avail. The cotton is ruined beyond help, and even though we can’t afford to waste anything, I hate the sight of the bloodstained dress. I let the stained fabric go and watch it float away on the current.

  Dressed in my clean frock, I tuck the soap back into my bag, angle the canvas over my shoulders next to my bow, and head for the woods. I find nothing useful near Noonan’s forge, but I stop by the Tulles’ house to retrieve my dagger, which Ember has washed clean for me.

  There are a few places in the woods where wild herbs might grow, so I enter the trees near the edge of town. I stick to the main path, still shaken by the day’s events.

  The forest is as unnaturally quiet as it was in the wake of the bear attack. I’m utterly alone with the trees, just beyond the fairy clearing, when I hear laughter. The sound is fleeting, one voice fading in and out, so brief I think maybe I’ve imagined it. Then a second small chuckle bursts to life, and a third, until the laughter is loud and seems to be coming from everywhere.

  Every part of me screams to turn around and run back home. To get out of the woods, away from this maniacal, disembodied laughter. Instead, I take a step forward. I don’t know why I do it; it’s as if I’m drawn to the fairy clearing by some unknowable force.

  The trees open up, and the perfect circle of green grass spreads before me.

  But the clearing isn’t empty.

  It’s full of dancing sprites.

  3

  I know sprites exist. That’s not the surprising part. Our realm is full of supernatural creatures: fairies, orcs, ogres, and creatures far more strange than that live in the world among us, unseen.

  But that’s the key. They’re unseen.

  Fairies in particular don’t like to be viewed by humans. They’ll go so far as to kidnap or dispose of any human who dares to lay eyes on them. So for sprites to be dancing zig zags willy nilly in this clearing so close to the village? I feel as if it doesn’t bode well.

  My heart flutters in my throat as I take a step back, attempting to fade into the shadows before they notice I’ve trespassed on their space. There’s a group of them only a few feet away, little humanoid shapes no bigger than the palm of my hand. They have their elbows linked, dancing in an undulating circle as they sing a song I don’t understand.

  Turn around and walk away, I think. Don’t let them see you.

  My grandmother used to tell the story of a childhood friend who was taken by the fae and lived to tell the tale, thanks to her intrepid father. He packed a king’s ransom of honey, milk, and sugar cubes and brought it all to the fairy clearing, where he bartered for his daughter’s life by appealing to the fae’s arrogant appetites. Grandmother said her friend was never quite the same after returning; she always seemed a little fae-touched in the head.

  If the sprites decide to take me, my mother would have no recourse to bargain for my life. Our village hasn’t seen milk or honey in a year, at least. I’m fairly certain the fae won’t barter for sticks and stones.

  But before I can turn on my heel and flee, the gently twirling circle of sprites halts abruptly, and a half-dozen smooth, tiny faces turn in my direction.

  “Human!” one little sprite gasps, hands fluttering to her face. She bursts into motion. One moment she’s hovering with her friends, the next she’s beside my face, her hands in my hair. “Pretty, you are. Quaint, how like the sun. Gold and bright.”

  My heart stutters at the brush of her tiny hands on my cheek. They feel as delicate and fragile as spiderwebs. She alights on my hair, feet marching playfully over the crown of my head. “See the human, friends!”

  The rest of the sprites dart across the few feet separating us. I stumble backward as they barrel toward my face, but they stop short, the wind from their translucent glowing wings ruffling my hair.

  “See?” The sprite on top of my head chitters excitedly.

  A masculine-bodied sprite draws close to my nose. His face is smooth as a baby’s bottom—no eyebrows, no eyelashes, but a distinct nose and mouth under jet-black eyes that glitter like onyx. He lists sideways, then turns upside down, his gaze never leaving my face.

  “Hungry are humans?” he asks, crossing his arms. He’s still upside down, the black curls on his head dangling in the air. His single leaf loincloth has flipped up too, exposing an anatomically human bottom half. He seems unconcerned at the exposure. “Bones you have, like knives.”

  As if in response to his words, the rest of the sprites surround me, hands stroking the sharpest angles of my body: collarbones, cheekbones, the knobs of my wrists, the sharpness of my knees.

  I could still flee. They’re tiny and insubstantial. Fast, sure, but I could slice them in half with my dagger and run. But I remain firmly planted, curiosity battling fear.

  “Need food, the humans do,” another sprite says in a high, breathy voice.

  “Earn food, they must,” the upside down sprite says haughtily. His legs drop and his entire body whips around until he’s upright, arms still crossed. “Need Zelus happy, if human wants to eat.”

