Stefan bit his lip to keep himself from shouting. “All right, then. Why did the Devil prompt you to dump the bodies there?”
“The Devil’s most famous sin is pride, Father. Even you teach that. So I suppose that was one reason. But I think it was an accusation against you, against God. Think now: I hardly ever missed church. I asked God to stop me from coveting what was not mine, every day. But the urges were always there. Nothing could stop me. I began to doubt God even existed. A good God would not let me suffer like that. And then Bastion came. He showed me that belief in God wasn’t the problem. I had no belief in the Devil. That’s why the Devil found it so easy to control me. That’s why I had to hurt others. He had control, and I did not know it.”
“Let me out, Bjorn. We will go and seek help from the bishop, from the church fathers.”
“It’s too late. You brought Bastion. You did save me, in your way. I will not forget that.” Bjorn began backing up. Stefan was losing sight of his face.
“Bjorn, wait. The blood of these women is on my hands too. We are both guilty in the eyes of God.”
“No. I am not guilty. I am bewitched. You failed those women. You failed me.”
“Then do not let me fail Mia, too. Or little Alma. Bjorn, she tried to come to me so many times for help. I thought she was the problem. I blamed her. I did not help her.”
“I can’t stop to help Mia now. I should continue my work with Bastion. I have not harmed a woman since Rose burned. It’s working, Stefan. The curse is lifting.”
“Just find Mia and Alma. Guarantee their safety. Do this for me, so that my guilt will not be so great in the eyes of God.”
“Why would I do this for you?”
“Because soon everyone will know what you did. But one act of kindness, of loyalty to your wife, will prove all that you say—that you were bewitched. That you are a good man in your heart, and that the Devil worked through you. And not just prove this to me, but to everyone in the village, everyone who hears of our great struggle here. You will become famous, the man who escaped from the clutches of the Devil.”
Mia watched Hilda swaying back and forth, her back to Mia. Mia blinked, hoping to steady the image.
Hilda turned around and shuffled to her. Mia stared at the old face, swollen and doughy, with a fish’s mouth, lines drawn up tight around it. The woman had silver-colored hair hanging listlessly between stalks of white that clumped together in places. Mia closed her eyes.
It had been foolish to run, with no plan, with no hope, with only a determination not to give in to temptation.
Breath tickled her cheeks, and Mia opened her eyes. Hilda’s mouth hovered inches above her face. The old woman snapped her teeth.
Mia flinched, banging her head on the wooden beam supporting her pallet.
“You’re fine. Sit up,” Hilda said.
Mia pushed her feet over the edge of the pallet, touching the dirt floor. Alma slept on another pallet, her thumb stuck in her mouth, her hair done in beautiful braids.
“I kept her happy as you slept. She is a fine child. Healthy and strong.”
Hilda shuffled over to a black pot covered in burned drippings down all sides and filled a bowl with broth. She brought it to Mia.
“Drink this.”
Mia lifted the bowl to her nose and inhaled. It smelled better than most of what she cooked. She took a sip and pleasure shot through her veins. Mia lifted the bowl and gulped, letting food dribble down her chin.
Hilda sat on her haunches, watching Mia.
Mia lowered the bowl, gasping for air. The old woman looked shocked at her manners. “I am sorry to cause such trouble for you,” Mia said. “I was foolish to run into the forest.”
“Are you done, then?” Hilda asked, reaching for the bowl. Mia moved it away from her. If the woman would only turn her back, Mia would run her fingers through it and lick what she scraped up.
“I don’t want you here. Because you are a woman, because you are lost, I feed you. But I do not want you here. Eat and leave. First light has come.”
“Where should I go?”
“You do not know where you want to go?” She squinted, leaning toward Mia. “Did you plan to die in the forest?”
“I was already dead. I just wanted to save my daughter. And my conscience.”
Hilda sat back, chewing her lip, studying her. Mia stretched, her chest still sore. Her arms were heavy and numb.
“Tell me your name.”
“Mia, wife of Bjorn, sheriff of Dinfoil.”
The woman covered her mouth with her hands. She hobbled to the door, leaning out and peering in all directions before shutting it.
“No one followed you?”
“No. Bjorn wanted me gone.”
“I’m sure he did.”
The woman paced the short length of her home over and over, then turned back to Mia. “You’ve got to leave right now. I fed you. You’re strong. Go.”
“Where?”