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HER SOULKEEPERS
CompleteSeries:Books1-3
SADIE MOSS
Copyright © 2019 by
Sadie Moss
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
For More Information: www.SadieMossAuthor.com
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Book One: Sacrifice
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Book Two: Defiance
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
CONTENTS
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Book Three: Ascension
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28 Also by Sadie Moss
I’M NEVER SO dissatisfied with dresses as when I’m hiking through the woods, a bow over my shoulder and slaughter on my mind.
My priority is to hunt, to find food for my people so that fewer starve in these lean times, but the thought of stealing a pair of my brother’s cotton pants has crossed my mind more often than the thought of food.
Grunting in annoyance, I hike up the hem of my dress and step over a felled oak with a trunk that reaches my hips. I make a mental note to return after the hunt and harvest some firewood. If all goes well today, we’ll have something to stew in my mother’s fireplace tonight. If not…
Well, I try not to think about that.
My younger brother, Nolan, walks beside me. He lugs an axe over one shoulder, looking practically angelic with his blonde curls and vivid blue eyes, so similar to my own. We both take after Mother, with pale skin and light hair. Our father has a darker olive complexion and chestnut hair, but there’s no mistaking that we’re his offspring. I got my stubbornness from him, and Nolan got his wit.
This year has been hard on Nolan—on all of us, really. The hardship is visible in the sharp angles of his face and the nearskeletal thinness of his long arms. My brother is a good person, a hard worker, always out to do the best he can to help our village.
But I worry that the toll of always giving and never taking may kill him before all is said and done.
“Look sharp,” I say, jarring Nolan from his quiet thoughts as we leave the tree line and head into the fairy clearing. The rest of our hunting party is already gathered, a half dozen men and women chatting over their weapons.
We’re late, as usual.
“Listen up,” Jacob Godwin says, holding both hands aloft to silence the group. He’s the unspoken leader of our crew. Barely three years older than my twenty, but strong and capable. Nolan and I join the semi-circle around him. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt this time. The woods are dangerous, and I pray you all remember that when we leave here.”
He’s right. Every time we hunt, we risk the chance that one or more of our group won’t return to the village tonight.
I played in this clearing as a little girl, when the world wasn’t as dangerous. This circle of grass among the trees has been here for ages. My grandmother regularly left offerings for Zelus during my earlier years, when he still occasionally blessed us with good fortune and bountiful harvests. Legend tells us that fairies danced in this clearing before time began, and that their feet trampled the brush and trees, leaving behind this magical clearing among the thick woods. I used to pretend the small open space was an alternate world, and I held dominion over it—a princess with a grand destiny.
Now it functions as a base point for the hunting crew, and in today’s world, it doesn’t look quite as magical. But it’s the one last safe space before we disappear into the wilds and hope to return unharmed.
“Remember, don’t stray too far south unless you want to become acquainted with the bogs,” Jacob goes on, pointing his bow in the general direction of the peat bogs.
“Yes, we still haven’t recovered Cooper’s body.” Josef Noonan’s voice is gruff, but for good reason. His son has been missing since the first spring hunt. We all know he’s dead. I can only imagine the pain of a parent who has no closure. No body to dress, to bury, to mourn.
“Right.” Jacob nods, sympathy reflecting in his deep green eyes before his gaze snaps back to the group as a whole. “Watch for the traps. Stay on the path and away from the underbrush. Doctor Loren passed into the afterworld last month. You get caught in a trap, you lose the foot.”
“Sounds like a metaphor for life here,” Nolan whispers to me.
I punch him on the shoulder and hush him, but I smile anyway.
Jacob shoulders his bow and looks at the eldest member of our hunting party. “Marin, would you like to say a prayer to Zelus for us?”
“Yes, of course.” Marin Keats straightens and tosses back his mane of shaggy gray hair. I can tell he was handsome once. His body is nothing but muscle from working the fields. He’s put months upon months into farming for our failing village, only to harvest a small percentage of surviving plants. Even banding together and pooling our resources hasn’t made an appreciable difference. The whole of our village can’t milk enough from the land to support us all.
We’re wasting away.
