Sing, Dead Bird, Sing

One

"Not the crooked path!"

Mara ignored the plea as the woods around her trembled, alive with a wind that blew in the last of the spring chill. It sent a tremor down her back and coaxed a shiver from beneath her skirts. The chill clung to her bare legs and she wished she'd paused long enough to pull her stockings on before they left.

"Please!" Addy cried again, locking her small, bony arms around Mara's waist. "We can't."

The sharp stab of nails against her skin shocked Mara from her mission. Gritting her teeth against a gasp, she pulled away, studying the half-moon prints in her forearm.

Addy dug her feet into the path, pulling them to a staggering halt as the points of her elbows collided with Mara's hip bones. "We mustn't go there!"

Mara turned around and bent over, pressing her hand to Addy's ruddy cheek, flushed with exertion and cold from the early morning air. "We've no choice now."

Her sister's wide brown eyes were glassy and she could hear the tremble in her young voice. "Please, Mara, don't."

"There isn't any other way."

"We'll send for a doctor," Addy said, the words spilling from her in a rush of frightened hope. "A proper one. He'll ride right to the village. Come." Addy tugged on her. "We should go back to Majka now." She cast a wary glance behind them, to the shrinking village homes and the hazy smokestacks that had been kindled to life from yesterday's ashes.

The sun was a small orange glow on the horizon, hovering just above the fields of golden farmland. Mara studied their trail. The boundary of the village had long passed. Now they were on the outskirts of the forest, where the path was overgrown, tangles of weeds reaching out like limp fingers against their dragging skirts. She shook her head as Addy tried again to tug her back towards home.

"It'll take days for a message to reach the city and even longer for an answer to arrive, never mind the doctor. Majka doesn't have that long. The fever burns even now." Mara took her by the arm, but her sister squirmed, squealing like an animal being led to slaughter. The heels of her boots dug deep into the earth again, turning it up fresh and new.

"Please," she begged. "I will not go any further, Mara." She broke free and clung to the nearest tree, fat tears rolling over her cheeks.

The path forward was interrupted by a single wooden signpost. The top of the post was marked by a skull, crude and whittled, with eyes blackened by ash tree root and teeth chalked to look like bone. The post had survived snow and rain and heat, untouched by the changing seasons. Beneath the carvings were tied strings of all colours, bits of yarn or twine or shirt cloth flapping in the breeze, a marker to bring those who crossed the post back again. Mara bent and tore at the bottom of her skirt, taking the earth-stained bit of fabric and looping it around the post. Knotting the end, she watched it join the others, like a ship's flag, calling her home.

Beside her, Addy shivered hard, her teeth chattering. Not from cold, but fear.

Whether the post had been carved by some child's hand as a game or on a dare; or perhaps even as a warning in solidarity of their inevitable crusade, Mara couldn't be certain. But it caused many before her to pause in this exact spot, for one only crossed this line in dire need, and even then, it was a cursed march — the march for the witch.

Mara made to swallow, but her throat was dry, and she wished for a sip of water to wet her lips. To awaken whatever courage might live inside her bones. "I shall go on alone," she said aloud, for she knew if she were silent, she would never take that next step. She turned to Addy, a hand on her shoulder. "Wait for me here. I'll be back as soon as I can."