The thick canopy of trees left many parts of the forest in perpetual darkness. Most people fear the dark, but not me. It makes me feel hidden, and no one can see my tears. It’s also peaceful in the woods. Aside from the sound of a squirrel scurrying up a tree or squawking birds, it’s quiet. Things make sense when I’m in the forest. At least, they used to. 

   I remember the day that changed forever. It was the day death came, but it began simple enough. My mother had sent me to collect coriander, myrrh, and mint. She needed those herbs and shrubs for her various concoctions and potions. My mom had somehow carved out a niche in our village as a medicine woman, something that never made sense to me. She offered teas, rubs, and elixirs with such certainty, but she didn’t know they worked. 

   My great-grandmother, whom I had never met, had passed down this wisdom, and my mother turned the memory of this woman into an all-knowing goddess of healing. That made it easy to convince people that my mother possessed secret medical knowledge. “Oma Jutta knew how to fix that,” she’d say before launching into a story about this mystical figure. My mother came from a distant village in a land called Franconia, which made it impossible to contradict or challenge these tales. It was both convenient and effective. Don’t get me wrong, I was glad she did it. After my father passed, we struggled to survive. She traded her “medicines” for food, especially meat, something we never had enough of because that had been what he provided.

   My father had been a respectable farmer, but he was an amazing hunter with a bow and arrow. Most folks agreed he was a better shot than the guards at Lord Braemer’s castle, but he had to be careful where to hunt. The castle was about a mile east. Anything in that direction was off-limits, but anywhere else was fair game. Of course, “anywhere else” presented its own challenges. The people from the Hauser village lived two miles south, and they hunted the land, too, making animals scarce. The mysterious area to the north contained dense woodlands, but few creatures. To the west, craggy hills dropped off into a rocky valley. The challenging terrain made it difficult to find animals of decent size, but my father did it. I never knew how he managed that feat because he never let me go with him. He said I was too noisy and scared the critters, but I think he preferred being alone in the forest, like I did. 

   When the other men would hunt, they’d come back with food once in three or four outings. My father delivered at least a squirrel or a rabbit every time. He died two summers ago. I don’t like talking about it. I don’t even like thinking about the first season after he died. After it happened, we received a lot of help and support from our friends and neighbors, but with each month that passed, folks moved on. We needed to figure out a way to manage on our own. For my mother, that meant a charade of creating medicines to fix whatever ailed the people of our village.  

   So, after another hour of hiking and scavenging through the thick spruce, beech, and fur trees, I collected the herbs and plants my mom would need to keep us fed. I might have taken an extra fifteen minutes for myself to enjoy the solitude, but no one needed to know about that. As I enjoyed the wind swaying the leaves in a rhythmic song, I closed my eyes and breathed. My sleeveless brown tunic allowed the soft breeze to caress my arms, and everything melted away until my mind did what it always did—it made me think of my father. Goodbye solitude. My eyes snapped open, and I got to my feet. As I returned to the trail that led home, I did a double take. Small, red berries peeked out from under a cluster of bushes. My mother was going to be very happy. I added them to my basket and headed home. 

   If I had taken a few minutes longer, I could’ve been killed right then, but death would have to wait for its chance to claim me as a victim. Instead of a brutal death, I casually strolled, and a mile later, my tiny village came into view—a collection of seven thatched homes tucked away in the Bavarian Forest. All but two were simple, one-room dwellings. The biggest belonged to the Magnus family, and their home required three rooms out of necessity because of their size, and I mean that literally. Folks referred to them as “hearty,” which meant large and muscular. Plus, there were six of them. By comparison, only my mother and I lived in our abode, and no one would describe us as “hearty.” 

   I had taken the southern route to forage, and when I returned, the first sign of my village was smoke billowing up from the Magnus house. Despite being the furthest dwelling from the south, it was the most visible. Built on an elevated mound, the Magnus residence always had a fire going, and the thin plume signaled I was home. 

   The sight of Old Man Howard urinating on a tree with no attempt to conceal himself left me questioning whether I wanted to be home. I had to remind myself that without Old Man Howard, we might have starved. He was my mother’s first customer. An itchy black mold had sprouted around his toenails, which caused him to drag his feet in the dirt when he walked and added to people’s perception that he wasn’t all there. My mother told him she could get rid of the ailment in a stew she created from hot water, lavender, and mint. Whether or not the potion cured him, my mother convinced Old Man Howard it did, and rather than accept a payment, which he didn’t have anyway, she asked Howard to tell everyone what she’d done. And that was the one thing Howard was good for—talking. If you gave him a minute, he’d take thirty. When word spread that my mother could cure ailments, others from the village paid her a visit.

   After moving past Old Man Howard, I reached the home of Klaus and Sophey Miller. They had two sons, and the oldest, Tomas, was sixteen, same as me. As I approached, he struggled to dig an irrigation ditch with a shovel that kept slipping out of his hands. People never gave Tomas much regard because of his deformed right arm. The muscles didn’t develop when he was a baby, so the appendage appeared puny and useless. No one said it, but most viewed him as a burden. I never saw it that way. Tomas’s healthy arm was incredibly strong, and he didn’t consider himself crippled, so why would I? He was also bright. Despite no schooling, he’d learned a lot of things, including how to read. Only the nobles received a formal education, but somehow Tomas taught himself. 

