Chapter Text
Far out, past the western edge of the woods, where the trees thinned out to give way to sprawling fields and rolling hills, sat a compound. A commune of sorts. A collection of wooden cabins with thatched roofs created a large circle, hugged by wooden fences with weather worn overlapping planks. Inside the protected area, goats and chickens and rabbits were left to roam free. Sown fields of wheat and different vegetables sat between the initial fencing and a taller outer row of encasing. Crops varied with the seasons, though their luck out here was more often than not, rather plentiful.
A long dirt path unfurled from the largest building in the circle; A chapel that was considered the crown of the compound. The paved path, edged with tufts of long wild grass and little blue flowers, led through the circle. Down the lazy slope of a hill, and into the nearby forest.
Right where the tree coverage began to thicken out, and the pathway ended, sat an old stone well. With a pointed wooden gable above it, riddled with moss. A jagged circle had been eaten away in the wood by rot. Older than the compound itself, no one was entirely sure how long it had existed or who had even built it. The well had simply always been there.
Now, the old thing didn’t have much water in it these days. Nothing more than a puddle where it finally ended deep into the ground. No pulley system seemed to have ever been built in, which left its actual purpose up for debate if anyone cared enough to do so. It was hard to say if it had ever been filled with water in the first place. Either way, it was still a very important well. Sacred even, in an unspoken sort of way.
Those same scattered blue flowers from the compound itself had been planted around the area. Their stems slouched, faces downturned as if they were more attracted to the ground than the sun. Bluebells.
It was early spring still, the air warm, but broken up with lazy breaths of the residual chill from the passing winter. A clear day, sky blue and open, sunshine lying over the land. The morning was still young, interrupted only by the bleats of goats and clucking from the chickens. The doors of the chapel were pushed open, the mouth led inside, and past the symmetrical rows of pews sat a large smooth altar table. Various offerings were laid along it. A few bundles of dried out wheat, small smooth stones, a few little wood carved figures, lifeless blue flowers. Most notably, however, would be the jars of blood that not only sat upon the altar itself, but were scattered around along the floor. Each one was sealed with wax.
When an animal was slain for feast, their blood was drained into a jar and placed inside the chapel. It was a way to thank the old Gods of the land for the compound's prosperity. Every form of harvest that was gifted upon them was offered back in part. But it was said, by the council leaders of course, that sometimes the Gods were hungrier. That these simple little offerings could only stretch them so far.
So it was only right to feed them properly.
After a particularly harsh season or the occasional drought, the council would decide it was time for a true sacrifice. When the first few weeks of spring didn’t bring any showers this year, it seemed such a thing was on the horizon. After all, the last sacrifice had been quite a long time ago. There hadn’t been one since the youth of the now middle aged generation, a handful of which had been inducted into the council. A grand honor, truly.
The council themselves were currently gathered in the chapel, standing in a low speaking circle, discussing such matters. It was never an easy decision. A needed one, but choosing a sacrifice proved to be a debate that stretched over multiple days. Today was the third day of such a conversation, and they couldn’t afford to drag this out any longer. The moon would be full tonight. The sacrifice had to happen tonight. Another moon cycle without rain was a risk they couldn’t take with the spring crops.
Outside, a girl by the name Marie, daughter of one of the council members, knew nothing of the impending decision and the ritual it would lead to. No one that remembered spoke of past sacrifices. Today was just another day for Marie.
Her hair fluttered behind her on a chilly breeze, long soft black strands pushed over her shoulders as she pranced through the grass. One of the goats was following her and had been for the past ten minutes, still a tiny thing with black and brown spots and a white underbelly. He was surely expecting a snack of some kind, though Marie didn’t have anything at the moment. The few scattered rabbits roaming around had already seemed to accept that fact. They’d already gone off to find something more interesting. Marie, however, was not focused on feeding the animals this morning. She was on the search for the perfect little stone to put on the altar.
Marie was a curious thing, every night she would ask her father new questions about the Gods that she had thought of through the day. Always eager for more answers and new tales.
She enjoyed the stories, in a strange way it felt comforting. Being watched out for by something bigger than all of them. Something that spoke through every plant and meal and every storm and had always been there. A constant in the world, a guarantee really.