Of all people in this rag-tag group, I’d expect Marin to be the one who is least interested in praying to Zelus. He’s been around longer than most of us, so the sting of our god’s growing neglect pinches him hardest.
But the old man places his first two fingers to his right eyebrow and makes the sign of our god.
“Praise be to Zelus, god of all that is great, the keeper of our realm,” Marin says in his raspy voice. “Precious god of our land, protect us on this day as we hunt to provide for our people. In Zelus’s name, we worship and obey. Praise Zelus.”
“Praise Zelus,” I parrot dutifully, a hint of sarcasm slipping into the words. I would never say it aloud, not to these men and women, not even to Nolan, but I’m not sure our god is listening anymore. If he were, our people wouldn’t be dying faster than they’re being birthed.
“Two men from the neighboring farm have seen bear footprints in the eastern sector. We’ll head that way,” Jacob says. “Keep your
eyes and ears open. They’re as hungry as we are. Let’s be the victors in this fight.”
I shudder at the thought of a bear hunt. Our last few hunts have been for deer or turkeys. Smaller animals mean less food to go around, but as weak as we are, a bear hunt could be the death of us all.
If we manage to bring one down though? We’ll eat like kings for the first time in weeks.
Moving quickly and quietly, we break up into subgroups. Nolan and I join Jacob, Josef, and the Tulle sisters, two middle-aged redheads with wickedly good aim. These are the people Nolan and I always hunt with because they’re the people I trust to have our backs if things go bad. Silently, the subgroups disperse, and my brother and I fall into step beside Jacob, who nods a greeting at me.
“Sage. It’s good to see you. How’s your mother?” he asks, his gaze remaining on the path ahead, though I can tell his attention is entirely attuned to me.
“Angrier than usual,” I murmur.
Jacob barks a harsh, low laugh. “Aren’t we all?”
The weather is fine today, and I’m hopeful that means animals will be out. But for a long while, we walk without a hint of wildlife in the deep, overgrown woods around us. No rabbits, no birds, not even a farsing squirrel, lean and tough as that meat can be.
I hate this feeling of helplessness. All the animals are dying off, just as the people are. What good is my perfect aim when I have nothing to shoot at?
“There’s a trap just over this ridge,” Jacob whispers, nocking an arrow. “Everyone stay quiet as we crest the hill. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“In order to get lucky, you need to have luck,” I grumble, but I nock my own arrow and post up beside Jacob. I can’t help but pray that a bear waits for us on the other side, though I’m definitely not praying to Zelus.
I kick away the hem of my skirt as I reach the final sharp incline, the muscles in my legs burning with effort. I hear nothing but the soft scuffing noise of my companions’ footsteps on the dirt and the
puffing of their breath on the air. Holding my own breath, I step atop the ridge and angle my bow down toward the small cave where the bear trap awaits.
Empty.
“Nish.” Jacob’s curse carries no anger. Just a forlorn note that makes my heart ache, because I know exactly how he feels.
I drop my bow, releasing the tension in my stance as I do, and then nudge him with an elbow. “Well, we’re here. Let’s go make sure it’s still set.”
We parade in a single file line down the narrow dirt path. The ground levels out in front of the cave opening, and I walk carefully, my gaze fixed on the leaf-strewn forest floor.
It becomes apparent fairly quickly that we’ve lost the bear trap.
“Zelus curse it. It’s supposed to be right here,” Jacob says, hands going to his hips as he stares at the brush piled near the cave.
I use my bow to knock a few branches around, digging farther into the already dismantled pile. “Think something tripped it? Sent it flying?”
“That’s a possibility.” Jacob squints around the area as if he can make the trap reveal itself. Then he gestures widely. “Everyone, fan out. Pick out a solid stick, use it to push aside the brush. Don’t step anywhere without verifying the trap isn’t there.”
I toss my bow over my shoulder and pick out a thick stick long enough to keep my limbs clear. Nolan does the same, and we head off in different directions, sticks to the ground.
I’m lost in the monotony of the search, not far from the mouth of the cave, when I feel a shift in the wind.
My stomach tightens.
The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I feel the malevolence, the hunger, a split second before a massive creature bounds out from the darkness of the cave.
