Page 15 of A Land So Wide

“It hasn’t, it hasn’t,” Hessel said now, agreeing with the elderly baker, his placations as easy as the rote reassurances he’d given Greer so many years before.

Ready to move forward, he held up one of the new maps.

“We will post this in the square. It shows the Warding Stones’ former positions in black, and the new, marked in red.

Study it, and make sure everyone you know has seen it, too.

We don’t want anyone caught unaware come sunset. ”

As if summoned by his speech, two more Bellows blasted out, reverberating across the cove like a roll of thunder. Greer pitied Callum Cairn, up on the hill all by his lonesome, with another half an hour till he could join everyone else at Steward House.

“The Calloways weren’t caught unaware,” spoke up Meribeck Matthews, waiting until the last note died away.

“They wouldn’t dare go past the Stones so close to sunset, not even for a wayward sheep.

They followed the rules, they always followed the rules, and still they ended up like”—voice broke—“like that.”

The two lines between Hessel’s eyebrows furrowed deeper. “Bad luck, certainly. There was obviously no way to foresee that—”

“What if they move again?” the older woman demanded.

“What if they keep moving in? In and in, until there’s nothing left of the town but a miserable pile of”—her fingers danced in the air like buzzing hornets, swarming around to grab the right turn of phrase—“exactly what was left in that field last night?”

Behind Hessel, Ian Brennigan visibly paled. Other Stewards shifted in their seats, troubled by the full weight of the town’s stares. Hessel cleared his throat, and Greer heard a worrying catch at its end. He was rattled. They all were.

“It’s easy to worry, to grasp and guess at what might come next, but, Mistaken, we urge you to cast aside such thoughts.

After hours of deliberations, the council of Stewards has come to the following decisions.

” Hessel withdrew a folded scrap of paper from his pocket.

“We believe that the shifting of the Stones—an act which has never before occurred—was a message from the Benevolence. A reminder.”

“A reminder?” scoffed Meribeck. “We’ve been trapped by them for more than a century—what more reminders do we need?”

“A reminder,” Hessel pressed on, “of their presence, yes, but also of their continued generosity. A reminder of what we owe them. We aren’t like other settlements out in the wilds, fearful of the Bright-Eyeds, forever worrying over an attack.

We’ve struck an understanding with our benefactors. We honor them freely.”

Greer dared a glance at Louise, but her friend was keeping a pointed stare fixed on Hessel, her face a mask of perfunctory attention. Greer’s stomach ached as she remembered the flayed rabbits taken from the forest without a word of thanks, without a gesture of gratitude.

Surely, three rabbits could not have so upset the Benevolence. Greer had left behind tokens, and it wasn’t even Reaping. Not quite. Louise could not be responsible for this.

Greer worried over her thumbnail anyway, scratching till the cuticles bled.

Hessel turned the page over and continued reading. “We believe last night was intended only as a warning. But…to show our commitment to the truce, to show our appreciation and ensure that this does not happen again…we will move up this year’s Reaping.”

Noises of surprise and alarm rose, spinning into heated conferences as the people talked through the scheduling change. Fields would need to be cut sooner than expected, orchards harvested early, meats removed from their smokehouses before the planned time.

“We understand the enormous amount of work which will need to be carried out,” Hessel said, raising his voice to be heard over the growing chatter. “And we sympathize. We will absolutely do our part, working alongside you all, brother to brother as it has always been.”

“When?” someone shouted. “When do you propose Reaping to take place?”

Hessel visibly winced. “Tomorrow.”

The outcry was so sharp, Greer covered her ears, flinching against the onslaught.

“One day? We had two weeks—now just one day? Impossible!”

Hessel’s weary brown eyes searched for the dissenter. “We would not ask this if it was not deemed necessary.”

“You ask us to perform miracles!”

The thin line of Hessel’s lips thinned further. “I plan to temporarily halt work at the mill”—several gasps rang out—“so that our men may assist however they can. They will help cut wheat, dig up vegetables. They can haul and clean. Pick and prepare.”

Tywynn Flanagan raised a shaky hand. “And what happens if the Benevolence aren’t in a waiting mood? The Stones could move again tonight.” He glanced at the pocket watch hanging at his waist, calculating the minutes until they’d find out.

Greer glanced out the windows behind the Stewards, doing her own estimates as she studied the purple sky. Twenty minutes, maybe a little longer.

“The council and I discussed such a possibility. Already, we have laid out gratitudes of our own beside each of the Stones, with the hope that our reverence will be noted. Should anyone else like to offer additional contributions, their generosity would be most welcome.”