The soft grass brushed against her bare feet and her ankles with every step. Directionless hums vibrating in her throat as her brown eyes scanned the ground for the perfect stone. Her cheeks were still rounded with youth, her skin holding the warm flush of life. There was a brightness that followed Marie like her own personal brand of sunshine. The goat behind her gave a displeased bleat at her lack of attention, the sound was as whiny as a goat could possibly be. But Marie’s focus was set at the moment. Four separate times she stopped, bent down to examine a rock, and moved on before she finally slipped one into her pocket. The goat stopped hopefully to sniff at each rock she discarded, but upon realizing it was nothing interesting to him, he would simply run after Marie again.
The stone she had chosen was a greyish green color, perfectly rounded and speckled with white dots that sparkled slightly when the light hit it just right.
Marie decided after the council meeting she’d bring it into the chapel. She’d been told off a few times before for wandering inside during their hushed conversations. It’s not as if she had ever been trying to eavesdrop or anything! She was simply too eager to present her offerings.
For now, she’d go see if her mother needed any help with daily chores.
The council meeting carried on long enough that Marie had long helped her mother finish off the chores. Laundry washed and hung on a line to dry in the breeze. Seeds spread out for the chickens to feed on, some grains and hay for the goats. Marie had brought out a carrot specifically for the rather persistent little guy that had been following her earlier in the morning. She’d even had to break up a petty argument between some of the younger children over a hand stitched rag doll.
By the time lunch hours rolled around, the council was still deep in their whispered debates. Though, they chose to take a break for meal time and regroup afterwards. Marie was sitting at the long wooden table, rolling her stone between her hands, when her father came back in. His eyes looked tired, the same brown eyes Marie had been gifted with, just etched with lines at the corners. His shoulders seemed to hold a weight that Marie didn’t recognize.
Her mother was stirring a pot of broth and vegetables in a pot suspended above a small fire, the warm hearty scent already filling the house. Her own long black hair was tied back with a piece of fabric, cheeks and nose painted red from the heat. Both of Marie’s parents, Joseph and Tilla, had been raised here on the compound as well. Around the same age, Joseph and Tilla had been inseparable in their younger years, their love had come easily. Joseph had been inducted into the council as he reached adulthood, and very soon after, Tilla became pregnant with Marie. The little thing had been born with her father’s eyes and her mother’s hair, and since the very beginning, Marie had been happy. Curious, but a good kid through and through.
Truthfully, life had been good to them.
When Joseph entered, toeing off his boots by the doorway, Marie had popped up from the table. Her face split into a grin that brought out dimples along her cheeks. She all but ran over to her father, whose eyes flickered with something almost pained before he stoked it down behind a forced smile.
He was a tall man, with broad shoulders that currently felt as though they were holding the entire world. His jawline was textured with stubble. The same dark blond color as the hair upon his head. Which just barely curled at the edges. Joseph was a stoic looking man most days, but his laugh was loud and barking when it was brought out of him.
“Papa! Look I found a new offering, isn’t it perfect?” She said cheerfully, voice bright as she held up the rounded stone she had been fiddling with all morning. “Can I go to the chapel before lunch?” Marie asked eagerly.
Her father reached down, hoisting her up into his arms. Something he rarely did anymore. Not that he struggled with it, Marie was rather light. She had just grown out of the need to be carried. He could feel Tilla’s eyes on him. Knowing, always so damn knowing. She had long ago learned to read him before he even spoke a word, especially when it came to council matters. Marie, however, was none the wiser. Still so naive and trusting. Though, she had never really had any reason not to be.
“Why don’t you hold onto it for now, little one,” that nickname had been given to her since before Marie could remember. It followed her even now as she began to get not so little. Joseph couldn't find it in himself just yet to meet his wife’s gaze. Not head on at least, he could see her looking at him out of the corner of his eye as he brought Marie back towards the table. The council discussion of choosing a sacrifice weighed heavily on him. He’d been the main reason the debate had stretched on for so long, and his arguments were dwindling.
Tilla could see it on his face. She didn’t say anything. She just turned back to the pot, having to swallow down the sudden thick feeling in her throat. She tried her best to steady the small tremble that shook her hands.
As Marie found herself placed back down on her seat, her brows furrowed in confusion. She looked up at her father, something pulling tight in her chest. Hold onto the offering? That was new. But the way her father had said it sounded less like a suggestion and more of an indirect instruction. The odd look in his eyes registered somewhere in the back of her mind. Marie shifted on her seat, squirming as she looked down at the stone in her palm. Her fingers curled and closed around it.
“Oh… Okay.”
Lunch passed by in an unfamiliar sort of silence. Her parents both seemed to be eating rather slowly, as if they were delaying the end of their meal entirely. As soon as Marie’s bowl was empty, she was the first to finish, her mother spoke up. Tilla’s voice was gentle, but a touch tense at the edges. “Why don’t you go out and pick some of the bluebells? It’s beautiful out today.”