“Bear!” I shout, dropping the stick and reaching for my dagger. I’m not in a position to go for my bow; the farsing beast is already on me.
I duck, jamming my dagger up into the bear’s thick hide as it arcs over me. The blade slices smoothly into the creature’s
abdomen, and it roars, passing over me to hit the ground. I’m barely able to fix my stance before it recovers its balance and is on its giant paws again, its wild dark eyes fixated on me.
My team dives into action, yelling instructions to one another. The Tulles have a rope net they quickly hurl over the bear, but this beast is monstrous. He throws the net off like it’s made of lace and cobwebs, then rounds on them, snapping and growling. Jacob lands an arrow in the bear’s neck, while Josef spears it in the side. With another mighty roar, the bear flails toward the group.
Heading straight for my brother.
I leap after the shaggy monster, terror urging me to get to Nolan. My brother seems frozen with fear, rooted to the ground. I scream his name, and he shakes off the stupor, scrambling backward to get away from the advancing monster.
A metallic snap echoes through the deathly quiet forest, and Nolan screams.
Not a scream of fright, but one of abject pain.
He falls, disappearing behind the bear’s bulk.
NO!
I launch myself onto the bear’s back, scrambling to get a handhold on his fur. The poor beast is as thin and starved as we are, his massive hairy frame hardly more than bone and skin. I haul myself up to its neck, pulling its attention away from my brother, who’s curled in a fetal position on the ground, blood pooling beneath his trapped leg.
With a ragged cry of rage, I jam my dagger into the bear’s eye.
The creature roars once more, its heavy footsteps trampling too close to Nolan for my comfort. I grip the bear’s fur and throw my weight to the side as hard as I can, urging the monster to fall away from my brother. We hit the ground, and I tumble off into the brush, rocks and sticks scratching at me.
Josef’s spear finds a soft spot beneath the bear’s belly, and Jacob uses his own dagger to slit the beast’s throat. The Tulle sisters throw the rope net back over the beast for safety’s sake, but it’s done. The beast’s blood coats the forest floor as its life fades.
I pray for a swift passage to the afterworld for a creature who’s seen as much hardship as we have. This time, I’m sure I’m not praying to Zelus; I don’t know who I’m praying to. Farseit.MaybeI’mjustwishing.
My heart pounds and fear sours my stomach as I scramble to my feet and race over to where Nolan lies on the ground. I reach my
brother at the same time Jacob does. Nolan’s face is white as chalk, both of his hands hovering near his knee as if he’s afraid to touch it. The trap is embedded beneath his kneecap and has nearly removed the bottom half of his leg.
Swallowing the rising bile in my throat, I kneel, keeping my voice calm for Nolan, even though all I want to do is scream. “Jacob, help me get him loose.”
We’re careful, easing the violent claws away from his skin slowly. But Nolan’s sobs fill the forest, and his blood has made the trap slippery. By the time we’ve freed him, I’m shaking and sweating, and my hands are covered in my little brother’s blood.
Jacob and I lift Nolan between us. I tuck an arm around his lower back, while Jacob does the same under his arms from the other side. The idiot boy attempts to put weight on his injured leg and screams, going dead weight against us. I clutch at him, holding him up as hot tears spill silently over my cheeks for his agony. I swear I can feel it in my own body, and it mixes with my fear, making my stomach churn violently.
Jacob calls to the Tulles. “Kate, go find another team and prepare to bring the bear to the village. We have to get Nolan back.”
The tallest of the two sisters salutes him, palming her dagger as she races off down the path back toward the ridge. The other sister rips my dagger from the bear’s eye socket and holds it up. “I’ll bring this back for you, Sage.”
“Thanks, Ember.” My voice comes out on a choke. I know everyone can see me crying, and a part of me hates looking so foolish and weak. But we’re all weak these days. Maybe there’s no longer any shame in it.
I cling to Nolan, doing my best to give him comfort and praying he stays unconscious as Jacob and I begin the slow, painful journey back to the village.
MY MOTHER WAITS outside our small cottage. Some other member of our hunting party must have sent word ahead. Her hands are knotted in her apron, and her face is as white as Nolan’s. As soon as we appear, she races for us, a small, despairing moan passing her lips when she sees my brother’s mangled leg.
