Page 48 of A Land So Wide

T hey set off at sunrise, Finn leading the way.

Greer had expected him to follow the winding riverbank, but he plunged straight into the forest, without even a glance at her map.

Heeding his internal compass, Finn roamed the terrain with ease, and it was all Greer could do to keep up.

He slipped through the tangled undergrowth with preternatural grace, always a dozen or so steps ahead of her, making any attempt at conversation impossible.

If she was being honest, the grueling pace was a bit of relief. Her head was muddy with thoughts and worries, and Finn’s clip stamped at least some of them into an exhausted silence.

Still, all the hiking in the world couldn’t make her forget the way he’d looked at her last night before slipping into the woods.

It couldn’t erase the dream, and the way it kept repeating through her mind.

She’d felt so connected to him in it. Not just in the physical way the dream had played out, but in the familiar intimacy of their conversation.

They’d been two people well acquainted with each other, comfortable and at ease, and Greer was surprised to find how much she wished for that now.

Ellis, she reminded herself. You have that ease with Ellis .

But…did she?

Before the Hunt, before this journey, she wouldn’t have hesitated to say yes, to shout it from Barrenman’s Hill, to let the entire cove know that she loved Ellis Beaufort with all her heart and always would.

And she still did.

But her heart…

She knew things now about that heart, about the blood it pumped, that would certainly give Ellis reason to wonder about—if not outright question—her loyalty. She wasn’t the girl he’d fallen in love with. In truth, that girl had never existed. Not even mostly.

What would Ellis think of all of this, of her new self? What would his family, his mother, Louise? Louise would be horrified, her best friend become the very monster she didn’t believe in.

It was all too terrible to bear.

When Greer began her journey, she hadn’t thought about the Beauforts. She’d only envisioned Ellis and herself, armed with their beaded charms and dizzyingly in love, heading out into the world for adventure and exploration. She wanted to laugh at how na?ve she’d been.

Ellis was a good and responsible man. He cared deeply for his family and would never let them come to harm.

That he was out here now, wandering through the wilderness as a sacrifice for the town, was proof of it.

He was trying to appease the Benevolence, offering himself so that they would continue to hold back the Bright-Eyeds.

Greer stopped in her tracks, as a new thought seized hold of her.

Bright-Eyed blood ran through her veins. She wasn’t one of them, not exactly, but would the Benevolence note such a distinction?

Her eyes, now so sharp and keen, flickered through the trees surrounding them, searching, searching for any sign that they might be near.

“Greer?”

She glanced up the hill. Finn had noticed she’d paused; half a dozen yards from her, he looked back with concern.

“We’re almost to the top of the ridge.”

“Yes.” She swept her gaze over the forest again, certain one of the Benevolence was about to step out from the shadows and tear her to bits.

“Are you all right?”

No.

“Yes,” she repeated instead.

Finn studied her. “We can rest once we’ve reached the edge.”

She stayed planted, shifting the weight of her pack while peering through trees and pockets of undergrowth.

She wasn’t even sure what to be looking for.

If the Bright-Eyeds could shift and mimic their surroundings, it only stood to reason that the Benevolence—by all accounts, more powerful and clever—could do the same.

She could be looking at a whole horde of them right now and she wouldn’t know.

Before, such an idea would have comforted her.

She would have felt protected and safe. But now…

did her faithfulness matter anything to them?

Her gratitudes and gifts? Her prayers and pleas?

All her life, she’d tried so hard to honor and revere them.

Did they care at all about the veneration of an enemy?

As the hairs on the back of her neck rose, she turned and hurried after Finn.

The last stretch up the ridge was the worst.

The embankment was so steep, Greer all but crawled up it, grabbing at rocks and exposed tree roots to help pull herself along.

“A few more yards,” Finn called out, already at the top.

Greer knew he’d meant it as encouragement, but in the moment, it seemed like an executioner’s sentencing.

Her dress clung to her in a sticky, sweaty embrace, and her pack seemed determined to flatten her into the earth.

She’d lightened it before they set out it, casting aside anything ruined by the river, but it now seemed to have doubled in weight.