Once again, Marie could tell it was less of a suggestion and more of an indirect command. She stood from the table, that speckled stone suddenly feeling heavy in her pocket. She hesitated, looking between her parents, whose eyes felt avoidant and smiles both looked too tight. Marie reached for her bowl, intending to bring it to the wash basin, but instead she was shooed off. That tension in her chest only wound itself tighter. Something was off. Something was very off. Neither of them were quite looking at her anymore.
The air felt thick with something she couldn’t name.
“Okay, mama,” Marie breathed out, lingering. Hesitating before she finally found it in herself to drag herself out of the house. It wasn’t exactly a strange request on its own, Marie had been sent out plenty of times to go pluck a bundle of flowers for her mother. There was simply a wordless feeling settling itself into Marie’s stomach. A warning she couldn’t make out.
The sun was still high in the sky. Warm and inviting as Marie walked slowly from the house. Her hand dipped into her pocket, holding onto her stone like an anchor in her uncertainty. No goats followed her this time around. The rabbits dashed away when she trailed past. Leaving Marie to her thoughts as she trailed around the compound slowly. She’d take a stem or two from each little patch then move on the next. The movements were almost methodical. Grounding in a way. Her brown eyed gaze lingered on the chapel as she passed by. The council had dispersed for now and part of her wanted to go in. She wanted to place her stone on the altar.
But her father’s words stuck in her head like a thorn.
Instead, Marie spent the rest of the afternoon like that. Hands filling with bluebells, the stone a steady weight in her pocket. She wondered what hushed conversation her mother and father were having. After all, she couldn’t think of another reason she’d been shooed off in such a way. She thought back to that strange look in her father’s eyes. The way he had lifted her up. She knew one thing for sure, something was wrong. Though she just couldn’t figure out what. As her thoughts wandered, so did her feet. Going from plume of plume of bluebells.
Marie found herself at the edge of the compound, where the two rows of fencing narrowed and came down shorter. She stared off towards where the old dirt path led off down the hill towards the forest. The trees were tall and unbending, sometimes when a storm rolled around, their branches would groan with the wind and create an eerie sort of symphony. The elders of the compound would always warn of that place, but Marie always thought it looked strangely peaceful. It’s as though, in her mind, the woods watched over them all. Like maybe their Gods could be found somewhere within, part of the woods just as they were part of everything else here.
Later that evening, as the sun cast dying orange rays across the houses of the compound, Marie and her mother sat inside. Tilla was quiet, but she was stringing the bluebells into smaller bundles with twine. As she finished each one, she would hang them in the windowsills. Marie watched curiously, her legs folded beneath herself as she sat in front of the fire. It was slowly burning down seeing as Tilla hadn't tended to it in a good bit. Joseph was back at the chapel with the rest of the council. A leftover tension hung in the air, like a storm still gathering the will to crash.
Marie’s eyes tracked her mother’s movements. The slow, gentle way her fingers worked with the twine. The way the flowers looked almost violet when they caught the last of the day's light. Marie’s own hands were a bit distracted, mindlessly twirling a strand of her hair around her finger before letting it unfurl. Then repeating. Every now and again Tilla would look over at her daughter. Her practiced movements would pause, her gaze would linger, and a breath would leave her shoulders sagged slightly. The moment would break and Tilla would continue stringing up the bluebells.
Her mother’s eyes were a bright sort of green, it always made Marie think of the grass after a rainstorm. Dark hair still tied back, though at this point in the day a few strands here and there had come loose. Framing the rounded curve of Tilla’s cheekbones and jaw. Freckles splattered her fair complexion, and as the warmer seasons dragged on, more would appear. Like kisses from the sunlight itself.
Her hands didn’t shake. Maybe it was the concentration. Maybe she just couldn’t bring herself to let her daughter see that weakness. When Joseph finally came home, his steps heavy, Tilla’s eyes screwed shut. Throat going tight again. She knew what came next. In his hands, Joseph held a folded up fabric. Baby blue and silken. A nightgown, dyed with the bluebells his wife was currently stringing up to let dry out. His grip was too tight, his jaw and shoulders too tense.
Marie stood up, she wasn’t even sure why she did. Some restless jolt in her nerves pushed her up before she could think better of it. Her father walked over to where she was, the same look in his eyes that he wore when he was approaching one of the goats chosen for a feast.