“Bear trap,” Jacob says gruffly, angling us toward the cottage. “It wasn’t his fault.”
Asifthat’simportant.
But it’s hard to know what to say in an emergency like this, so I keep my mouth shut and hobble along beside him, straining to keep Nolan’s injured leg off the ground.
We enter the cottage, leaving behind the cool morning for the heat of the fireplace. Our cottage is spare—two rooms, one for sleeping, one for living. I take the lead, passing the kitchen and entering the bedroom we all share.
Jacob leans over Nolan’s bed, letting his upper body slide gently to the sheets. I cringe and take his feet, angling them onto the bed to the stark sound of his screams. He’s been in and out of consciousness, and even though his eyes are open, I don’t think he’s fully aware of his surroundings.
All he knows at the moment is pain.
My mother bustles into the room. Her face is impassive now she’s a healer, trained to deal with cases such as this, so it comes as no surprise to me how quickly she can shut off her emotions and do what’s necessary.
She sets a big bowl of steaming water on the table beside the bed, then pulls out a rag and wrings out the excess. “Jacob, could you comfort him?”
“Yes, Mrs. Thorne.” Jacob shoves a different rag into Nolan’s mouth and takes his hand, then angles his body to keep the boy from seeing us.
I hover over my mother’s shoulder as she begins examining the wound.
“I can see bone,” she says softly, her fingers probing the ragged tears in Nolan’s skin. “The trap cut deep, through tendon and muscle, but the good news is, I don’t think the bone is broken.”
I let out a long breath, gratitude rushing through me. I can’t quite bring myself to thank Zelus though. If he provided for us as a god should, we wouldn’t have been out in that forest today, and Nolan wouldn’t have been hurt.
“Thank the fates,” I choke out instead. “That trap should have shattered it.”
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,Ihatethis.
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.
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.
Turnaroundandwalkaway, I think. Don’tletthemseeyou.
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’tthinkonitanylonger . Whoknowswhythosestrangecreaturessaywhattheydo?
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 canhead 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.”
Yourbrotherisn’tasstrongasyou.
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 get 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.
I pull the single chair in the room closer and sit down. “You should be sleeping.”
“It feels like I’ve been sleeping for ages.” He turns his head on the pillow and looks at me, eyes red-rimmed. “Am I going to lose my leg?”
“I don’t think so,” I say, even though I don’t know for sure.
“Am I going to die?”
“No. Not on my watch.”
“You aren’t Zelus.” He lets out a rough sigh, looking back at the ceiling. “You can’t control who lives or dies.”
“Zelus.” I spit the name out like a curse. “Our savior and our reaper.”
“That’s sacrilege, Sage.” But Nolan’s voice is tired, not judgmental.
“The way Zelus neglects us is sacrilege.”
Givesacrifice.
Notfood.
Sacrificeyou.
A chill runs down my spine, and I shake away the sprite’s words as I reach for the glass of water beside the bed. “Here. Drink.”
“I’m not thirsty.”
“You willdrink, or I’ll take your other leg,” I tell him in a tone that allows no argument.
My brother rolls his eyes, but he smiles a little. I help him sit up just enough to drink, then get him comfortable again. And all the while, the echo of the sprite’s insidious voice floats through my head, the words repeating over and over.
Sacrificeyou.
“Sage? What is it? What’s on your mind?” Nolan asks, his hand coming to rest on my mine. “You’re troubled. More so than usual.”
“Something happened this afternoon,” I tell him quietly. “You’ll never believe it.”
“Try me. I never thought I’d step into a bear trap, yet here we are.” He laughs, but it turns into a groan. His breath is short, and I can tell the pain is starting to eat away at him.
When I place the back of my hand on his forehead, I realize he’s burning up. I cross to the medicine cabinet, hoping maybe there’s some willow bark there, but nothing rests inside except mothballs.
He needs other herbs. He needs something to fight the fever, to help him sleep and combat the agony. He needs more than I can give him right now.
But maybe… maybe I can do something better.
“I went to the woods,” I tell him, turning and walking to my little chest of drawers. I open the top drawer and gaze down at the hunting knife I put there when I returned from gathering herbs in the forest—the same dagger I drove into a bear’s eye this morning. “I saw sprites dancing in the fairy clearing.”
