Mitzi leans against a tree with a shard of magic mirror protruding from her bleeding thigh. Her cheeks are stained with tears, and she shakes her head as Gunther examines the wound. Gunther shoves his dark hair from his face, revealing wide eyes and a sullen face. Willa sits nearby, only focused on combing out her tangled, damp hair with her fingers. Ferdinand paces with his satchel, sagging with jewels.
“Let me see.” I crawl toward Mitzi and study her leg. “The glass must come out, or you won’t be able to walk.”
She nods and sniffles back tears. “I’m scared.”
A rumble comes from behind us; the tunnel has more collapsing to do.
“We should move,” Gunther says and cradles Mitzi in his arms. “I got you.”
Brahm helps me stand. We all make a run for it as the boulders crash and kick up dust from the mine. We would run farther, but the priestess appears in the sky ahead of us. We skid to a halt and catch our breaths.
As the priestess descends, her inky-black drapings, spread in all directions, glide and curl through the air. She hovers above the ash, swaying her shrouded head back and forth at us.
“Blessed Day, Offerings. I am impressed,” she says in a deep, haunting voice. “So many of you have survived this far!”
She giggles and continues to turn her head, scanning each of us. The mine rumbles again, and we all turn to watch. With a deafening crash, the tunnel collapses with rolling boulders and a cloud of sooty dust.
“Offerings, your attention, please.”
“Right, let’s not worry about Liam’s death—and nearly all dying ourselves.” I shake my head and glare at her.
“Never have so many Offerings survived this far!” she shouts with a shriek and claps her hands. She continues to hover a few inches above the ash.
Rolling stones from the collapse find their way to our feet, and a shiny, red apple hits my boot. A poisoned apple might be useful. I pick it up and tuck it into my satchel.
Gunther takes a few steps forward from the rocks while Mitzi yelps in pain. Blood soaks her dress and drips from her leg. Her face, usually a deep shade of brown, is now rather gray. Gunther props her against a tree, and I rush to kneel at her side. Brahm steps close, too.
“Now, I have gifts for all of you,” the priestess says, ignoring the situation. “I can give you each an item of your desire. It must be small enough to carry with you. I am sorry, but I am not able to give you food, medicine, or weapons. Just trinkets, possibly drinks, and maybe clothing. We shall see what I can do despite the heavy curses. Also, I really should not touch any of you or else—”
“Can you help her?” I cut her off. “Fix her leg!”
She tilts her head. “No, Gisela. I could give you something to help her.”
“Then do it now! She’s bleeding!”
The priestess’ shoulders go rigid, and she nods. Holding her linen-wrapped hands before me, a tiny wooden box appears. I open the velvet-lined box to find a needle, a spool of black thread, and a miniature pair of gilded scissors. A sewing kit?
“What about her gift?” I point to Mitzi. “We’ll need something to wrap the wound, like your linens.”
“Well, I cannot give you that, but...aha! Here,” she says and holds her palms. In them, another thin blanket appears.
I snatch it from her. “I suppose we could cut strips from it. Why is it you can’t give us helpful supplies?”
“They could be…detected.” She hangs her veiled head for a moment but then perks up. “Now, who will receive the next gift?”
“Me!” Ferdinand says, rubbing his hands together.
“Haven’t you taken enough?” Brahm grumbles and nods to Ferdinand’s satchel.
“How was I supposed to know the tunnel would collapse?”
Ferdinand turns to the priestess, opening his mouth to speak, but I cut him off. “Wait! Mitzi needs something for the pain. Can you, for once, not be selfish and get something for her?”
“You underestimate my gentlemanliness.” Ferdinand grins at me. “Priestess, could you give me a large—very large—bottle of Schnapps?”
“I think I could manage that.” The priestess divines a tall, glass bottle of liquor in her linen-wrapped hands.
“See, little Mitzi-cat can take a few slugs of this, and she’ll be good to go for the torture of your sewing kit.” He squints his blue eyes at me. “Afterwards, Red, you and I can get pissed on the remainder of the bottle and see where the night leads us.”
Practicing self-restraint, I ignore Ferdinand’s ignorant comment even though I’d very much like to kick him in the balls.
“If I can’t have a knife, I’ll admit, alcohol’s actually a good idea. Something to calm our nerves,” Gunther says. “I want one, too.”
The priestess gives the tanned, muscular man his own bottle of Schnapps.
“These idiots poured water on me,” Willa snaps. “I would like a comb to fix my hair.”
“Are you fucking kidding me? A comb?” I shout, but Brahm places his hand on my shoulder to calm me. So much for my self-control.
Sure enough, the priestess whirls into existence an iridescent, mother-of-pearl comb. At once, Willa works on her tangled hair.
“Last, but not least.” The priestess turns to Brahm.
“Freckles, do we need anything else for Mitzi?” he asks, kneeling close to me.
“I don’t think so. She’ll get drunk, and I’ll sew her up. Get whatever you want.”
He nods and stands to face the priestess. “I’d like a lute, please.”
The priestess waves her hands, creating a lute out of thin air. It’s lovely. Hand-painted edelweiss flowers adorn the polished wood. The priestess hands the stringed instrument to Brahm, who accepts it with a grin on his face.
“I must now go.” The priestess floats into the air. “Please, hurry along the path as the fog grows near. Be aware and stick together,” she pauses to hum. “Enjoy your gifts.”
With that, she disappears into a rising cloud of smoke. She wasn’t lying; the fog seeps through the cracks in the boulders of the mine. Gunther, Willa, and Ferdinand turn to leave.
“Wait!” I shout, gaining their attention. “What about Liam? Will someone say a few words before we just take off? We have a moment before the fog gets here.”
“Sure, Red.” Ferdinand smirks, clasping his hands together. “Liam, uh—”
“Arnold,” Mitzi squeaks out.
“Thanks. Liam Arnold was a, uh, baker—”
“Butcher,” Gunther cuts him off and shakes his head. “Liam Arnold was a butcher and a kind person. His family and his new wife will be in our minds.”
“He was married?” I ask, pressing my hand against my chest as a deep sorrow sets in.
“Yep, he told us yesterday on the walk.” Brahm nods, staring with empty eyes into the ash. “He said he was deeply in love.”
Still not wanting everyone to know about my dagger, I take the sharp sewing scissors from the kit and step toward a tree with smooth bark. “What was her name?”
“Else,” Mitzi replies. “I remember because it’s my mother’s name.”
I begin carving LIAM + ELSE into the tree. The night Brahm had carved our names into a tree by the creek was the same night Wil caught us dancing. Brahm had just dipped me, whispered my name, and placed his hand on my cheek. My heart fluttered like a thousand hummingbirds, but Wil came out of nowhere, shouting at us. My brother was in a rage. He pushed Brahm and me apart and ordered me to go home. When the next full moon rose, Brahm didn’t visit our creek.