“Heya, little one,” he said carefully, like he was memorizing the feel of those words. Joseph kneeled down, extending the blue nightgown forward. The lingering pause between his words seemed to drag on for a beat too long. “I got something for ya. I need you to go put it on, okay?”
Marie looked between the nightgown and her father’s face. She felt her nose scrunch up on its own accord. She had plenty of nightgowns already. None of this color. Though they had plenty of bluebells here on the compound, the color was something sort of sacred. It wasn’t used for everyday clothes. Standard cottons and linen, undyed and simple were more common. Council members would wear the light blue color on special days or chosen feasts, but as far as Marie knew… None of those things were currently happening.
Her stomach dropped. It was an instinctual sort of thing. The hairs on the back of her neck prickling up. Her hand dipped into her pocket again, feeling for that stone that felt less like an offering and more like an anchor.
Joseph caught the little motion and something in his chest cracked open. He had to do this. It was his duty, but for a second - for a split second - he wanted to throw the nightgown to the fire and hold his daughter close. He wanted to tell her that he would always protect her, even if it meant defying the Gods he’d spent his entire life learning to praise. He wanted to do anything he could to wipe away that frightened unsure look on Marie’s face.
He did none of those things.
“Go on, it’s alright,” he said instead. His eyes, the ones that matched Marie’s, flicked down towards her hand fisted into her pocket. “You can keep the stone with you if you want.”
That seemed to soften her unease a bit. At least enough for her to take the nightgown from her father’s hands. She looked between her parents. Tilla had gone rather still. The sky darkened in the window behind her, framed with bluebells now. Joseph brought his hand to cup the side of Marie’s head. His thumb stroked at her temple. Once, twice, three times. He offered what looked halfway between a reassuring smile and a rather sad looking one.
Marie looked down at the baby blue fabric in her hands. Which she hadn’t realized until now were trembling. She wasn’t even sure what she was afraid of exactly, she just knew the feeling in her stomach was one that told her something bad was coming. Still, her feet carried her off towards her bedroom. When her door closed behind her, Marie let out a long breath. Her shoulder slumped as she leaned back, letting the wood hold her up. She could just barely make out the sounds of her parents talking in hushed tones. She couldn’t make out what was being said, which only made her fear worse. They’d been acting weird all day, but Marie couldn’t figure out the reason.
She’d been taught to follow her parents. To trust. Marie had been taught to trust that everything her father and the council said were always from the path of the Gods. She’d always been one to question. Not out of disbelief, but pure curiosity. She just wanted to know more. But right now?
Right now, it felt as though there was something inside her buzzing. Telling her that something bad was coming. Marie had never quite felt like this before. She had never learned what to do with this feeling.
By the time she realized she’d been standing there, staring at the baby blue silk clutched in one hand, while her other was fisted around that stone again; the sky had gone dark in the windows. Which meant her entire room was little more than shadows she’d long ago memorized in her sleepless nights. Her eyes drifted over the space. Her parents were still out there, talking too low to make out. Slowly, Marie forced herself forward. Her feet didn’t exactly pick up from the ground. She shuffled over to a small bedside table. The stone made a dull clunk as it met the wood. The nightgown made a fainter swish of fabric as she dropped it to her bed.
Her fingers trembled around the leather belting wrapping around her middle section. Marie just let it fall numbly to the wooden floor. The cotton shirt and linen pants came next. All a pile on the floor, shedded layers that would normally find themself in the wicker basket. But today, nothing seemed to be going as it normally would. Nothing that mattered anyways.
The nightgown fabric felt slick as it hung around her body. It was cool and moved weird compared to what she normally wore. Marie wasn’t sure she liked it.
Her feet, which were still dirt stained from collecting bluebells and stones earlier, felt rooted to where they stood. She was turned towards the sort of corner her bed and the table created. Her back facing the door. Marie grabbed for the rock. Cradling it in her cupped hands. The little white speckles across it were like far off stars in the dark of her dark room. Now, she wasn’t exactly sure what it was she was pleading for.
But she pleaded to the stone. More towards the Gods that it represented. The overlooking guardians that were in everything and always watching. She pleaded that whatever horrible feeling this was in her stomach that it would go away. That it was wrong. That everything was fine.
Marie lingered there for a while. When she finally pulled herself from her room, stone clutched so tight her knuckles were a straining white, the tendons in her hands pressing out, a tense silence settled over the house. Even the fire seemed to snuff itself out in a hushed curl of thin smoke. Joseph had been huddled around his wife, his hands smoothing a gentle path over her shoulders as he reassured her of something. Though the motion, and the words, paused when Marie stepped back out. Tilla’s eyes were glossed over, her own hands worrying a rag she had grabbed at some point.