“Nish, really?” Nolan asks, his excitement overriding his pain momentarily. “You saw fairies? That’s incredible, Sage. I wish I could have seen them.”
“They told me things,” I go on, lifting the blade from the drawer. “They said Zelus isn’t happy with the sacrifices we’ve given him, and that he wants more.”
“We already give him so much.”
“We do.” I huff a bitter laugh. “And still, he doesn’t take care of us.”
I walk back over to the bed, sliding the dagger into its sheath at my hip. Nolan watches me approach, his brows pulled together and his face pale.
“What’s going on, Sage?”
“If you could fix the problems for our village, would you?”
My little brother squints up at me. “Of course. This village is our family.”
I nod once and lean over to kiss his feverish forehead. “Me too. I love you, Nolan. More than you’ll ever know. Take care of Mother, all right?”
Nolan’s voice follows me to the front door. “Sage? Sage, where are you going? What are you doing? Sage!”
My heart cracks in two at the fear in his voice. I don’t turn around though. If I do, I’ll never have the strength to keep moving.
I grab two torches from the wall to light the dark night, but I leave my satchel on the table.
I won’t need it where I’m going.
THE NIGHT IS black as pitch. If there’s a moon or stars, they’re hidden by a layer of thick, dark clouds that promise rain. Too bad the harvest is already over; the rain would’ve been welcome a month ago, when drought killed half of the village’s fledgling crops. At least the village cisterns will yield water for my people tomorrow.
Just outside the dim glow of the cabin, I light one of the torches. The pitiful flame barely illuminates the night, but I hold it aloft anyway and then head away from the village, thankful my brother can’t follow. This time, I don’t take the familiar hunting route to the fairy clearing. I take the less trodden path to the south, into the low foothills.
Most villagers never venture here, where the forest is darkest and the trees seem to have a sentient malevolence. My grandmother called the foothills an in-between place. A place where spirits are rumored to wander, where the dead seek vengeance on those who wronged them.
The atmosphere is dark and oppressive. I keep my gaze firmly ahead, though I see motion in my periphery. I figure it’s safest if I don’t look at the ghosts directly, if I ignore their presence so they don’t decide to take me before I can do what I came here to do.
The steep incline continues for a long time, until my legs are burning and my breaths come in short, sharp bursts. I feel as if I’m going mad because of all the strange shifts in the atmosphere
around me. At one point, I’m certain cold fingers touch my neck, and at another, I swear I can hear my name whispered in the night. I’ve heard that even if the spirits aren’t specifically out for vengeance on you, they might tangle you up in their web anyway.
Much like the gods, I suppose.
Finally, the path levels and I break from the trees into the village’s sacred space.
Our people have used this place for hundreds of years. It is the seat of our fortune, the place we come to for all of our celebrations.
It is also where our elders come to make sacrifices in the name of Zelus.
Of course, when we come here, we come in the daylight, and usually via a different, less direct path that avoids the haunted trail up the foothills. In this complete darkness, I barely recognize my surroundings.
The sky spits rain. Not enough to soak me, but enough to leave a fine mist on my eyelashes. I walk with purpose over the thick layer of gravel, my torch flickering in the mist. The sacred altar emerges like a shadow from the darkness, and as I catch sight of it, my heart picks up its pace.
Coming to the altar to celebrate a new birth or to mourn a death is quite a different experience from coming here to witness a sacrifice. The elders handle the sacrifices to Zelus, so most villagers steer clear, but I’m nothing if not overly curious and inquisitive.
I followed my grandmother to the altar a time or two, fascinated by the whole process of sacrificing to our god. I can still remember the way the animals screamed and the way the blood ran down the porous altar, staining the stone ochre. I can still see my grandmother’s hands holding the animal down while one of her companions slit its throat. I can still hear the elders’ voices raised in song, singing the chant of Zelus.
Those ghosts haunt this place as surely as spirits wander the woods I just passed through.
I jam my lit torch into one of the nearby holders, then I light my second torch and place it in the holder on the opposite side of the altar. With both flames glowing, I can see the whole setup: the long,