Thora giggles and waves her arm in the air. “GiGi! GiGi!” She jumps and points to Brahm. “Prince Brahm!”
I smile through my tears and nod at my sister. At least Thora has recovered from her meltdown. Mama wraps her arm around my sister’s shoulder and ushers her to sit on the bench.
More people stroll into the Sanctuary, smiling, chatting, hugging, and unconcerned about the fate of the Offerings. My eyes lock with a familiar set of green eyes. Uncle Erik sits with his partner, Conrad. They spot me, and before they can even react to my circumstances, I turn away in resentment. I know Uncle Erik had good reasons for firing Papa from the woodworking shop, but it’s still hard to look at him. I can only pray he’ll give Papa a second chance to get sober.
After the commoners settle in, the village elders, lords, and ladies take their seats, reserved with pastel ribbons. Albert shuffles to his place directly across from me and smirks with his bruised, split lip.
What? No.
My eyes fling wide, my cheeks grow hot, and my lungs refuse to work. Did he have his uncle rig the lottery? Did he do this? To me? To Brahm? Since I didn’t agree to marry him, he’s having me put to death?
I lean forward and whisper, “You mother fucker.”
The cilice cinches tight, causing the barbs to puncture my skin. I grimace and grit my teeth but maintain eye contact. Albert stares with his lips fixed into a smug smile. In the corner of my eye, Brahm leans forward to stare at me, but I’m too ashamed to look back. I’m the one who got him into this. If he hadn’t intervened and punched Albert for me, Brahm wouldn’t be an Offering. My stomach turns to knots.
I continue to glare at Albert with all my might, refusing to give in to the constant pain of the cilice. The warm sensation of blood drips down my thigh and soaks my seat. A priestess swings her incense thurible near my face. The strong scent chokes me, breaking my eye contact with Albert, and the cilice loosens its torturous grip.
Draped in pastel robes, the high priest enters the Sanctuary from a tunnel to my right and avoids making eye contact with any of us Offerings. His hair is dark like Albert’s but balding at the crown, and he holds his hooked nose high in the air. He turns his pale face toward the people and bows his head. Hundreds of villagers cram into the shady seats of the cave. Thousands more stand outside in the sunlight of the fields, waiting for the high priest to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen! What a Blessed Day!” He holds out his hands as his voice echoes around the cave. “It is the 1000th May Day Jubilee, and our noble goddess Bergot has graced us with a perfect morning.”
Aside from the families of the Offerings, the crowd cheers.
“Today, you will meet this year’s Offerings. It is an honor for these young men and women to serve our goddess. We will bless their journey across the mountains as they search for the Lost Crown of Bergot!”
Another applause erupts from the crowd. My eyes trail the high priest as he walks behind the first Offering. I lower my gaze to Brahm, who’s staring at me with his face contorted and jaw clenched. Snapping my head forward, I squeeze my eyes shut. He must hate me with every fiber of his being.
“May I present our Offerings. Liam Arnold, Willa Vogel, Ferdinand Meier, Heidi Sommer, Brahm Wolf, Mitzi Engel, Gunther Klein, and…” He rests his hand on my head. “Gisela Sauer.”
The crowd hums the Valley Song in respect to us, but I don’t feel respected at all. They’re only happy it’s not them or their loved ones dying. They can all go fuck themselves. Sentencing us to death for a fairy tale crown. There’s no proof the goddess exists. Just some ghoulish priestesses and an apparently corrupt high priest. In all my years, I’ve never applauded or hummed for the Offerings, knowing their fate was to die.
“Now, the Priestesses of Bergot will light a candle for each of our Offerings,” the high priest says.
The veiled figures stand before us, each holding white tapered candles. A priestess extends her arm to light mine on an ornate candelabra to the right. She touches the wick with the next priestess’ candle, passing the flame down the line, one-by-one. When all eight candles are ignited, Albert’s uncle speaks again.
“Priestesses, please pour a drop of wax before your Offering as a reminder that their memories will remain forever in Bergot Valley.”
They do so and turn toward us.
“Now, Offerings of the goddess Bergot, please blow out your candle.”
I scowl at my priestess as she holds the flame near my face. Turning my gaze to Albert, I spit to extinguish the light. The barbed chain pierces further into my thigh, and I contain a squeaky yelp in my throat. My priestess tenses for only a moment before gracefully taking the candle to Papa, who wipes tears from his cheeks.
“Your families will honor you by lighting your candle every night during the month of May,” the high priest pauses. “Let us say goodbye and farewell to this year’s Offerings!”
The crowd cheers and hums. My heart rate grows rapid with panic. I steal one final glimpse of my destroyed family before the priestesses draw gray curtains between us and the crowd. The high priest continues holding the May Day Ceremony and announces the day’s festivities on the other side. Egg hunts. Log tosses. Goat chases. Prayer circles. Feasts. Dances.
All the while, we die.
My priestess tilts her head and curls her index finger. “Follow me, Gisela.”
I take one deep breath and follow the draped figure down another dark tunnel. We walk for what feels like a mile through the mountain. Either the crowd has stopped humming, or we’ve walked so far, the echoes no longer reach our ears. Warm blood drips down my leg with every limp on the slippery, stone floor.
The priestess guides us to a spacious room in which there’s a fire pit at the center. All of us Offerings line up against the wall.
The other girls have on peasant dresses as well. Theirs are light blue, orange, and purple. The guys all have on brown pants, leather belts, and different colored blouses. Brahm’s is green while the others are in pink, red, and yellow. Brahm stares at me again, and I snap my head away before the shame can burn me.
Why am I the only one not in an actual color? All I get is white? It’s pointless to worry about color at a time like this; I’ll soon be dead.
The eight veiled priestesses glide to the front of the room. They hold hands and chant in an unknown language. Giant flames enrapture the ladies as they melt into one body. The scent of burning flesh stings my nostrils. I, along with the other Offerings, gasp in horror at the sight.
“What the hell?” cries the blond guy at the end of the line.
The singular priestess steps toward me, and I jump back.
“It is fine, Gisela. I have been one being all along. I split myself to perform all the duties required of me,” she says in her low, haunting voice. “I have something for you.”
A leather satchel with my name embroidered on the flap appears in her hands like magic. I take it from her with trembling hands and drape the strap over my shoulder. The way she floats just above the ground is terrifying, and I avoid looking directly at her. She summons embroidered satchels out of thin air for the other seven Offerings.
I open mine. “It’s empty.”
“Items will appear later. Have patience.”
The priestess steps toward a door and flicks her wrist. Metal clanks on the ground as our cilices fall. We all step out of the torture devices. Down the line, they’re all perfectly silver. Only mine is soaked with wine-colored blood. So far, my white dress is unscathed.