Every six months, at 12:00 a.m., the elders randomly choose a citizen—no matter their size, age, gender, or status—of our small village as a sacrifice. The elders say that if you can find them before the sun rises the next day, then they can come back home, and if you don’t, they’ll be gone forever. No one actually knows what happens to them. All we’re told is that they’re gone, and never coming back. Most people assume they just die. No one has ever found any of them, either. Unfortunately, there’s no amount of money or minerals or crops that can convince the council to exclude someone. A few years back, when I was about twelve, a councilman's daughter was chosen. He was so desperate, he begged his friends for all the money they could spare, searched every inch of his house for anything and everything valuable, and he tried to bribe the rest of the council with that stuff. That did not, in fact, end well. The entire village was forced to watch as he slowly burned alive at the stake as a reminder that this is what happens when you try to defy the law. That was traumatizing for twelve year old me, and up until six months ago, I hadn't tried to cause any trouble.
Six months ago, my best friend, Mable, was taken away. I searched for her from the moment I found out—a few minutes after she was taken—until sunrise, not stopping once. Mable is two years younger than me, 16, with long brown hair, smooth olive skin, and beautiful hazel eyes. Ever since that day, even though the people are supposedly randomly chosen, I’ve been pulling petty little pranks on the guards and council, whenever I get the chance.
That’s why I can’t help but feel like this is slightly personal. A rope is tied tightly around my wrists, and a blindfold around my head, as we ride down the bumpy dirt road that leads out of town. Just a few minutes ago, I was simply drinking from a glass of water after waking up from a nightmare about Mable, when suddenly, the guards that come to collect the Fice—don’t ask me why they call the sacrifices that—slammed my house’s door open and dragged me to the horse lead cart that they put the Fice in. Obviously I struggled, but to no avail.
“So, is this because I put two bunches of stool mushroom—which is much more effective than one bunch, because this time, I heard people were stuck in the bathrooms for hours—in that coffee pot a few weeks ago? I thought the Fice were supposed to be chosen randomly.” I say, trying to get a kick out of one of the guards, but also to distract myself from the fact that I most definitely will never see my grandfather again, and am probably heading to my inevitable demise.
“So that was you, punk? God, we need to put a lock on those doors.” one of the men grumbles.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
A moment of silence passes before anyone speaks. “The Woods.”
A chill goes down my spine. I knew that we were going somewhere unpleasant, but I didn’t think they’d take the Fice to The Woods. This must be why no one ever finds the Fice. No one would think to look in the woods.
A few years before I was born, The Woods were made forbidden. No person—child or adult—is allowed to go in there. Or so we thought. We were made to fear it. To not want to even step foot near it. Made to think there was some sort of evil creature that would tear us apart, even if that creature were someone on the council. We were never given a specific reason to not go, but it was just implied that something very bad would happen if we did.
The cart goes over something large, sending me flying into one of the guards.
“Watch it, kid.” he hisses, shoving me back into place. I adjust myself as we continue to ride, my nails digging into my palms. I don’t understand why they’re so mad about the stool mushrooms thing. They came from the same village and background, so I don’t know why they’d be prejudiced against me. Maybe I’m just that unlikable. I’ve only ever really been surrounded by my Grandpa, Mable, and her family, so I’m not sure what others think of me.
At some point, I fall asleep. I mean, I woke up in the middle of the night and was dragged out of my home, who wouldn’t be tired? When I wake up, we’re still on the cart, but we’ve entered The Woods. They must’ve taken my blindfold off at some point, because I’m now staring, mesmerized, at the trees that tower around us. We don’t have many trees like this—tall, with thick trunks and lots of leaves—around the village. It’s mostly just smaller trees and fields full of crops.
“Wow.” I whisper. My eyes must be bulging out of my head from how hard I’m staring. What could be so scary about these beasts of nature? Did they just tell us not to go in here because they needed a place to put the Fice? I can’t believe they’ve been keeping this from me. Honestly, I’m kind of glad I get to see this before I die. It’s calming.
“Four Phet tribe members up ahead!” someone in the front warns, snapping me out of my daze.
I look ahead and see two tall women with bronze skin and long black hair, and two even taller men, one with shoulder length black hair, and one with short black hair. They stand in the middle of the road, looking more fierce than a wild boar. I would know how fierce they are, because Grandpa had a problem with them getting into his field … he would always send me out to deal with them.
The cart stops suddenly, but before I can fly into the man from before, he shoves me. He stands up from his spot and grabs his rifle from below the seats. Where did that come from?
“Is there a problem?” he asks, approaching the front of the cart.
The group slowly steps towards us, bows in hand. “You didn’t give us our share of crops. We were wondering if there was a holdup, that’s all.” one of the women says.
One of the men sighs, and I crane my neck to get a closer look. “We’re not the ones to talk to about that.”
The people’s faces turn stern. “Then take us to them now.” the woman says.
“Clearly we don’t have time for that. Don’t you see we’re transporting a Fice?” says my catcher. He jabs his hand in my direction angrily.
The woman steps even closer, now just a few feet away from the front of the cart. “I don’t give a damn about who you are and aren’t transporting. My people need food to survive. Your people don’t need this young boy to be taken away to survive.” she says, jabbing a finger at the man. The man with short hair is peering at me closely, but as soon as I notice, his gaze darts away and his hand tightening around his bow.
“Fine. We’re headed there anyway.” says the man.
The woman stares at him for a moment longer before climbing onto the cart, then helping the other tribe members. The man with short hair sits on one side of me, while the man with the gun sits on the other side. The three others sit across from us, all giving each other death glares. I would join in too, but the only person I would even want to do that to is sitting right next to me with a rifle in his hand and a grudge against me for putting stool mushrooms in his coffee.
