Page 40 of A Land So Wide

G reer glared at the swirling eddies before her.

The river seemed even more swollen than it had the day before. Fallen leaves raced by at alarming speeds. The footprints on the opposite bank mocked her, and, for the thousandth time, Greer wondered how Ellis had managed to cross the frigid water.

She scratched at the back of her scalp. After her encounter with the Bright-Eyed, Greer hadn’t been able to find her hat. She felt all right in this moment—the day was surprisingly warm—but she knew she would miss it dearly as she began her climb to Sandry.

She checked the map, studying the river’s winding bends. There was a spot downstream where the water briefly split into two, the halves veering sharply away from the other.

There’s an island, she realized. Cross there, then go back to Ellis’s tracks.

It took nearly an hour to reach the little spit of land.

There was a scattering of boulders spanning the southern edge of the river, nearly twenty feet across.

Greer guessed she could use them as a bridge to get to the island.

From her vantage point, the water running along the north side looked shallower, the current easier to ford as well.

Taking a deep breath, she began climbing the first rock. It was hard work, scrabbling up the porous, slick surface. The rucksack tugged at her back, taunting gravity. Though it didn’t take her long to reach the top, she was already out of breath.

It wasn’t a far jump to the second—three feet, maybe four—but that boulder’s surface was full of uneven crags. Greer worried she might catch an ankle and skid over into the river below.

Saying a quick prayer, she took as much of a running start as she could and leapt.

She landed hard, and the weight of her bag wanted to keep going, knocking Greer to her knees as she clung to whatever handholds she could find.

Three rocks left.

Greer spanned the gap between the second and third with a precariously wide step.

Now in the middle of the river, she took a moment to admire its winding length. Murky water raced by, sending little waves sloshing up as if to grab at her.

She frowned as she caught sight of movement downstream. A long, serpentine shadow approached, fighting against the current. It was massive, longer than the carts used at the mill to haul trees, and nearly wider than the timber itself.

As if sensing Greer, it slowly ascended from the water’s depths, showing off a muscular back, mottled blue and gray, the color of a stormy sky.

Rows of lethally barbed scutes lined its body, giving the giant sturgeon an otherworldly, mythical air.

This was a dragon come to life, truly an ancient creature of legend and horror.

She froze, watching its formidable body glide past her with undulating grace.

Despite the season, when most of his brethren would be found in the warmer waters off the coast, this sturgeon was headed upriver, for purposes unknown.

Greer could only stare after it in slack-jawed wonder before it submerged with a seductive swish of its tail.

She kept her gaze fixed on the swirling water but did not see the sturgeon again.

Unease spread within her, like a stain of wine traveling across a pristine tablecloth.

The span to the fourth rock was the widest she’d need to cross, and Greer eyed the rushing water warily.

If she fell short, she’d be swept away and that would be it, there’d be nothing left of this journey. There’d be nothing left of her.

Greer played with the straps of her bag, wondering if she could throw it all the way to the riverbank, which would allow her to jump with less weight and more control.

The shore looked too far, but she thought she could at least get the bag to the next boulder. It was large, with a mostly level top.

“It’s not that hard,” she muttered, coaching herself. “Just take off the bag and toss it.”

She double-checked that the map and compass were inside Finn’s coat pocket before letting the rucksack slide from her back. She tested its heft, swinging it back and forth as she estimated how much strength she’d need to get it onto its mark.

With a grunt of effort, Greer hefted the bag across the gap.

As it sailed through the air, she held her breath, watching and waiting to see where it would land.

Her heart caught as she noticed the lantern dangling from the canvas loop.

The glass sparkled in the sunlight, looking achingly lovely before it struck the rock and shattered.

A burst of broken shards sprayed across the ledge.

She swallowed hard, trying to push down the warnings firing through her bloodstream, screaming that this was a bad idea, a very bad idea, maybe the worst one she’d ever had, and—

She leapt.

In her haste, Greer overestimated the jump and fell onto the shards of glass.

Though her boots protected her from the wicked edges, she landed clumsily, her foot slipping and catching on the rucksack.

In a tangled mess, both it and Greer went sliding off the boulder, plummeting into the waters below.

The current hit her with all the force of a battering ram, and it took Greer a stunned moment of agonized disbelief to understand why she hadn’t been swept away.

A fallen tree was jammed between the last two rocks, and her pack’s strap had snagged on one of the branches.

Greer clung to the bag with all her might.

Her arms trembled as she fought to stay above the water’s surface.

She sputtered for breath, kicking hard against the roaring rapids, trying to pull herself onto the log.

It was slick with lichens and a slimy skin of autumn leaves, and no matter what Greer did, she could not find purchase.

The water was bitterly cold, squeezing her chest with such ferocity that even when she could kick above the surface, she couldn’t find a way to draw air into her lungs.

The pulsing, pounding slosh of the waves never stopped.

There were always more, hitting her in the face, filling her ears.

They flipped Greer from side to side, and her stomach heaved from the relentless motion.

Instinctually, she called out for help, using what breath she could to scream.

If she was going to drown in these watery depths, she wanted to meet her end fighting.

The current rippled, pulling her under, and she swallowed an enormous mouthful of river water.

She choked, gagging on the brackish cold, only for more water to rush in through her nose, burning her sinuses.

Greer thrashed and, for a horrifying moment, she couldn’t tell which way was up. The world was nothing but a verdigris haze. She tried one direction, then the next, smashing her head against one of the boulders. Dark stars filled her vision, and she was certain this was the end.

But the current slacked, and she bobbed to the surface, gasping for air.

A disconcerting warmth began to spread down her arms. Its phantom shimmers started in her fingers, so white and bloodless they were beginning to turn blue.

It spread down her arms, surrounding her elbows with the unpleasant sensation of a sleeping limb beginning to wake.

