3. Bella

3

BELLA

I n the aftermath of the waira attack on our village, the air hangs heavy with the metallic stench of blood and the acrid smell of fear. My hands tremble as I press a cloth against a deep gash on a young man's arm. The attack has left the village in shambles.

"Hold still," I murmur, trying to keep my voice steady. "This might sting a bit."

The man hisses through clenched teeth as I clean the wound. His eyes, wide with shock, dart around the makeshift infirmary we've set up in the village square.

"Am I... am I gonna make it?" he asks in a soft voice.

I force a smile, hoping it reaches my eyes. "You're doing great. It's just a flesh wound."

To my left, Elder Belinda barks orders, her usually calm demeanor shattered by the night's events. "We need more bandages! And someone fetch more healing herbs from the storehouse!"

I finish wrapping the man's arm and move on to the next victim. A woman, her face pale and drawn, clutches at her side where three deep claw marks have torn through her clothing.

"It's okay," I soothe, gently prying her hands away. "Let me take a look."

As I work, my thoughts turn to the lives lost. Five men and two women. Gone. Just like that.

"Bella!" Elder Belinda calls. "We need your help over here!"

I hurry over, my heart sinking as I see the severity of the injuries. A young boy, no more than twelve, lies motionless on a cot. His chest rises and falls in shallow, ragged breaths.

"Do what you can," Elder Belinda says softly, her eyes filled with a sorrow that mirrors my own.

I nod, swallowing hard. As I tend to the boy's wounds, I can't help but wonder: how long can we survive like this? How many more attacks can our village withstand?

The night wears on, a blur of blood and bandages, of whispered prayers and muffled sobs. By the time dawn breaks, my hands are raw and my back aches from bending over the injured. But I can't stop. Won't stop. Not while there are still people who need help.

As the first rays of sunlight peek over the horizon, I allow myself a moment to breathe. To feel. The weight of the night's events crashes down on me, and I have to brace myself against a nearby wall to keep from collapsing.

I look over at Elder Belinda, tears threatening to spill over. "Did we do enough to help?"

She sighs, her eyes filled with a wisdom born of too many similar nights. "We did what we could. That's all anyone can ask."

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. As I survey the aftermath of the attack, a thought niggles at the back of my mind. There has to be a way to stop this. To protect our people. But how?

Plagued by exhaustion and grief, I head home to rest. After several hours of fitful sleep, I wake to the sound of Mara and Tomas' worried voices downstairs. I soon hurry to the kitchen. They tell me there's to be a gathering in the square and I must attend. Reluctantly, I pull on my coat and head out into the frigid atmosphere.

The village square, usually a place of bustling activity and cheerful chatter, now stands as a grim testament to last night's horrors. I wrap my arms around myself, trying to ward off the chill that has nothing to do with the crisp mountain air.

Elder Belinda steps onto the makeshift platform, her weathered face etched with lines of worry. The crowd falls silent, a heavy blanket of anticipation settling over us all.

"My friends," she begins, her voice carrying across the square, "we've suffered greatly. But we cannot let fear paralyze us."

I shift uneasily, my stomach twisting into knots. Something in her tone sets my nerves on edge.

"There may be a way to end these attacks for good," she continues, her eyes sweeping over the crowd. "A solution that requires great sacrifice."

Murmurs ripple through the gathering. I strain to hear the fragments of conversation around me.

"What kind of sacrifice?"

"Anything to stop the waira..."

"But at what cost?"

Elder Belinda raises her hand, silencing the whispers. "There are rumors that the creature living in the mountains may require a special offering to protect us. It seems our previous offerings proved insufficient to the dark god."

My mind starts to race uncontrollably. Special offering? What does that mean? I've heard strange whispers lately among the elders, but always dismissed them as nonsense.

"This special offering is quite… unique," Elder Belinda says, her voice faltering slightly. "A young, unmarried woman from our village."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I stumble back a step, my vision blurring at the edges. No. It can't be.