Tripled, even. With a great heaving breath, Greer pressed on, gaining a scant number of inches.

For the first time that day, Finn approached her, shuffling back down the hill with infuriating ease.

“Here,” he said, holding out his hand.

“I can do it,” she insisted and wished her words had been infused with strength instead of coming out in such a deflated gasp.

“Greer,” he insisted. “Give me the pack, at least.”

With the giant rucksack gone, she did find it easier to scale the rest of the ascent.

Finn stayed with her the whole way, remaining blessedly silent as she fought her way up.

When they reached the top, Greer sank down, drawing in great heaping gulps of air.

So far into the foothills, it was thinner, and she felt she had to take in twice as many breaths.

Beyond the ridge’s crest rose the first of the Severings, looming over the valley like a watchful god.

It was bigger than anything Greer could have ever imagined, sprawling out for miles and rising high into the clouds.

It was rocky and forbidding, full of sheer walls and jagged crevasses.

Some trees edged along its base like a skirt, but they petered away as the mountain grew, revealing a deadly world of rock and ice.

“There’s a road up to Sandry,” Finn said, as if reading her mind. He pointed to a spot roughly halfway up a series of crests. “It’s pocked and overgrown, but it will be easier than this.”

Greer couldn’t believe such reassurances but didn’t have the energy to voice her doubt.

“Water,” he instructed.

She unlooped the canteen from the rucksack’s straps and pulled out the cork stopper. “You first,” she said, offering it to Finn.

Surprised, he took a few swallows before sinking down to the ground beside her and handing the canteen back. “It has been a hard climb,” he said, as she drank deeply.

Greer wiped the back of her hand over her lips and let out a small sigh. “Has it? You look like we’ve been out on a leisurely stroll.”

He smiled. “Trust me, it has. Flying would have…” He shrugged; their differences could not be helped. “Do you need more?”

Wearily, Greer took another long swig from the canteen.

“No, I meant…” Finn nodded toward his wrist.

“Oh,” she said, her gaze falling to the strip of cloth covering the spot where just last night he’d ripped open his flesh for her. She spotted another bit of fabric beneath the makeshift bandage and squinted, struck by a strange sense of uneasiness.

“I think it would help.” He unwound the bandage, ready to offer more of his blood, more of himself, and revealed a dark strip of silk.

Greer snatched his wrist, bringing the bracelet in for closer inspection.

It had been seven years since Greer had seen the ribbon, and though it was tattered and frayed, its once-bright colors now faded into hazy hues, she would have recognized it anywhere.

“Where did you get this?” she whispered.

Finn took a breath, but before he could answer, realization washed over her.

“It was you,” she said. “That day in the clearing. You were the wolf.” She looked away as an uncomfortable heat filled her cheeks. How foolish he must think her, falling for his ruse, actually believing her dead mother had sent a sign just for her.

“I didn’t want you to hurt alone.”

The simplicity of his admission made her glance back, daring to meet his stare. “You knew when she’d died?”

He nodded. “I felt it. Here.”

He raised his hand—the one wearing her mother’s ribbon—and touched his chest, gesturing to his heart.

Like a fish caught on a line and pulled to shore, Greer leaned in, reaching for the bracelet. She traced a finger over it and felt the heat of his skin beneath the worn silk.

“It was the best gratitude I could think to give,” she said, admiring her mother’s stitches, still dazzling and perfect even after so many years.

“I’d thought…I was so grateful to have you there.

I’d cried for so long and…” She glanced up, startling at how close their faces were.

But she didn’t back away. “You stayed with me. That whole afternoon.”

“It was as much a comfort for me as it was for you.”

Greer studied his profile with fresh eyes, recalling his earlier words. Here was proof of just how long he’d followed after her, watched over her, but for reasons Greer could not put into words, it did not bother her. In fact, it…

“Do you want it back?”

His voice was less than a whisper, brushing across her ears with husky intimacy.

Greer withdrew her hand. Part of her did, longing to have this small scrap of Ailie with her as she ventured into the mines.

The other part of her warmed as she realized how long Finn had held on to it.

She liked knowing that a little part of her had been with him, too. “No. I gave it freely. It’s yours.”

