As I scratch out the last E of Else’s name, Brahm places his hand on my shoulder. “It’s beautiful,” he whispers.
The Lutist’s Song
“HANG ON, MITZI. YOUR LEG WILL have to wait.” Gunther lifts the wounded girl.
We continue along the ashes as the fog chases us, rolling through the trees. Brahm takes my arm as we run. After a while, the fog slows, and so do we.
“I gotta piss,” Ferdinand announces and steps into the tree line.
“Same,” Brahm says. “Can we all meet back here in a few minutes?”
We agree, and Brahm goes into the woods. Willa and I head toward the other side. When I fluff out my dress before kneeling, I notice it’s as bright and gleaming white as the moment the priestess helped me slip it on. How’s this possible? I’ve walked for miles down the ashes, fallen to the ground, sat in a rusty cart, and jogged and fallen inside a coal-mine. No time to worry about a magical stainless dress, I suppose.
As I lift my dress and squat near a tree, Gunther comes shuffling over with Mitzi in his arms.
I nearly pee on myself as I stand. “Fuck!”
“She has to go, too.”
“Well you could’ve waited,” Willa says, shaking her head as she emerges from behind a large bush.
“It’s alright, ladies.” Mitzi squirms and grimaces in pain as Gunther eases her to the ground. “He’s just going to wait right here for me.”
“Sorry if I startled you. I already told Mitzi,” he says, looking at the ground, “and I don’t know if it helps, but I’m not into women. I’m not here to look at you or anything. I’ll turn around and keep watch for you.”
“Thanks,” Willa and I say.
After finishing up, we help Mitzi. Her leg looks awful, and she cries as we help her squat against a tree. When she’s done, we get Gunther’s attention and return to the path.
We find Brahm waiting. He furrows his brow and takes my hands.
“You alright?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says and leans closer. “But Ferdinand was out there just talking to himself.”
“Really?” I ask. “That’s odd. Well, he was an actor, right? Maybe running through lines is how he copes.”
“Still, he gives me the creeps.”
“Shall we continue?” Ferdinand says, making us jump. He points to the moving fog. “I’d rather not become a skeleton just yet.”
We all agree and start walking. Brahm takes a turn carrying Mitzi, who doesn’t make a sound the entire walk. Silent tears stream down her cheeks.
After about a mile, the first three Offerings begin shouting and hollering in celebration. Brahm carries Mitzi toward the sound. Ferdinand, Gunther, and Willa have found a large open glen along a babbling brook where they’re refilling their canteens. The fog forms a semicircle from the path, allowing us access to the water.
Brahm lowers Mitzi to the ground, and I prop his lute against a tree. We both rush to the brook to fill up on water. Brahm and I smile at each other but turn with sullen faces toward Mitzi.
“She’s waited long enough,” I say, screwing the lid on my canteen. “It’s time to remove the glass from her leg.”
We walk over, and the other three join us. Ferdinand offers her the Schnapps, the staple hard liquor distilled from apples in the valley. Mitzi opens the bottle and takes a swig. She grimaces and coughs before taking another. And another.
“It’s so gross,” she says in a weak voice. “I think that’s all I can handle.”
I kneel to her level and snatch the bottle. Making a tiny rip in her blue dress to expose the wound, I pour the strong alcohol onto her leg. She yelps and jerks, but I hold her leg still and pour a little more.
“Don’t waste it!” Ferdinand shouts.
I glare at him and hand it back to Mitzi. “One more.”
She does with a twisted face and returns the half-bottle of Schnapps to Ferdinand.
“Make yourself useful and build a fire,” I snap at him.
He, Willa, and Gunther set off to gather wood. Brahm stands next to me, bouncing side-to-side on the balls of his feet.
“Stay here. I’ll need your help,” I say as I stare at Mitzi’s leg with wide eyes.
“Are you going to remove the glass?” Mitzi whispers.
I nod, wanting to seem tough for Mitzi, but my insides are hollow, and black specks surround my vision. Something must be done, so I shake my hands out and examine her wound. My head sways.
Brahm kneels next to me. “Just rip it out quick, maybe?”
“No. I’ve slaughtered enough goats to know it’s going to bleed a lot.” I turn toward Brahm and unbuckle his belt.
“Uh, Gisela?” he squeaks out, staring at my hands with wide eyes. “This really isn’t the best time.”
Narrowing my eyes at him, I snap the belt from his hips. I push the hem of Mitzi’s dress above the glass. After looping Brahm’s belt around Mitzi’s upper thigh to create a tourniquet, I wait. The bleeding slows.
Brahm rifles through my satchel and retrieves the sewing scissors from the kit. “I’ll cut bandages from the blanket.”
“Thanks.” I place my forefinger and thumb on either side of the shard of glass. “Ready?”
Mitzi nods with her eyes closed.
“One, two, three.” I tug the glass straight up, and Mitzi screams. I press my hands against the wound to further slow the bleeding.
Brahm is having a hard time cutting strips with the dull sewing scissors.
“I shouldn’t have carved that tree.” I shake my head. “Take my dagger to cut the strips.”
I stick my right leg out, but Brahm hesitates.
“You’re taking forever with the scissors. Plus, you’ve already grabbed my ass and seen my tits. Just do it.”
Mitzi grimaces in pain as her face pales. Brahm nods and reaches under my skirt, sliding his hand up my thigh. He unsheathes the dagger to slice strips of the thin blanket for me. I keep my hands firmly pressed on Mitzi’s wound, afraid to let go because I know I’ll have to sew it. Her eyes are squeezed shut as she whimpers.
After Brahm prepares four or five strips, I get his attention. “Alright, that’s enough. Can you thread the needle?”
“Sure,” Brahm says, opening the sewing kit. “Do you know how to stitch a wound?”
“I sew all of my clothes. I at least have to try.”
“No!” Mitzi shouts and shakes her head. “I don’t want you to stitch it. Let’s just wrap it.”
“It’s a deep wound. It might not heal with just the wrappings.”
“I’m afraid. Please just wrap it.”
I huff and release the wound. Brahm helps me wrap the strips tightly around Mitzi’s leg. Taking my dagger from Brahm, I return it to the sheath. After a few minutes, I remove the makeshift tourniquet, thankful the tight bandages hold. When I return from rinsing my hands in the creek, Mitzi pats my shoulder.
“Thank you, Gisela. And thank you, Brahm. You two have been great friends to me.”
A blue and silver flash from her hand blinds my eyes. I never noticed the sapphire ring on her finger before. I catch her hand and hold it up to my face.