Lachlan Davis jumped to his feet. “As you know, I plan on taking part in the Hunt this year.” His gaze landed meaningfully on Greer.

“And I have been taking my responsibilities as a soon-to-be husband most seriously. My larders are already well stocked, in preparation for the coming winter.” He straightened, drawing up every inch of his squat frame, his chest puffed with pride.

“I’d like to be the first to offer additional gratitudes tonight. ”

From the other side of the room, Elsie Thompson, one of the youngest women who would be hiding in the Hunt, began to clap with adoration.

“Mistaken thanks you.” Hessel bobbed his head toward the young lad with warm appreciation, and Greer realized they must have planned the entire outburst, both angling to cast themselves in a good light.

“I, too, would like to offer early gratitudes,” Struan Galt announced, his voice cracking mid-sentence, several pitches too high. His ears flushed scarlet, but his eyes burned bright with his eagerness to take part in whatever glory and accolades were being handed out.

“And I!” Kenneth McNamara chimed in, nearly knocking his stool over as he shot to his feet. “I’ve two ham hocks I can spare, and so many baskets of onions.” His eyes darted to a group of young women in the far corner of the room. With audacious daring, he winked.

Tywynn shook his head, unimpressed by the young men’s grab for attention.

“Gratitudes are the least of our problems. We ought to be figuring out why the Stones moved. Why the Benevolence is angered. How else are we meant to prevent it from happening again?” Gripping his cane, he turned to face the gathered crowd.

“If someone has done something, anything, that might have brought this about, please confess now.”

Greer shot a surreptitious glance to Ellis.

His body was still and rigid, like an animal deciding upon fight or flight. His eyes darted about the room as he listened to conversations he was not a part of, scorn and fear clouding his features as he tried to guess where the first strike might come from.

Greer longed to take his hands and race from Steward House.

She wanted to pull him to safety, but in her heart she knew it wouldn’t make a difference.

There was nowhere to go, not really. They could flee into the woods as deeply as they wanted, but would eventually have to return, tails between legs, before sunset.

“There’ll be none of that,” Hessel warned, struggling to carry his voice over the mayhem.

He struck the gavel against the table, as loud as a gunshot.

“Quiet, now! Quiet, I say!” He hammered again, and a third time for good measure.

“We understand the urge to demand answers. The desire to find meaning within such senseless tragedy. But now is not the time for accusations or atonements. Reaping is upon us—a time when we’ve always come together.

We each sacrifice to show our gratitude toward the Benevolence for use of their lands, for holding the Bright-Eyeds at bay.

We do this together, united as one. We receive their blessings together, as one.

No one man is given more or less than his neighbor.

If one falls, we all fall. If one should fail”—he paused, his gaze slowly dragging over every person in attendance—“it brings disaster upon us all. Now, more than ever, we must set aside our fears and do what we must, for the good of everyone. Mistaken, are we in accord?”

Slowly, carefully, heads began to nod.

Lachlan, still standing, looked pleased, as though he’d somehow orchestrated the town’s acceptance all on his own. He glanced at Greer, his dark eyes lingering. “Steward Mackenzie—what does this mean for everything else?”

“Everything else?” Hessel repeated, eyes narrowing.

“With Reaping now tomorrow…will the Hunt move ahead as well? It has always taken place the morning after.”

The Stewards frowned before falling into conference.

Greer looked to Ellis again, and this time he was staring right back. Despite everything, his lips raised in a small smile, kindling a warm spark within her.

If the Stewards did move the Hunt, their waiting was nearly over. She would be just two days away from becoming his wife. Greer dared to shoot him a hopeful grin.

Behind the Stewards’ table, hands gestured, heads nodded, assents were given. Eventually, Hessel turned.

“It has always been tradition to begin the Hunt directly after Reaping.” His words were slow and drawn out, like a spoon pulled through molasses, making it impossible to guess which way the council had ruled.

“Given the enormous task being asked of you all, it seems cruel to delay an event so anticipated by many…”

For one bare moment, Hessel’s gaze fell upon Greer, his expression completely foreign to her. He looked…wistful. Maybe even a little sad. Her heart thumped in her chest, and she wondered if his reaction was a show for the town or if he felt it in earnest.

“The Hunt will still take place the morning after Reaping,” he announced, pushing away whatever emotion had stilled him. He cleared his throat. “As it has been…”

Third Bellows blasted over Steward House, causing some to jump before he recited the four words that always drew every town meeting to a close. “…so shall it be.”