   “Morning, Nina,” Tomas said, in a chipper voice while waving with his good arm and corralling the shovel with his weak one. Rain or shine and even with one normal arm, he always seemed happy. I was both jealous of, and drawn to, that quality. “Did you find everything your mom needs?”

   “Yup.” I patted my small basket and continued into the village, passing two more homes before reaching mine. Our immediate neighbor was Madge, her husband, and two kids. Madge swept dirt out of her home and didn’t even pause as I passed by. In fact, she seemed to sweep with extra vigor. There were many words to describe Madge—nosy, irritable, rude—but if I had to choose only one, annoying would be it. She once gossiped to others in the village that I was born with a pissy look on my face. If that wasn’t the pot calling the kettle black, I don’t know what was, and I at least had an excuse for my less than sunny disposition.   

   After giving Madge and her sweeping a wide berth, I arrived at the tiny hut that my mother and I had done an admirable job of maintaining. We kept the roof filled with fresh coverings, which protected us from the rain, and we routinely added layers to the outside to provide insulation from the harsh winters. It wasn’t anything like the Magnus home, which remained bone dry even in the worst downpour, but it served our needs.   

   Behind our modest dwelling, we farmed a little plot of land where we grew turnips and potatoes. A small pen housed a grey goat and three noisy chickens. The goat gave us a sprinkle of milk, and the chickens laid eggs when they felt like it. We were grateful for the limited food, but goats and chickens don’t live forever, just like my father didn’t, so we always had to plan for the worst.

   The tiny one-room interior was a blessing because it meant we didn’t need much wood to keep it warm. The hearth in the middle provided light, heat, and a place to cook. It was also where my mother prepared her medicines.

   As soon as I stepped inside, my mother pawed at my basket. “Oh, let me have a look see,” she said, and rifled through the contents. “This is very, very good Nina. Thank you, sweetie.”

   I didn’t need the praise. My mother’s smile was reward enough. It didn’t happen often these days, so if I could manage a grin from her, well, then that would be my role. “Look at the very bottom,” I said.

   My mother’s eyes widened, and she burrowed her fingers through the plants and herbs. She gasped and touched her heart. “Blut berries! Oh, Nina, this will provide something special for us.”

   My mother prized the very rare blut berry, which was blood red like a cherry, but much smaller, even smaller than a blueberry. She believed that when boiled, the skins released one of the most potent medicines in the world and could cure everything from the worst fever to puss filled rashes. I tried a blut berry once, and it’s hard to imagine them doing much of anything as they don’t have any taste. 

   My mother carried the berries to an organized row of bowls on the shelf on the back wall. She had painted the bowls, which were nothing more than hollowed out gourds, with different shapes and designs to present the perfect perception that something important was inside. She selected the most elaborate bowl for the bluts. Purple with gold diamonds etched around the side, it seemed impossible for the bowl’s contents to be tasteless little berries.   

   I grabbed a wooden cup, dipped it in our water bucket, and drifted outside to the back of our house that overlooked our small field. Sitting against the wall, I sipped the water. I don’t know why, but sometimes I can’t help from having bad thoughts enter my head. Once this starts, it’s hard to get it to stop. This was one of those times. What was the point of my hike into the woods? I collected some shrubs and berries, so my mother could make pretend medicine, so we could trade for food. Then what? What happens the next day and the day after? Was this all that life had to offer?  

   A flock of starlings darted from the south and flew north, which was odd for the time of year, and it wasn’t the usual direction birds traveled. Sometimes that portends bad weather, but not today. The billowy white puffs streaking through the sky weren’t storm clouds. They simply blocked the scorching sun for a few seconds and teased a more comfortable temperature. Rain would’ve been a welcome reprieve.  

   In the distance, a faint noise perked my ears. Did someone scream? I brushed it off until it happened again, only this time louder. 

   Johann Magnus, the unofficial leader of our village, ran up from the trail I’d been on minutes earlier. “Emma! We need help!”

   I stood up and peeked around the corner. My mother hurried out of the house and met Johann. “What is it?” 

   Johann struggled to breathe, and his face was white. A man of his size feared little, but something had terrified him. “It’s awful, Emma. Heinrich from the Hauser village—his leg.”  

   To this day, I remember the look on my mother’s face. A serious injury was well beyond Oma Jutta’s expertise, and if my mother couldn’t help, it would hurt her standing in the community. 

   “Stay here, Nina.” She pointed to the house and then ran down the trail. 

   All of Johann’s screaming caught the attention of the rest of the village. A few of the men and older boys dropped their plows and followed. As I watched my mother and the others rush away, I stood frozen with indecision. Should I listen to her and wait? Maybe my mom could use some help. After a solid five minutes of internal debate, I put my cup in the house and walked down the path. I didn’t get far before my mother ran back toward me with horror-filled eyes. 

   Only one word fell from her lips. “Run!”