Both looked at their daughter. She looked at them.
For the first time in her life, Marie looked suspicious. Eyeing them like they were conspirators working against her. And maybe that, to Joseph and Tilla, was the worst part. Because maybe they were, but neither quite wanted to face it.
Joseph was the first to move. He stepped before Marie, kneeling down to her level once again. “Hey there little one,” his voice came out soft, like it did when he was about to tell her a nighttime tale of the Gods.
But Maire didn’t want another tale. She wanted to understand what was happening. Though, she wasn’t even sure how to express something like doubt. She didn’t answer her father, her eyebrows just knit closer and the bridge of her nose scrunched. The unformed words swished back and forth in her mouth.
Joseph, who knew his daughter well enough, watched the emotions play out on her face. She stood so rigid and serious in the moment, like she didn’t want to let herself get used to the silk fabric. She was still holding that stone, gripped in her fist like a prayer she wasn’t saying. Her face was scrunched up, her own doubt and suspicions sour on her tongue. She looked smaller than she was. “Don’t worry,” the same words he had been uttering to Tilla found their way out again, tasting like ash on his tongue. “Everything will be okay.”
It was barely anything. He knew that. He knew it wasn’t enough for Marie. Never for Marie.
So he swallowed down his own heartbeat, his hand coming to rest against the side of her skull. He tried to smooth out the tension in her temple with his thumb. “You’re gonna help us bring the rain, Marie.”
Joseph stood, his head angled down, watching as Marie’s head tilted up. Her confusion and suspicion softened, but didn’t disappear. Maybe that was enough. His thumb worked to smooth out the lingering lines of uncertainty, those words hanging heavy in the air around them. Marie felt them like a physical weight against her shoulders.
She didn’t know how to bring the rain. She didn’t really understand. But her father was looking at her like the entire world rested upon her, and Marie wasn’t sure she could bring herself to refuse.
“Okay,” the word came out as a whisper. That feeling in her stomach surged. A cold shock rushing through her nerves. She felt the same as the young goats who froze up in the face of fear.
In the fresh night air, the other members of the council stood, all wearing the old cloaks that had been passed down through the generations. Joseph donned his before leading Marie outside. One hand clutched tightly around her father’s fingers, the other still held her stone. A few of the council members held bunches of bluebells, these however were long dried out. Preserved and brittle. Tilla stood in the doorway of their house, the windows were all lined with the bluebells Marie had picked earlier, hanging upside down, the life not yet drained from them. Now Tilla finally let her hands tremble, worrying at the cotton fabric of the half apron wrapped around her waist.
She’d given Marie a lingering hug before Joseph had pulled their daughter away. Tilla hadn't been able to say anything. What was there to say?
Nothing would’ve been good enough. Nothing would’ve fixed any of this.
The moon was beginning to rise, full and rotund, the forest to the east causing its light to crack and fracture through the trees. Joseph led the way, Marie in tow, down along the dirt pathway. Away from the chapel. Which was where Marie figured they’d be going. Each step of hers felt heavier and heavier. It was as if she were wading through mucky water, but it was only her bare feet against the hard packed dirt. The other council members trailed behind. Close enough that when Marie looked back over her shoulder, she couldn’t see her mother. Just a wall of swishing fabrics and bunches of bluebells.
The compound felt quiet. Like the world was holding its breath. Marie could hear no goat bleats, no drifting conversations as they passed by the houses. It didn’t even seem like a single breeze was whispering across the crops. Just footsteps. Her own were near silent compared to the boots of the council members behind her and her father. He didn’t look down at her.
But Marie could see the tension in his jaw. The way he stared ahead like the forest itself held all the unspoken answers of the Gods. The trees felt more imposing now. Their tall, unwavering forms created a shattered array of darkness and moonlight, growing closer with every step. The gate was approaching. Nothing grand. Just wooden planks and a heavy latch. The two rows of fencing came together to meet here, the plowed rows of planting beds in between the dual layers of fencing made a crescent sort of shape. This encompassed the entire compound. Widest behind the chapel, a separate gate sat there matching the opposite one, leading into the rows and rows of sown crops.