"The woman must be of age, with no family ties to bind her here," Elder Belinda continues, her eyes finding mine in the crowd.

I feel the weight of dozens of stares turn in my direction. My cheeks burn with a mix of embarrassment and dawning horror. I'm the only one who fits that description.

"Bella," a voice next to me whispers. I turn to see Sarah, my closest friend, her eyes wide with fear. "They can't mean..."

But I know they do. The realization settles over me like a shroud. I'm to be the special offering.

Elder Belinda's voice cuts through the rising chatter. "It's our only hope for survival. We've lost too many already."

I want to run. To hide. To wake up and find this all a terrible dream. But my feet remain rooted to the spot, my voice trapped in my throat.

My heart pounds so loudly I'm sure everyone can hear it. I feel dozens of eyes boring into me, a mix of pity and relief etched on their faces. Relief that it's not them. Relief that they're not the ones being offered up as a sacrifice to some unknown monster.

"No," I whisper, my voice barely audible. Then louder, "No! You can't do this!"

Elder Belinda's weathered face softens, but her eyes remain resolute. "Bella, my dear, I'm afraid we have no choice."

I shake my head violently, curls whipping against my face. "There has to be another way. Please!"

I stumble back, my legs threatening to give out beneath me. Sarah's hand on my arm steadies me, but I can see the conflict in her eyes.

"I... I can't," I stammer, looking desperately around the crowd. "I'm not... I'm not strong enough for this."

Elder Belinda steps down from the platform, approaching me with slow, measured steps. "You are stronger than you know, Bella. And you have the power to save us all."

I feel the weight of expectation pressing down on me, suffocating me. My chest tightens, each breath a struggle. "But what about my life? My future?"

"Your sacrifice will ensure a future for all of us," someone calls out.

The murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd, and I feel my resolve crumbling. I've always been the one to go along with things. But this... this is too much.

"Please," I beg, tears streaming down my face. "Don't ask this of me."

Elder Belinda takes my hands in hers, her grip surprisingly strong. "We don't ask lightly, Bella. But you're our only hope."

I look into her eyes, searching for any sign of doubt, any flicker of uncertainty. But all I see is grim determination and a desperate hope.

My shoulders slump in defeat. "I... I'll do it," I whisper, the words tasting like ash in my mouth.

A collective sigh of relief sweeps through the crowd. I feel hollow, empty, as if I've just signed away my very soul.

As the reality of my fate settles over me, I can't help but wonder: what kind of monster am I being sacrificed to? And will I survive long enough to find out?

I soon stumble through the door of my small cottage, my legs barely supporting me. The familiar scent of dried herbs and wood smoke does nothing to calm the storm raging inside me. My hands shake as I fumble with the latch, desperate to shut out the world and the fate it's thrust upon me.

"This can't be happening," I whisper.

I sink to the floor, my back pressed against the rough wooden door. The chill from outside seeps through my clothes, but I barely notice. My mind races, replaying the scene in the village square over and over.

A sacrifice. They want me to be a sacrifice.

A hysterical laugh bubbles up from my chest, quickly turning into a sob. I wrap my arms around my knees, rocking back and forth as tears stream down my face.

"What am I going to do?" I ask the silent room.

I force myself to stand, my legs unsteady beneath me. My gaze falls on the small mirror hanging by the washbasin. The face staring back at me is a stranger – pale, wide-eyed, with tear-stained cheeks.

"You're going to die," I tell my reflection. "They're sending you to die."

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. I turn away, unable to bear the sight of my own fear.

The silence of the cottage presses in on me, amplifying the frantic beating of my heart. I've always been the one to go along, to avoid conflict. But now, faced with my own mortality, I feel a spark of rebellion ignite within me.

"No," I say, my voice stronger than before. "I won't just roll over and die."

But even as the words leave my mouth, doubt creeps in. What choice do I have? The village needs me. People will die if I don't go. Can I live with that on my conscience?

I sink onto my bed, the weight of indecision crushing me. The monster in the mountains looms in my imagination, a faceless terror waiting to devour me.