As she approached the house, she found an older man chopping wood. His back was to her, but there was no way she could sneak into the house unseen. Negotiation it was.
“Excuse me,” she called.
He spun around with impressive speed, axe poised menacingly as he regarded her with wild eyes. Mae was a bit more startled than she’d expected. His face was almost completely covered in Cain acne, and yellow and brown teeth only added to the monstrous appearance. Not monstrous, she told herself. Just a man who hasn’t had access to adequate medical care.
“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, “but I was hoping to buy some of your food. I have money.” She held out the currency and waited. When he didn’t speak or move right away, she wondered if he could understand her. There were slight accent differences between Gemman and Arcadian English, and it was possible they were more pronounced away from the country’s urban centers.
Then, with a roar, the old man came charging at her with the axe. Mae easily sidestepped him and continued dodging his subsequent attacks. Finally, frustrated, she put distance between them and pulled out her gun.
“Enough,” she said. “Don’t move. I don’t want to hurt you.” The man halted his attack.
“Drop the axe and walk inside the house. Slowly.”
Again, there was hesitation, but he complied, so at least communication was working. “I have no intention of harming you,” she reiterated. “I’m going to pick out some food, and then I’ll leave money behind for you.”
The shack consisted of only one room, containing a cold fireplace, straw pallet, and table. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, but aside from those and the picked over bones of some small animal on the table, she saw no other signs of supplies.
“Where’s your food?” she asked.
By way of response, the man grabbed a knife from the table and charged her again. The close quarters prevented her from completely dodging the attack, and they wrestled briefly. Shooting him would’ve been simple, but Mae didn’t want to kill him if she didn’t have to. He didn’t seem like the kind of person with much outside contact who was likely to report on seeing her, and even if he did, a lone woman wouldn’t raise the red flags that one with a host of girls in tow would.
She was easily stronger than him, but the flailing of his wild attack made it hard to immediately disengage from him. At last, she threw him off her, toward the far side of the room. Her throw wasn’t that hard, but he landed wrong, his foot slipping on a wet spot on the floor. Fumbling, he tried to get his balance but instead fell against the fireplace—the back of his head hitting a jagged stone in its border with a sickening crack.
“No!” yelled Mae, running over to the hearth. Blank, staring eyes met her from that hideous face, and she swore in Finnish. For someone who’d wanted to achieve this rescue with as little death as possible, she seemed to be causing it everywhere. After ascertaining there really was no hope of resuscitation, she left him there for the time being and performed a more thorough search of the premises. Her examination concluded two things: he lived alone, and there was no extra food.
What had he done? Had he just hunted as-needed? Had he been about to journey to civilization and obtain some? Or was there a cache hidden away somewhere? He had no answers to give, and Mae tried to work off her frustration by digging a shallow grave for him with a shovel she’d found. It wasn’t what he deserved, but it was all she could offer for what had fallen out between them. The one bright spot on the property was an active well, and Mae wanted to bring the girls here to resupply and sterilize new water. That would require getting him out of sight.
The crude shovel wasn’t that efficient, and by the time she’d buried the man, she was covered in sweat, and her cut had opened and begun bleeding. She’d have to use the thin blanket she’d seen on the pallet as a bandage and then do a thorough washing. Before heading off to retrieve the girls, she made one more sweep of the property, just in case she’d missed something.
She hadn’t, and that realization made her anger grow. She was tired and hungry, weighed down by an impossible task that she’d been promised divine help on—and hadn’t received.
“You promised me food!” she yelled to the dormant orchard. “Where is it? How am I supposed to feed them? How are we supposed to make it to the border without food?”
No answer came, but of course it wouldn’t, she thought furiously. Gods didn’t like to talk directly to mortals. They did it in dreams and other inconvenient ways—like blood-induced trances. Mae stared at her bleeding hand, but apparently it had already served its purpose. Fully aware she was acting out of frustration, Mae cut her other palm with the amber knife and demanded, “Here’s what you wanted, right? You said I had to give something to get something. Where are my answers? Where’s the help you promised?”
No answers came. No vision came either. This is what it comes to, she thought. This is why gods are no good for humans. They only let us down. Justin was right about everything. I shouldn’t have gotten involved.
A wave of dizziness struck her, and she put her freshly cut hand out to support herself on a tree, wincing at the pain. She pulled her hand back and then stared openmouthed at what she saw. The tree’s trunk was scaled and corroded with disease. That and drought had prevented the tree from producing fruit this season. But where her blood touched the trunk, the scaling disappeared, and a healthy patch of bark spread out, stopping when it was about twice the size of her palm.
I’m hallucinating. It was the obvious explanation . . . but it didn’t stop her from unwrapping her other hand and placing both bleeding palms against the bark. A sense of warmth and lightness spread out from her, through her hands, and through her blood, sending her life into the dying tree. It was a heady, exhilarating feeling, reminding her of the sensation she sometimes had in the goddess’s presence in her visions, that glorious feeling of being alive and connecting to all things living. At the same time, it was an excruciating feeling, drawing on every bit of Mae’s core of strength, a core that had been tapped considerably these last few days through both mental and physical hardship.
Despite that exertion, she kept her palms on the tree and continued focusing her energy. The healthy bark spread farther and farther until it consumed the entire trunk and branches. Green leaves burst into life, soon followed by delicate pink and white blossoms. The world reeled around Mae, and she nearly let go.
No, no, she thought. The cycle isn’t complete yet.
The blossoms grew and then fell apart, showering her in fragrant petals, far sweeter and richer than any perfume of hers could manage. And in the flowers’ places, fruit began to grow, starting small and green and soon developing into full, red apples that weighed down the limbs. It was then that Mae finally broke away, gasping at the strange mix of pain and pleasure coursing through her. There was blood on her palms and blood on the tree, but it was alive and healthy, ready to feed a group of hungry girls.
The goddess’s voice reverberated in Mae’s head: This is the kind of power you have in service to me, the power of life and love and fertility. As my priestess, you will bring life where you choose. As my warrior, you will bring death when necessary. You will bring comfort and healing. You will ignite desire. And always, always, I will have my hand upon you, empowering you.
Mae staggered back, and black spots danced before her vision. Praetorians might not sleep, but they could certainly pass out from injury, and she fought for her consciousness. All of this would be for nothing if she couldn’t get the girls here. Not bothering to rewrap her hands, she stumbled down the path back to where she’d left her charges. The journey was unwieldy, and she had to stop a number of times to catch her breath. At last, she reached the clearing she’d left them in, where they sat waiting in a small, nervous cluster. Cecile and Clara ran to her side, faces shocked at her appearance.