The gate that opened the crescent to the mouth of the forest groaned into the night. Dirt path leading down the slope of the hill, extending into the dark of the trees. Marie had always been curious about this path. Most of her questions regarding the woods and the path into them were met with dismissal. A shooing off to go do something else, or a cryptic tale of the Gods. Never real answers of any use. Nothing that ever quelled the ever constant investigative nature of her own mind. She’d always tried to take the answers she got and be satisfied with that. But all of the empty holes of knowledge suddenly felt like stones in her skull. Her heels pressed into the dirt, the bridge of her nose scrunching as she looked up at her father. There was something pleading in her eyes.
It’s not that Marie was refusing whatever path this was. She wasn’t even outright suspicious, she didn’t know how to be. She just wanted more answers.
Joseph looked down at his daughter, halfway through pulling her into another step forward. She never had been outside of these walls, had she? He barely had a single solid comfort to offer her. The night air of spring was prickly and still chilled, her arms raised in goosebumps. Those wide eyes pleading for anything from him. From the Gods.
“This path…” He started, slowly. That gentle low tone he used for bedtime stories. The other council members had blocked off the way back into the compound. Marie’s body leaning away from the forest. Instinct at odds with curiosity and her father’s guidance. “Leads to the Gods. You’ve been chosen, little one. You’re gonna talk to them. You’re going to ask for them to bring the rain, okay?”
There was that look again. Like he was counting on Marie. Like this all rested on her. His smile was tight and unconvincing. She broke eye contact first, the silence following those words buzzed with something. Or maybe it was just a rustle of distant wind through the trees. Marie looked down instead at the stone she had in her palm. Warm now from how tight she’d been holding it. She’d been chosen. To talk to the Gods. To help. She wanted to be excited.
But the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She wasn’t sure if the goosebumps were from the night air or that anxious thrum in her nerves. Marie didn’t know how to speak to Gods or bring the rain. She didn’t know what laid out there in the forest.
Her previous curiosities suddenly made her feel terrifyingly small. But the pull of it all was still there. Almost sickly feeling in her stomach. The trees and the Gods calling to her. Like maybe all the answers to her questions were there. Hidden in the dark.
The dirt path moved beneath her feet.
Or maybe it was her feet moving against the dirt path.
Marie couldn’t tell, but the world around her was moving again. The heavy swish of fabric behind her, the grass beside the path growing more wild. The earth here sloped in a long lazy sprawl into the dark mouth of trees. Her father was moving beside her. Pulling her along. A steady pillar of guidance.
So she followed. The further down the hill they went, the sharper the air felt. A cold prickle that bit at her skin and the silky fabric draped off of her. Marie was suddenly very aware of how little the nightgown seemed to shield her. There was no warmth to be found in it. She should’ve at least put on socks. But it was too late.
That much she knew. A deep truth that seemed to resonate in the coiled knots that her stomach had become. It was too late.
Then the humming started. Low and almost completely unnoticed by Marie for a moment. But the council members behind her, that wall of fabric, started to hum. A sort of sound that resonated in the ribs, vibrated up into the throat. No real melody. Just the rise and fall of different notes. It resembled something like a heartbeat. The trees felt like giant ancient sentinels by now. Stretching impossibly taller and taller above her with every step. The deep shadows that filled the space between each one almost looked like they were shifting.
Like the forest itself was alive and watching.
The humming grew louder. Marie felt her own heart start to beat faster, louder than the droning metronome of sound at her back. The shadows of the forest felt as though they were swallowing her whole. The dirt path here, at the mouth of the trees, was colder. There was a line of stones, embedded into the ground right where the grass and the trees met. Which itself was near eerie in its precision. As if the fielded hills and expansive forest had made a deal of borders long ago. Each side of the stone threshold was a stark contrast to the other.
Both respectively seemed to go on forever in Marie’s mind. It was as though the entire world was split in half. To one side, wide open grasslands and rolling hills. To the other, shadowed trees that ate up the sky and stood taller than the council around her.
As she passed over that threshold, stepping into the darkness with her father giving a little encouraging tug at her hand, the air shifted. A slow drag through the trees that made them creak and groan. It rustled through her hair and felt like something primordial caressing her cheek. The humming felt like it was everywhere now, merging into a thrum of harmonzied notes.
From every side of her. In the ground itself. Resonating somewhere in her bones.
Marie’s eyes began to adjust. There were rare patches of growing moonlight dappling through the shadows, but they did little to help the disorientation. It was hard to tell where the trees and shadows met or where the path led. The darkness of night felt heavier here.
Her steps felt mechanical. For some reason, Marie thought of the goats when one was being led off towards the butcher’s house.
She looked towards her father again.
He didn’t look back down at her.