Pins and needles prodded at her, making their way to her shoulders and spreading across her core.

The cold, she thought with alarm. It’s so cold I’m beginning to feel hot. Too hot. Too cold, she corrected. It’s too, too cold .

Along with the prickles and the paradoxical heat came a terrible sleepy sensation.

Greer fought to keep her eyes opened and focused.

Too cold, too cold, too cold …

Her body felt deliciously heavy, as if she were covered in a pile of quilts and goose-down blankets.

What if I just let go ?

It would be so terribly easy.

Just a release of her fingers, just a final glimpse of the sky.

She pictured her body floating downstream, tossed about like driftwood, and it looked so peaceful, so dreamy. For a moment, she flexed her fingers, wondering if she had the strength simply to surrender.

Ellis.

Her lethargic brain conjured up one last daydream.

Ellis was in the foothills of the Severings, surrounded by a vast and unforgiving landscape. He looked utterly spent and defeated. And somewhere in the distance, trailing behind him, caught high on currents of air, out of sight, was a Bright-Eyed.

No!

The vision startled her to action and, with the last of her strength, she kicked, launching herself at the log.

She squirmed and thrashed, and hauled herself up.

Her body fought Greer every step of the way, threatening to roll off the side, moving with stagnant slowness as if she were already nothing but dead weight.

Finally, she centered herself on the log and collapsed in an exhausted heap.

Icy water streamed down her face, and Greer couldn’t tell if it was the river or her tears. She let out a laugh that might have been a sob. She was alive. She’d not given up.

But she needed to get moving.

She could already feel a delicate layer of frost building over her clothes, could feel her limbs wanting to remain inert.

“Move!” she growled. “You have to move!”

With a heave, she pulled her bag free and threw it over her back.

Greer shuffled inch by inch toward the next boulder, certain the tree would give way and send her to a watery grave.

When she reached the next stone, she let out an aching whimper of relief. She wanted to cheer, but there was still so much more to do, so much farther to go.

Her thighs screamed as she pushed, hefting herself onto the rock.

It was too smooth, without grips, and she clawed her fingers against the stone, cracking nails as she fought to hang on.

When she was finally off the log, Greer flopped onto her back, her spine curved over the bag, and stared at the sky, heaving for breath.

The cold was setting in, its claws sinking deep. But there was only one more section of river to cross, and then she’d be on the island. She just needed to keep moving.

Greer rolled onto her side, looking at the little spit of land.

There was a trio of birch trees, their leaves long fallen and lying in moldering piles along with spirals of papery bark, the perfect thing for kindling if her flint was still dry.

Greer would have to stop and build a fire. She could not continue with wet clothes, and, though the delay grieved her, she felt so grateful to be out of the water and alive that she didn’t care.

“One more jump,” she promised, but didn’t like the sound of her voice. It was thick and froggy, her throat scraped raw from screaming against the icy water.

Greer tried to sit up, and the world around her spun.

Too cold, too cold, it’s still too cold …

She listed forward and, for a horrible, panic-stricken moment, thought she was going to keel back into the river. But she flung her bag, blessedly tossing it high onto the shore.

Using the last of her strength, she jumped off the rock.

She knew instantly something was wrong.

She hadn’t gotten enough height.

She hadn’t gotten enough distance.

Greer found herself back in the river, being pulled downstream away from the island, away from her supplies. She tried to swim, tried to fight it, but there was no resisting the current. It pulled her, tugging her down, down, down—until, suddenly, she was up, torn from the river.

She’d been scooped from the water, scooped from certain death, by a Bright-Eyed. It carried her over the island, grabbing at her rucksack, and all the way across the river, but the cargo proved too much, and suddenly they were both falling, tumbling down from the air, and landing in a heap.

Greer grabbed at her head, certain it was bleeding, though she couldn’t remember what she’d struck it upon. She whimpered as her hand came away wet and red.

The Bright-Eyed struggled to untangle itself before collapsing with a painful groan. The last thing Greer saw it do, before unconsciousness seized her, was spread out its wings, covering her in a protective layer of heat.

When she finally woke, night had fallen, and the sky was a riot of colors, flaring brightly, fanning out in two streaks of green and purple. They moved in perfect unison with each other.

Sky lights, she thought fondly, and felt to make sure the beaded necklace was still secure.

The morning came rushing back to her, and she sat up with a gasp.

Crossing the river.

The slip.

The fall.

The Bright-Eyed.

Carefully, she pushed herself up, wincing with every flex of muscle. Pain radiated from her temple where she’d struck it trying to find her way out of the current’s hold.

The sky lights continued moving in identical precision, and Greer rubbed at her eyes, certain she was seeing double. She worried that something important in her mind had been jarred out of place, but the colors shifted once more, becoming a single spiral, tinged pink.

Greer let her gaze fall from the sky to take in her surroundings. She blinked against the darkness, unable to understand how she could see the trees around her so clearly. It was obviously night, and the moon was nothing more than a sliver, but it felt as bright as day.

Even though it made her stomach curdle, Greer turned her head, rotating right, toward the river, then left, where the Bright-Eyed should have been.

In its place was a great blaze of fire, crackling and warm.

That’s why I can see, she realized dully.

Her thoughts were plodding and slow. It felt impossible to tie concepts together, and she was certain the injury had done something terrible to her head.

On the far side of the fire sat a figure.

“Oh,” she murmured with incomprehension.

“You’re awake.”

“I think I have a concussion. Or…something,” Greer admitted, wanting to retch as her sense of equilibrium careened, making her see things that were not there, things that could not be there. She closed her eyes, praying that when she opened them, things would seem normal again.

She opened them wide and cursed.

Because there, on the opposite side of the fire, sat Noah Finn.