  The mention of my people’s god breaks me from my stupor. I have worshipped and prayed to Zelus my whole life, in the good times and the bad. It’s almost habit to pray in his name by now, despite the fact that he no longer seems to be paying attention. Other parts of our world worship other gods, but our portion of earth is ruled over
by Zelus—so if we’re looking to a higher power for help, he is our only option.

  “What do you mean? I have to do something for Zelus to earn us food?” I ask, my heart picking up its pace in my chest. “What else can I do? We pray to him every day.”

  The sprite on my head does an acrobatic flip and comes to hover beside the tiny male in front of me. Even without eyebrows and that oddly smooth face, she’s stunning—hourglass curves, flaxen hair that hangs to her hips, dainty hands and feet. Beneath the beauty, though, I sense something fierce. Something that tells me these creatures are only interested in helping themselves.

  “Give thanks,” she says, cocking her head. “Give sacrifice.”

  I roll my eyes, irritation flaring. “We’ve given him sacrifice. More than we had to begin with. Every time we manage to net a kill or grow a crop, he gets twenty percent of it. We’ve given him countless animals we could have eaten ourselves. What more could he want from us?”

  “More,” the male murmurs. He flies down to my arm and begins to walk sideways up my bicep, his wings keeping him at odds with gravity. “Food not more.”

  “Bigger sacrifice,” the female adds, and several of the other sprites chatter their agreement. She reaches out and pets my nose. “Not food. What need god have for food?”

  The group of sprites behind her all chuckle darkly.

  “If not food, then what?” I ask, my voice strained.

  It’s becoming a struggle to remain still. Anger and frustration urge me to lash out, to beat my fists against the nearest tree until my knuckles are bloody and raw. But that won’t help Nolan. It won’t help anyone.

  The male has reached my shoulder. He returns upright, my hair tangling around his body as he leans in close to my ear.

  “You,” he whispers, one hand slipping around the curve of my ear as if in a lover’s embrace. “Sacrifice of you.”

  His words are quiet, but I feel each one as if it held the force of a falling boulder. They hit me so hard all the breath flies from my lungs, and suddenly, I’m moving.

  Shaking off the sprites with wild movements, no longer caring if it upsets them, I stumble backward several steps before turning and sprinting away as fast as I can.

  I run until my legs shake and my lungs burn. Until I can’t run anymore.

  But it doesn’t matter. The words the sprite whispered still sit in my ear like a seed that’s been planted.

  My hands are still shaking an hour later as I tuck a handful of calendula in my satchel.

  By luck or by sheer coincidence, I found the small patch of herbs after my hasty departure from the sprites. Truthfully, I hope it was a coincidence. I hate to think what it could mean if I didn’t find the flowers by luck—if the sprites somehow guided me to this spot so that I will owe them something in return. The fae are renowned for their ability to gain favors.

  I can’t get the male sprite’s declaration out of my head. I can still feel him, clinging to my ear as if he owned it, telling me I must sacrifice myself to Zelus to save my people.

  Nish, Sage. I mentally berate myself. Don’t think on it any longer. Who knows why those strange creatures say what they do?

  Shoving away the dark thoughts that cloud my mind, I make my way back through the woods. Near the outskirts of the village I stop by a felled oak and use a small axe to hack off several limbs to use for firewood. I take as much as I can drag behind me, vowing I’ll return for more tomorrow.

  As I trudge down the main road that passes through our small settlement, the ideas I was trying to repress come floating back up, and I lose myself in thoughts of Zelus, sacrifice, and tiny dancing sprites.

  “Sage!”

  I nearly jump out of my skin when a familiar voice calls my name. Looking up, I try to wipe my features clean of any expression, as if Jacob could guess what I’m contemplating from the look on my face.

  The tall man jogs up, an affectionate half-smile crossing his face. “There you are. I just came from your house. I was able to track down a couple ounces of whiskey for Nolan’s leg.”

  “I appreciate that, Jacob. Thank you,” I say automatically. “I found some calendula in the woods. Hopefully between the two, my mother can get him fixed up.”

  “That’s good news. I’m sure she’ll be able to do something.” He puts a hand on my shoulder, his green gaze boring deep into mine. “Sage. May I… may I call on you tomorrow?”

  I blink, momentarily robbed of speech.

  “Um, yes. Of course. We owe you a great debt,” I finally reply. Jacob is a good man. I’ve noticed his affection for a long time—the way he looks at me when he thinks I’m not watching, the way he goes out of his way to care for me or my family. I could do worse than accept his favor. But even as I think that, I’m turning away. “I have to get back with the herbs. Thank you again for the whiskey.”

