Mia knew those screaming, scurrying animals had a better lot, dying before dawn. Mia would die slowly, over the course of days. If God had mercy, she would find a place for Alma to live before that happened. Perhaps there would be a woman who could not have children of her own. Perhaps she could take Alma in.
If Mia could muster the strength to carry Alma just a bit further, she would find a town. Surely she would find a town.
A scream startled Mia awake, her heart pounding against her ribs. An owl repeated the call. Mia blinked, wondering how long they had slept like this, Alma in her lap and Mia slumped against the tree.
Steps in slow cadence broke branches in the distance. Something heavy approached, something not hunting, but searching. Mia froze, tightening her grip around Alma.
Bjorn would not have followed. He did not care enough.
Mia’s stomach burned from the rush of spiked fear, a cold iron mace being swung through her body as she saw the ghost. A woman’s image glided in between two huge beeches ahead. She had long silver hair, unbound, spreading across her shoulders, flowing down to her elbows. Nothing more than a skeleton’s body hung underneath her plain shift. The ghost stepped, cracking a twig underfoot.
Ghosts do not break twigs, she thought. This must be a woman of flesh and blood, living.
The woman turned and came right to her, not blinded by the darkness, not dependent on the patches of light. It was the healer Mia had spied in the village. She carried a thick rope at her side.
Mia closed her eyes as the woman got closer, leaning down and burying her face into Alma’s back. Better to be taken by an owl. Victims saw the stars before they died.
“Get up,” the woman said.
Mia could not move. Her limbs were numb.
“Do not fear me. Stand up.”
Mia tried to bend her legs but only whimpered, the sound drowned out by the piercing of crickets.
The woman’s hands took her by the arms, cold bones like frozen straw under such thin skin. The grip tightened. The woman had surprising strength. The pain of these old fingers digging into her arm comforted Mia. The pain broke the spell of numbness, the blankness of exhaustion.
“Get up, or I will leave you here.” She released Mia and stepped back. A wolf appeared behind a tree just feet from the woman. Its black lips curled up as it growled. Mia froze. The woman turned to the wolf and clicked her teeth at it. It stepped back, watching something near Mia.
A snake slithered away from Mia under the leaf litter. Leaves bobbed up and crunched as it moved. The wolf whined as the snake fled.
With a grunting series of shuffles, Mia managed to stand, lifting Alma into her arms. She could not set Alma down again here. Alma did not wake but recognized her mother’s movement and wrestled into a comfortable position against Mia’s chest.
The woman dropped the rope to the forest floor, holding one end as it fell. She stepped closer until Mia could smell meat on her breath, and fresh sage. The woman ate well. She was strong. She tied the rope around Mia’s waist and stepped back, giving it a tug. Mia stumbled forward but the knot held. The woman clucked her teeth at her and began walking. The rope dug into Mia’s back, forcing her to follow or fall.
Mia walked in the darkness, not able to see the woman, only seeing the rope extending a few feet in front of her. With the rope taut, Mia knew which way to face, where to set her feet. She walked until her arms returned to life, burning. She tried rearranging Alma, setting her up more to her shoulder, then more on her hip, but it did not give much relief. Mia had never known such pain. Still, she focused only on the rope, only on the next step. She tried not to hear the softly padding steps of the wolf behind her. She tried not to hear the wolf calling to its pack, and other wolves appearing from between trees along the path.
The woman led her to a clearing. Under the generous new supply of moonlight, Mia saw a thatched home, much smaller than her own but more inviting. The windows held a golden welcome, a sign of a fire inside at the hearth. Mia fell to her knees, unable to take another step, letting Alma tumble down onto the grass. Mia’s arms were of no use. She knew she should cry out for help, but who would hear except wolves and this strange woman, this witch?
As if she heard Mia’s thoughts, the woman turned back just once more. “My name is Hilda.” At that, Hilda dropped the rope, opening the door and disappearing inside. She left the door open.
The black hungry forest stood at Mia’s back. Predators crawled and called, scratching against trees and uprooting rocks. The wolves circled and waited, pawing at the ground, sniffing the air.
Alma had opened her eyes and was smiling at Mia, looking with curiosity at the clearing and the small house with the golden windows. Mia nudged her, turning her face so she would not see the ring of wolves so near.