“I don’t have many possessions,” he admitted, “but it is my most treasured.” His gaze fell on her. “When Ailie died…it felt as though part of me had as well. But being there, with you…you helped ease that ache.”

Unable to stand the weight of his eyes upon hers for another second, she looked away, peering out over the valley, then gasped. “What is that?”

Below them was a wide basin, the last level swath of land before the Severing Mountains began to rise. It was littered with great piles of debris and wreckage. Tall, broken timbers jutted from messes of fallen bricks and torn-apart roofs. It had been a town once, quite sizable, but now…

Nature had begun to creep back and reclaim the once settled area for its own.

Saplings stood in the middle of roofless structures.

Remnants of cabins and other buildings were covered in green moss and gray lichen.

She could pick out what had been the main thoroughfare, several large buildings, shops, a blacksmith’s forge, stables.

This had been a bustling, thriving community, at least a hundred families strong.

Greer pulled out her map and searched for anything that would indicate what this disaster had been. “Was that Laird?”

“Once,” Finn confirmed.

“What…what happened to it?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Greer had read survivors’ accounts, she knew Martha’s stories, she’d seen it play out in her dreams.

Finn shifted, sensing a response wasn’t needed.

“How many Bright-Eyeds were there?”

“Here?”

Greer thought she nodded.

He kept his gaze trained on the scene before them. “Two.”

Two.

Two creatures had unleashed this much damage and devastation.

Decades had gone by since the massacre, but Greer fancied she could still hear the echoes of Laird’s screams hanging in the air, ringing off the crumbling structures, seeping from the bones of houses long emptied of inhabitants.

“Well. Three, I suppose, at the end.” Finn scratched at the back of his neck. “This was where Elowen turned me.”

“This was your home?” Greer was aghast. He nodded. “How long ago did this happen? How many people were killed?”

He shrugged, unbothered. “I don’t remember.”

Greer thought of the hares she’d eaten, the eel Martha had baked into a pie. Cuts of venison, rashers of bacon. She wouldn’t have bothered to remember them, either, and her gut twisted with shame and disgust.

But when I eat a slice of ham, I don’t slaughter every hog in Mistaken .

She spotted a pale length of bone curving down from the remains of a rafter, and winced. It was part of a rib cage. Greer looked away, not wanting to imagine how it could have ended up there.

“We’ll need to get to that,” Finn said, pointing toward the hill on the other side of the village. Greer could just make out the remains of a road, still traced faintly into the earth like a nearly healed scar. It led up into the mountains, up to Sandry.

“This was where the miners lived,” she murmured, piecing everything together. “With their families…”

She studied Finn, wondering if he’d had a family then, a mother and father or a wife and children. He shrugged again, unconcerned, and his lack of interest made her heart ache.

“Were you a miner?” she pressed.

“I don’t remember.”

“You lived here. Surely, there must be something.”

Finn frowned. “I…I probably was. My feet…There must have been an accident, before I turned. Some of my toes were crushed. They still are.” His gaze flickered up to the mountains before them. “Do you think the mines could have done that?”

She thought about his two-toed prints. “It’s possible.”

He nodded, as if the matter was settled, then reached out his hand. “It’s steep.”

Greer stared at his proffered fingers. They were long and thin, rough with calluses, and looked so terribly human.

She considered her own. Ailie, in a fit of bloodlust, had torn apart an entire town.

That same blood flowed through Greer’s veins.

She remembered the entirely too-still form of Lachlan Davis, laying in a broken heap at Mistaken’s border.

She’d done that, with just the power of her voice. What would her hands be capable of?

She studied the stitches of Ailie’s ribbon and the tight series of knots she’d tied with her own hands, overwhelmed by a sense of bewilderment.

She felt too human to side with what she knew lurked beneath Finn’s exterior.

But she herself was too monstrous ever to return to Mistaken. Where did that leave her?

“Greer?” he prompted, stirring her from the tortured reverie.

She glanced behind her, staring down the hill they’d climbed as if she could see all the way back to Mistaken, and then Greer slipped her hand into his and followed Noah Finn into the remains of Laird.