When we stop, I look up from the painfully boring view of the ground to see a small cluster of cabins, all with signs and one through twenty-four. The guards spill out of the cart, then the Phet tribe members. I inch towards the edge to jump off, but it’s a few feet from the ground and my hands are still tied. I stare at the ground for a second, thinking of a way to get down without breaking something before realizing it doesn’t really matter if I’m going to die. I jump, squeezing my eyes shut and bracing for impact, which, thankfully, isn’t too bad.
Catcher guy grabs me under my shoulder and yanks me up from the ground, not giving me a chance to balance.
“Hurry up.” he growls.
I stumble after the guards and tribespeople as they walk to a building that is double the size of all of the other cabins. This must be where I die. I look back at the trees, admiring the hue of colors one last time. I listen closely to the swishing of the leaves, the lulling sound of birds singing, and the crickets chirping. I close my eyes and take in a slow breath of sweet forest air. I wish it weren’t illegal to come here, otherwise I would’ve been able to enjoy this amazing place for more than a day.
Catcher grabs my arm and shoves me into the building, snapping me out of my daze. My eyes take a second to adjust to the darker lighting, but I can see that the tribespeople are a few feet ahead of us.
“Follow them.” he says, pushing me with the tip of his gun. I rush to hurry up, and turn into a room with a desk, and a short man who’s staring out the window.
“Ah, Relina. I didn’t expect you to come here along with my newest Fice.” he says, turning to face our group. The tall woman from before takes a step forward.
“We need to talk.” she says.
He moves over to his desk and slides out the chair. “Can’t this wait, Relina?” He sits down in the chair, struggling to fit his big belly in between the chair and desk. “I mean, clearly I’m busy with …” He stares at me for a second, which makes me catch a few glances from the others, then he looks down at a paper on his desk. “Mavear, yes. The grandson of good ‘ol Temba Woodlesk.” He looks back up at me and smiles, his chipped and yellow teeth showing just a bit too much.
Relina looks back at me, something unrecognizable flashing across her face. I honestly wish she could wait so I could get this whole dying thing over with. The sooner the better, because it means I’ll have less time to think over all of my life decisions and regret everything.
“My people are going hungry.” she says, looking back at him. “Just tell me whether or not your delivery is late and we’ll be on our way.”
“This is a bit more complicated than it sounds, hun.” he says, his fingers intertwining. “Now,” He looks back at me. “Let’s get you situated in your cabin.” Cabin? Why would I need a cabin if I’m just going to be killed?
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I stare at the ceiling of the cabin I’ve been placed in, cabin 13. After going to Mr. Dean’s office, and being taken here, I wasn’t told any other details, which means I still have no idea why I’m here right now instead of being killed. I wish they wouldn’t stretch this already painful period of time out. It’s just cruel.
A knock comes from my door, but it takes a minute for me to realize what the sound is. I swing my feet over the side of the bed and slowly walk over to the door. Maybe this is when they’ll take me.
“Hello?” I say, opening the door.
Relina is standing outside of my door, along with the short haired man. “Hello, Mavear. Sorry to barge in like this.” she says. I try to ignore the feeling of the man watching me, and instead focus on her face. “Mr. Dean would like you to come help the two of us.”
I stare at her for a second. “With… what?”
“I suppose he never explained how it works when you get here. You don’t get killed, despite what you’ve thought for… well, a while. How old are you?” she asks.
I blink a few times, perplexed by this sudden news. Does this mean Mable is alive? Will I be able to see her again? Is she okay? “Um… eighteen.” I say.
“Right, So, everyone who has been taken from your village is essentially just here to ‘help’ the Phet tribe. You’re also taught certain forms of magic that can be helpful, yes, magic exists. We didn’t originally want this, but your village had some useful threats, so we finally agreed.” Magic? I’ve only ever heard of magic from tales that Grandpa told me, ones of great witches and wizards. But… What was the other thing she said?
“Do you know a Mable Barlet?” I blurt out anxiously, adrenaline pumping through my limbs. If this is true, that the Fice aren’t killed, I could get to see her again. I could tell her how much I missed her, and that her family and Grandpa did, too.
She thinks for a moment. “I feel like I’ve heard that name before.” she says.
“She came here six months ago.” I say eagerly. “Olive skin, long brown hair, and hazel eyes.”
“Mmm… I don’t think I’ve seen her around here. She might be in another camp.”
My heart sinks. “Another camp?”
“Yes, there are multiple camps because the Phet tribe is spread throughout the forest, and well, The Woods are incredibly big.” she says. “This must be a lot for you to process. Sorry we couldn’t discuss this at a different time.”
My gaze drops to the forest floor, to the tangle of roots and muddy leaves that are much easier to face than Relina and the man in front of me. My whole life has been built on lies. Though parts of those lies are true it still pains me to think of every face that carries grief that never should’ve existed, mourning ghosts that were never really gone.
The truth is a heavy weight in my chest, one that I wish I could share with the other villagers. They deserve to know about their family and friends. They’re not dead. Most of them, at least. But somewhere in this beautiful mess of green, Mable is alive—breathing the same sweet aroma of wet autumn leaves, walking on the same moist dirt, under the same, warm sunlight. The thought is enough to clear my head of anything else. I could see her again. Maybe not now, or soon—but there’s still a chance, and that chance is enough to make my heart pound with anticipation for the day we meet again…
“So what do you need help with?” I ask, looking back up at them, a smile playing at my lips. I’ll do whatever I need to do to see Mable again. Maybe I’ll even find people Grandpa knew, and tell them how much he misses them. I hope it will bring the slightest bit of joy knowing that someone still misses them.105Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXR0NG9fMG6
and then Add to home screen.