  Jacob stops me with a single calloused hand at my elbow. He leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to my cheek, his lips lingering a little longer than necessary. “Tomorrow then. May I carry those limbs for you?”

  “No, thank you. I’ve got it.” I give him an awkward wave, shift the weight of the branches to my other arm, and leave him standing in the road as I cut through our neighbor’s yard toward the cottage.

  When he comes to visit tomorrow, I’ll have a talk with him and explain that while I respect him and am grateful for everything he’s done, I don’t see the kind of future for us that he wants.

  I don’t see myself falling in love with anyone, truthfully. Life is too hard and brutal to risk my heart like that. I love my family more than I can say, and seeing them suffer tears me apart. I saw what my mother went through when my father died several years ago, and I don’t think I could bear more of that kind of pain.

  Mother is standing over her cauldron when I step inside our small dwelling. She glances up with a wan smile and comes to relieve me of the firewood. “Oh, good. We were running low.”

  “There’s more outside,” I tell her, pulling off my satchel and my bow. “Bigger branches. I’ll chop them up tomorrow.”

  “We have enough for a couple days yet. Josef Noonan came by an hour ago with our share of the bear meat. I have it stewing with some potatoes from Marin’s patch.”

  My mouth waters at the thought, and at the aromas wafting from her cauldron. I reach into my bag for the calendula and hold the sprigs out to her. “I found some herbs.”

  “This is wonderful, Sage. Thank you.” Mother places the bundle of flowers and leaves on the table, but her face remains pinched with worry.

  An echoing worry sparks in my chest, and I straighten, my body going tense.

  “Is it not enough? I could go back. It’s not dark yet.”

  “No, my love. That’s not necessary.” My mother sinks down into the chair opposite me and reaches over the tabletop to take my hand. For the first time, I notice the way her joints are gnarled and the way her skin feels so paper thin. She is becoming an old woman long before her time.

  “Nolan?” I ask, my throat closing around the word.

  “Sleeping. Fitfully,” she adds with a grimace. “He’s in a lot of pain. I’m not sure… I’m not sure there’s anything we can do for him. He’s in shock now. Soon, that will wear off, and we will see.”

  I shake off her hand, my jaw tightening. “Between the whiskey and the calendula, we can head off infection.”

  “We can try, Sage. But your brother isn’t as strong as you. He’s already weak, down nearly two stone since last year, and he didn’t have that much to lose.” Mother takes a shaky breath, her pale gaze drifting to the open bedroom door. “I don’t know whether he can bounce back from this, even if we can stave off infection long enough for his leg to heal.”

  Your brother isn’t as strong as you.

  My eyes sting. I want to scream at her, tell her she’s wrong, that Nolan is going to be fine. But it would be a lie, and I know it.

  “We’re all weak,” I say, clutching the edges of my chair so that I don’t ge
t up and rampage, so that I don’t break everything in sight because my little brother may die.

  “We are, my love.” She doesn’t even bother trying to deny it. “And the cold weather of winter is coming. I fear it will only get worse. Not just for Nolan, but for all of us.”

  I help her prepare a tincture for Nolan’s wounds. I hold him down as she cleans his leg with whiskey, my eyes squeezed shut against his screams. She dresses the swelling lacerations with the calendula cream, then we force him to choke down some broth from the stew cooking over the fire.

  Exhausted from the ordeal, Nolan passes out again, and we leave him to rest, retiring to the kitchen to eat our own bowls of soup. We eat in silence. I know she’s as thankful for the full belly as I am, but I also notice she doesn’t insist we give thanks to Zelus, which is unlike her. No matter how hard things get, she usually clings to the old ways.

  “A few of the men have called a meeting,” she tells me as we clear our dishes. “I don’t think Nolan should be left alone right now. Would you mind staying with him while I attend?”

  I nod and then help her finish cleaning up. As she stands by the fire, washing up in the basin, I watch her. My mother has always been so strong, so independent. Short and thin, like me—but now her hip bones jut as if she’s starving, and probably she is. My mother is wasting away as surely as the village itself.

  She ties her messy graying hair up beneath a scarf. “If you need me, I’ll be just down the road at the council hall.”

  I don’t know quite what prompts me to do it, but I stop her before she can walk out the door, throwing my arms around her and squeezing with everything I have.

  “I love you, Mama,” I whisper.

  She chuckles, returning the hug with just as much love and devotion. “I love you too, sweet Sage.”

  She presses a kiss to my hair, smooths the wild straw-colored strands, then heads out. I close the door behind her and walk back to the bedroom to check on Nolan. He’s awake, blinking up at the ceiling with sweat beading at his hairline.