Marie looked at the darkened pathway in front of her instead. The trees around them pressing into her peripheral, an encasement of shadow and sentinels. They began to grow denser. Even in the darkness that much was obvious. An undeniable fact that could be felt in the very air. Then the path seemed to end.
In front of her sat an old stone well. With a pointed wooden gable above it, riddled with moss. The drooping outlines of bluebells hugging the base of it.
Joseph’s steps came to a heavy halt. His chin tilted up just enough to catch the shape of the moon clawing through the coverage of leaves. Full and knowing and watching. He could feel Marie’s hand trembling in his. Her other hand was a fist clenched at her side. Still holding onto that stone she had spent her morning choosing. Like the ritual itself had woven itself into the day before the decision was even made.
The path that led to this moment was more than just dirt packed into the ground.
The humming had gone lower in notes now, blending itself into the groan of the surrounding trees. Or maybe it was the other way around. Hard to tell.
For a moment, Joseph was just still. Staring up at what he could see of the moon. Pleading with the Gods. Pleading with the forest. With the rain that hadn’t yet come this season. The only answer that seemed to come was another shift of wind, dragging another whisper of the trees. This was it, wasn’t it? This is the way it had to be. It was too late. Her fate was already decided. He told himself it was a worthy cause. For the greater good. An honor, really. But what good did those words truly do in this moment?
Joseph looked down at his daughter. She was looking up at him again. Waiting. Searching. Trying so hard to understand what was about to happen and what she was supposed to do. He didn’t try to offer any more reassurances, couldn’t seem to bring himself to. Instead, he reached down, hauling her up, placing her at his hip.
“You’ve got your stone?” He asked, voice low enough to barely be heard over the pulsing hums of the other council members.
Marie nodded.
Joseph nodded back. “Good. That’s good, little one… Hold onto it tight, alright?” There was no smile this time. Just the pitying look of someone who knew more.
“Papa, how do I—”
He cut her off, “Don’t worry about it, Marie. You’ll know what to do. Just…” Joseph could feel the air shift as the council members shifted behind him. The wall formation they’d made breaking apart to curve around the well. “Just look up at the moon. It’s full tonight. The Gods are watching over you.”
Marie’s gaze lingered, tracking over her father’s face as though she were trying to stitch together whatever it was going unsaid. Her face scrunched as she tried her best to find comfort in those words, they were ones she had heard hundreds of times. The Gods are watching over you. When the darkness was too frightening, when uncertainty wormed its way into her veins. It had always been enough. This time, however, it did little to actually soothe the antsy nerves prickling through her.
When her head tilted up to find the pieces of the full moon through the arms of the trees, Joseph took in a slow breath. There was a moment, an utterly still moment where the humming seemed to almost die down completely. Even the forest held its breath in what might’ve been respect.
Tossed. Much too easily, really. No real preamble to it. Just a girl thrown into a well. The loss of her weight felt as though it hollowed a part of him out instantly.
Marie was suddenly weightless. The feeling lifted the twisted knots of her stomach. It all happened so fast. The stone tumbled from her palm, clattering against the rock walls, a sound that echoed below her. Above, the humming bounced in duelling tones, back and forth like a broken song without words. The rush of damp air was loud in her ears, almost enough to drown the rest out. It clawed at her legs and arms, like gravity was just one of the Gods dragging her down. Her limbs themself were a panicked, but useless scramble of motion. A fruitless attempt at finding anything solid to stop this fall. Jagged stone only bit at her with every brush of contact. The shriek was instant, pulled out on its own accord from somewhere deep in her ribcage.
Up was down and down was up. The entire world went topsy turvy. Everything was a tailspin. Still she tried to reach. Up towards her father. Or maybe the moon itself. Up towards the Gods. Towards anything that would save her.
But all that came was the bottom of the well.
A sickening crack of bone against stone, a harsh shuddering of blinding pain coursed through her. For a second, it made her shrieks stutter. Then blubber into broken sobs. The noises she made barely even sounded human. It was hard to tell where exactly the pain originated, scrapes scattered across her body stung in the cold air, though the worst of it was held in her left leg. Through the femur and into her hip. The leg was twisted awkwardly at a harsh angle beneath her. Marie’s ribs struggled between breaths and cries.
The darkness and the dank smell of wet earth settled over her like a shroud. The wooden gable far above was rotted with a hole in the middle, somewhere even further above was the moon, but it felt as though its light didn’t dare reach all the way down. Whatever old puddles were left in the well began to soak themselves into her nightgown. The cold that accompanied it began to soak into her bones.
