Page 2 of Devil's Deal

I’m so exhausted, my head spins. Soon, my eyes will grow blurry. I’ll fall and it will be over. This time, for good.

Because it’s no longer just stupid pranks and name-calling. Miroslaw, Jaromir’s friend, brought a sacrificial knife to the chase. I know what it means.

They will kill me.

As if to confirm, Miroslaw screams, “Your blood will wash away the curse, witch!”

I dash out of the ferns and turn again, my feet flying over moss-covered stones. Someone’s right behind me, their heavy breath snarling down my nape. Any moment now, their strong fingers will close around my braid and yank.

I run.

If I could just stop and explain, maybe they’d listen. But I won’t have time to speak. As soon as they have me, the knife will plunge deep.

I don’t want to die. I don’t deserve it. And even though they think differently, my death will not wipe away any curses. It will be pointless.

It’s not my fault six pigs died last week, and then, Daga’s sister gave birth to a stillborn son. I didn’t even assist at the birth. It was a difficult one and Wiosna did it alone.

Until today, no one would have faulted me for any of it. The village people would have gone to the zerca and told him he should make better sacrifices to the gods. It’s his job to keep us in their favor. If pigs and newborns die, people normally complain to him.

But this morning, I woke up with my right eye purple. Not bruised. Purple. Until today, both my eyes were green like fern leaves. I don’t know why one changed color. I hadn’t even noticed until Daga’s mother saw me and cried out.

She called me the devil’s spawn. She said I had finally revealed my colors. And that I’d pay for cursing her family.

It took from morning until late afternoon for her words to spread and turn into action.

Now, the older kids want to sacrifice me to regain the gods’ favor. My spilled blood is supposed to be their key to glory.

Though Daga just wants to wash away her grief and fear. She lost a nephew and almost lost a sister.

“Enough of this!” Jaromir’s shout is so close, I smell his heavy breath on the icy wind.

I try to speed up, but my body won’t obey. My eyes play tricks, making the ground seem so much further away. As if I’m tall, as tall as the treetops. My legs land lightly, as if the stones are clouds.

Even though I’m not dead yet, I feel like a spirit already.

I turn sharply to avoid a thorny bush and look up too late. My body collides with an old oak, its trunk thrice as wide as me. I fall back with a pitiful sound, fear pulsing deep in my gut.

I’ll die here in this forest, under the wise oak. My blood will seep into the moss and down, down into the roots. Maybe it will not be pointless, after all.

Maybe my life will at least nourish the tree. I hope with all my might to have that, at least.

“Not here,” Daga rasps, standing above me. Her face is red with exertion, blue eyes triumphant. “Her blood will poison the roots.”

I cry out when someone grabs my ankles and yanks, sliding my body over something sharp. It digs into my back and tears my blouse.

So here it is. My death wish, denied.

“It’s not me,” I wheeze out through the pain. My eyes water, and I blink away the tears. “The baby… the pigs… Not me.”

“We won’t fall for your tricks, witch,” Miroslaw says, raising the knife. The blade is dull in the gloom of the forest at dusk. “Do you think we’re stupid?”

I do. But that thought fleets past, sucked into the torrent of fear in my chest. Jaromir drops me in a small clearing, and I look up at the purple sky marked by thin, dark gray clouds.

My back is wet. Whatever tore my blouse broke my skin, too.

“It’s just eye color,” I plead.

By Perun, I should get up and run, but my body feels numb. I can move my fingers but I can’t lift my arm. How long was I running? The sun was still well up over the horizon when they started the chase.

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