Every twenty years, the spirit of the forest requires an Offering.
We don't know what happens to this person, if they're consumed, or turned into a tree or an animal, or simply made to serve the forest. We only know that they never return.
If we do not choose an Offering, the forest will take one. We live in its heart, a valley surrounded by watchful trees; there is no escape.
We don't feel trapped--not exactly. No one really wants to leave, and no one knows what's beyond the forest. Other than that one day every twenty years, the forest is our haven and our guardian.
No wild animals attack us or our livestock. We never have a poor harvest. Healing herbs sprout almost immediately if anyone falls ill or becomes injured. The forest itself provides an abundance of resources.
Thus, we give the forest its due, and we hope it takes care of the Offering as it does the rest of us.
***
It was Offering Day. Any other year, it was a day to celebrate life, when the forest's abundance became almost extravagant.
Flowers bloomed on every living, green surface, whether or not it normally bore flowers. They tasted of honey and sunlight.
Wild creatures--deer, wolves, squirrels, birds--sat amongst us, docile and playful.
The winds sang through the leaves, a rustling melody of peace tinged with haunting whistles.
It was also my 20th birthday.
My mother had tried not to give birth on Offering Day. The day after would have been best; then I couldn't be chosen. The forest never took a child. Even before would have been preferable. But born on the day itself? It practically guaranteed that I would be the Offering.
Still, my parents hoped. The forest didn't always take a woman. Last time, I'm told, it had taken a woman, so perhaps this time it wouldn't.
My parents made themselves believe it. They raised me like any other child, refused to prepare me for the Offering, pretended I'd been born just one day later. My village disapproved, but my parents wouldn't hear it.
I
would not be taken. Not their child. No.
So the villages chose another and hoped the forest would be appeased.
There were two, a boy and a girl, Elijah and Celeste. We wouldn't know until Offering Day which the forest required.
They were taught everything--reading, writing, healing, herblore, hunting, farming, sewing, woodworking--anything that might be considered useful.
And sex. My parents vaguely told me the basics, I guess, but the chosen seemed to have a much more thorough education.
I remember passing by their remote cabin last year. Our village was closest to the Offering Tree, so the chosen lived nearby. When I heard a muffled cry, I approached the home. It sounded like pain or desperation. Hesitating, I caught sight of movement through a window.
They were on the floor, Celeste on her back, her hands clutching Elijah's head at the apex of her thighs, his body mostly obscured by the wall. But they appeared to be both completely unclothed. My eyes widened.
"Oh, yes, Eli, yes, ah!" Celeste cried out, her hips rising and falling as Elijah seemed to... to be licking her furiously. I watched, frozen with shock and confusion.
I caught the moment that Elijah touched her there with his hand, his finger disappearing into her body. She arched her back and shivered. His finger moved slowly in and out of her flesh.
"Fuck me, Eli! Oh please!"
Whatever they were doing seemed intimate at best, perhaps even illicit. Crude, certainly. I'd never used... that word before, and my parents frowned whenever they heard it.
I finally gathered my wits, my face flushing red as I scurried away.
***
Offering Day dawned bright and warm. It was late spring, though it didn't matter--this day of the year was always beautiful.
There was a large oak tree at the northern edge of the forest, with a hollow in its trunk about the size of a person's head. Birds and other creatures took residence there, except today.
Today, there would be a long pine cone growing from the top of the hollow or a deep red rose in full bloom set at the bottom of the cavity.
My parents hoped for the cone.
The village elders brought back a rose.
We celebrated Celeste, crowning her in flowers, bathing her in scented water, dancing and feasting with her until the sun fell.
She walked alone to the Offering Tree as the last of the sunlight disappeared. Our village should have known then that the forest wouldn't accept her--the animals and the flora themselves should have escorted her.
My parents still hoped. They argued with the elders, with everyone.
The forest had always accepted a chosen sacrifice, my parents said.
Only when no one was born on Offering Day, the village replied. It was an old argument.
I was whisked away to our home. After this night, I would no longer be a child. I could travel to the other villages, or choose a craft (I liked weaving) or start a family (though my parents kept me so close that no boy had caught my eye). That sense of freedom was so near--just a breath away.
But the forest didn't want Celeste. It wanted me.
When the next morning dawned, my village found Celeste curled at the base of the tree, asleep beneath a pile of soft leaves.
And my parents, weeping in the streets.
***
Wake.
The melodic voice echoed in my mind. I brushed it away, turned over, and nestled into the soft bed.
Verona. Wake.