It did nothing to quell the pain. The two merged hand in hand.
The humming had grown tense, almost strained in a way, the council members above had expected a silence after the snapping sound of broken bones. But Marie hadn’t gone silent. No where close to it in fact. Joseph felt sick. That had been the one semi-comfort to him in this, the idea that it would be quick. That Marie wouldn’t even have time to realize what had really happened by the time it all stopped for her. Perhaps that had just been an empty promise from the rest of the council? A mitigation given to the father behind the council member he was. Though, the way the others had shifted and their humming had grown forced alluded to the notion that even they had all believed that statement.
“No, no, no— Papa! Ah. Ow. Please, help! I can’t— I can’t, I don’t know how— Help! PAPA!”
A quick death would’ve been a mercy here.
But it was too late.
What was done was done.
It was the will of the Gods now.
Marie wasn’t sure how long the humming itself had lasted before it grew distant. It never exactly seemed to end. Just got further and further away until the ghost of it lingered in the trees far above her. Or maybe it was simply left like a stain in her mind. She kept yelling. As loud as her frame would allow, shaking through her ribs. Bouncing around off of stones. Nothing came. No last view of her father’s face. No apology or encouragement. No guidance into what to do next. She was alone.
When she tried to move, the pain shot through her leg again. Tearing a broken whimper through her panicked shouts and pleas. Her eyes were still struggling to adjust, phantom shapes following her vision whenever she tore it away from the far off peeks of moonlight. Practically blinding compared to the shadowed depths of the well. Tears slid down her cheeks, plopping onto the nightgown and some even joined the shallow puddles beneath her. She was hyperventilating now, huffs and puffs that had broken the constant scream of shouting. Her throat felt raw and dry. Her bones ached in the cold already.
At first she had attempted to rock back and forth, a childish soothing little motion. But it only brought more pain. Her hands half clawing at her own arms like she could drag warmth from her very veins. Though it did nothing like that. Simply added to the horrible sensations buzzing through her. So instead, she settled for pushing herself back to lean against the curved wall that surrounded her. A rough uneven texture pressing into her shoulders. In the process, her hand had found the abandoned little stone. Instinctively, she clasped it tight in her shaking hand.
Her left leg was hard to move without causing a sharp stab of pain that shook her entire body. It felt impossible to straighten it out, when Marie had tried it simply ripped another strangled noise from her. Lost somewhere between a whimper and a wail. She didn’t try again.
The stone clutched into her hand was brought up against her chest, both hands clamped over it now. Each breath was strained and punctuated by pained noises she couldn’t help. Her mind scrambled, a tangled mess of fear and questions and emotions she had never even learned the proper words for. Her body curved forward in a subconscious attempt to hold herself together.
So this was how she was supposed to bring the rain? This was how she was meant to speak to the Gods?
For the first time in her entire life, she wasn’t quite sure if anyone or anything truly was listening. But she tried anyway. Marie brought the little rounded stone closer to her face, lips brushing the cold surface as she whispered pleas to the Gods that came out more like sobs. The words tumbled out in a mess, broken up by shuddering breaths, sentences half formed and desperate. She wasn’t even sure any of it made sense. She wasn’t even sure she had been asking for the rain.
Just desperate prayers of a girl who had nothing else to do and nothing else to hold onto.
Sometime that night, long after Marie was thrown into the well, long after the humming of council members left her alone with a broken leg and heart, the clouds rolled in above the forest. And the first rain of spring fell down upon the land. Fat drops splattering down in a slow rhythm, hitting the leaves of the trees with dull plops. Then it grew. Faster. Heavier. Accompanied by crashes of thunder from somewhere distant and flashes of lightning that barely managed to illuminate the inner walls of the well.
Very little of the rainwater managed to actually make its way down into the well between the coverage of trees and the mostly held together wooden gable. The puddles grew in size slowly, but not much in depth.
Marie was trembling, each roll of thunder felt like a slap that made her jump. A reaction to the noise she hadn’t had since she was much younger. Every little jolt of movement brought only more pain. A firm aching stab that twinged through her bones. The cold was sharper now. Nothing about the rainstorm felt like a true accomplishment. Nothing about it felt relieving as the world above moved on without her. She couldn’t bring herself to be proud of the greater good she had helped.
She didn’t even find comfort in the idea that maybe the Gods were listening and watching over. No such thing as comfort seemed to exist down here.
All that did exist here at the bottom of the well was a lonely, drowning terror.