Mia could not pretend any longer. She had no energy left to try. If she stayed, if she tried again, desperation would cling to her, seeping into her voice and expression. Bastion would smell it out when he came calling again. She would have no argument, no defense. She would have no reason not to give up, no reason not to fall into his arms and let him take her far from this life.
Except for Alma. Mia would not give in, and never give up, because God had given her Alma. He healed Alma for no cause Mia could think of. He dwelled in shadow and mystery, to be sure, but Mia knew one thing about Him now, one thing forever: This God of mystery and shadow gave good gifts, even to those who failed Him. Even if she failed Him again and again, she believed He would still be near, walking with her in her darkness.
And Mia knew something else, too: She would choose to die in the forest before she broke her promise to God to honor Bjorn. Bjorn wasn’t worthy of it. God was. She would be true to this mysterious God, and by setting foot into the forest, without sword or knife, she knew she chose to die.
“I will take care of Alma,” she whispered to God. “I will take her as far from here as I can.”
Mia stepped into the shadows of the trees, cradling Alma in her arms. The forest rested quiet in the day. Those with hungers slept, waiting for night. Mia saw paw prints in the earth, one set, each print about the size of her palm with four toes, each with a claw curving in toward the center—the mark of a large wolf. A wolf had found her house last night. Bjorn had killed one wolf, and another had sprung out of the darkness to take its place, pacing back and forth, watching. Mia picked up her pace, hoping the wolf would not wake.
The foolish virgins, Mia thought. I am no better than they. Mia had heard the parable of the foolish virgins from Father Stefan. Ten beautiful young virgins waited at night for their groom. But the wait proved too long, and the night was so dark that all ten virgins fell asleep. At last the cry rang out, “The groom is here! The time for the feast, the wedding, it is upon us!”
But five of the virgins had no oil left for their lamps, so they couldn’t make their way to the feast. They went out into the dark streets, searching for oil, searching for help. And the five wise virgins, the ones who had stored up oil, the ones who were ready for a long, dark night, these women won everything—even love.
The five foolish virgins mocked Mia as she picked her way through the last of the afternoon light, through this thick forest, with Alma clinging to her, every step difficult and painful. Green boughs scratched Mia’s face and caught her by the hair. She continued forward, letting the bough take a piece of her hair with it. She only wanted to save Alma.
Mia had let herself get too thin, too weak, and knew she did not even have strength to last the remaining minutes of light. Night was settling around them fast. Mia realized now that they would both die when wolves and bears and boars woke and went hunting for the foolish and the weak. The five foolish virgins were never heard from after that, apparently, because they were never mentioned again in the Bible. Probably eaten, Mia thought.
Her arms burned with the effort of carrying Alma, but when she tried to set Alma down, the child moaned in fear, scrambling, scratching, and grasping for Mia’s embrace.
Alma had never experienced the fear of being unwanted. Mia nuzzled her cheek against Alma’s as reassurance. Mia had known the life of a fugitive long ago. She knew how to bury her sorrows and fears, how to drive them down deep into the mud and run.
Mia was a woman now, and everything on her stove had gone to giving Alma more strength, and to Bjorn’s big appetite. Nothing remained for Mia.
The last light faded as Mia pushed on. An hour later, exhausted, she collapsed beneath a tree. She could hear the animals scurrying overhead and the insects scurrying underfoot. Heavy footsteps frightened Alma, but Mia suspected it was a deer. Tired of chewing on the birch trees through the winter, deer would be grazing on spring’s new growth with no thought of danger. Around her, toadstools glowed blue-green in the darkness, moonlight breaking through the canopy above in rare, distant spaces.
Alma curled into her lap, sucking her thumb, falling asleep. Mia blinked in the darkness. The forest writhed to life. Predator hunted prey, insects sang and chewed through the leaf litter, owls flew past not more than an arm’s reach away. She heard tiny screams of a mouse or rat as an owl caught it.
Mia had always cooked her meals in a pot and acquired food by digging through dirt or paying a butcher for cuts of meat. She had never hunted or heard claws tearing flesh. Suffering came to everyone in the night.
Bastion and Bjorn would be searching in the village tonight for signs of more witches. The women arrested would sit in the jail and think tonight of what must soon happen to them. Sleep was mercy. Everyone and everything still under the curse stayed awake to suffer.