I open the window and stick my head out. There’s nothing but flowers. I suppose I’ll have to obey Mother Holle if I ever want to return to Brahm in the forest.
I take her pillows and shake them out the window. The feathers fly thick into the air and swirl around like snow. Thora would love to see the snow falling on brightly colored flowers. I do the same with the duvet and make the bed.
After tidying up the room, I return to the kitchen where Mother Holle has skinned and is beginning to butcher the goat. She wipes her bloodied hands on her apron and gives me a large-toothed smile.
“Dear child, now I need you to fetch a pot of water,” she says, handing me a large cauldron. “Out back, you will find a spigot.”
I take the pot and step outside, searching the field of flowers, until I spot the water spigot amongst the blooms. Squeaking with every pump of my arms, the spigot splashes out cool water—strands of blue and white with little patches of color to reflect the flowers—into the pot.
The goats prance around and butt at my legs, wanting a drink. After filling the cauldron, I splash out a little water into a basin for the animals. I head back inside, where Mother Holle gestures for me to hang the cauldron inside the fireplace.
Before I can even ask, she says, “Next light the hearth, child. Firewood is by the side of the house.”
“But I didn’t see any—”
“It’s there. Go now.”
Walking to the side of the house, I’m certain I won’t find any firewood. Where would she get wood from anyway? There are no trees in sight.
When I round the corner, my jaw drops. Two little goats are climbing on the heaping pile of wood. Gathering the logs which should scrape my arms yet feel soft as pillows, I take them inside and light the fire.
Mother Holle continues to give me more and more chores: dusting the furniture and knick-knacks, sweeping the floor, beating the rugs, and cleaning the windows. When I finish, I’m exhausted. Mother Holle finds me in her bedroom as I close the last window.
“You’ve worked hard enough, dear. Time to eat.”
We sit at the kitchen table, woven with tans and browns to resemble knotted wood, and she serves boiled meat and vegetables. Not as fancy as the cannibal-witch’s food, but it will certainly do.
“It’s not poisoned, is it?”
“No dear.” She stabs a carrot from my plate with her fork and eats it.
After swallowing a few bites, I look up. “Mother Holle, where are we? How long have you been here? Who else hides down here?”
She looks down at her lap. “It doesn’t have a name. I know only that it’s far, far away from everything. Time doesn’t quite work the same as I remember, but I think I’ve been here a long, long time.” Mother Holle grins at me. “Look at me, dear child; I’m as old as the hills and have been for ages. I think I was once young and pretty like you when I was first ushered here. I suppose the others and I were her victims.”
“Hexegot’s victims? But she consumes their flesh. How are you alive?”
“Yes, yes, yes. Well, we’re no more alive than a character in a fairy tale. Our souls are trapped in this otherworld. Our stories are woven together to live on into eternity.” Mother Holle leans forward and touches my arm. “Tell me, child. Did you dream about us?”
I stare at her wrinkled hand as her woven skin loosens, withers, and turns gray. Terror rises inside me as her threads of veins grow black and course their way up her arm. I look to her face as her eyes turn black and jump from my chair, causing it to topple.
“Fear not! We were once Offerings just like you.”
“You were? All of you? The long-haired princess? The stitch-lipped prince? The glass coffin girl? The princess with the golden shoes? Offerings?”
“Yes, my—”
“What about the brother and sister? Or the wolf-girl? They didn’t look old enough.”
“I’ve told you before, time works differently here. Some grow younger, some older.”
“If they were Offerings, why would they attack me in my dreams?”
“Oh, our appearance may be fearsome, but our intentions are wholesome. They were trying to help you, child. Hexegot entered your mind, yes? They were simply trying to remove her from you.” She gestures as if she’s taking a crown off of her head.
I take a deep breath and sigh. “What’s the point? You said she can’t be killed.”
“Yes, maybe I did say that. Come.”
Mother Holle’s coloring returns to normal, and she offers her soft hand. I have no other options in this strange place, so I take it. She leads me outside and through the meadow. Our legs brush the fabric flowers, sending puffs of pollen into the air.
“Mother Holle, are this year’s Offerings here? Is Mitzi here?”
“She will be once her story is told by the weaver, dear.” Mother Holle taps my cheek. “And she’ll be very happy, I assure you.”
I blink a few tears with a smile on my face. We continue walking through the field of flowers. After a while, she pauses and touches her chin.
“Hmm, this isn’t the way.” She grins and spins me in place. “Ahh, here we are!”
“What do you mean? We haven’t gone anywhere.”
Mother Holle releases my hand and pushes her kerchief behind her ears, revealing shiny, pearl earrings. She removes one and presses it into my palm.
“Thank you, Mother Holle.”
“You’re welcome, dear child. Now, I said Hexegot couldn’t be killed, but not that she couldn’t be defeated. Especially by such a worthy opponent.” Mother Holle draws her knife again, slicing into the air before us to create a long slit in the woven tapestry. “Sometimes, sacrifices must be made.”
Mother Holle’s palm slams into my back, sending me falling into the hole and through empty air. I lose my senses once again, trying to keep my grip on the pearl and my satchel. I land on my feet, surrounded by complete darkness. Spreading my arms out, I feel around for something. I come to a hard, wooden surface and push.
A door—no, just a bit of tree bark—swings open, and I enter the lush forest. Everything appears normal again and not of a woven tapestry. I turn, and my heart falls into my stomach.
Brahm’s body thrashes violently near the well while his mouth foams.
The Troll Bridge
DASHING TOWARD HIM, I KNEEL AND lift Brahm’s head. I shriek as his body shakes and contorts in my lap. I can’t lose him. Tears pour down my cheeks, and I squeeze him tight.
“No, Brahm! I got you.”
I kiss his cheek, set down the pearl earring, and reach for the canteen inside my satchel. I pour the entire contents on his face. Nothing. Hyperventilating, I shake his shoulders and slap his face. Nothing.
“Oh, Brahm! No, no, no.” I hug him as his body goes rigid, and his veins grow black.
I kiss his cold lips and stroke my fingers through his twisted locks. And then his hand touches my cheek, and he presses his lips harder into mine. When I release him, Brahm jerks forward, coughing. I smile through my tears and grab his face. He places his hands on my shoulders and stares at me with his mouth wide open.
“What happened? Are you alright? Did you hallucinate?”