Page 52 of A Land So Wide

G reer came ripping out of the silent aftermath in a rush of colors too bright and sounds far, far too loud.

She opened her eyes, wincing at the blinding white outside her shelter. The storm had not let up as she’d slept, tucked away in the compassionate embrace of unconsciousness, and the snowdrifts now piled high enough to make hiking out of the forest without snowshoes next to impossible.

From beneath the shelter of the fir tree, she watched as flakes the size of silver coins rained down like shooting stars. She heard each one land upon its fallen brethren, growing their number, multiplying into a frozen army intent on immobilizing her.

Greer blinked, curiously removed from the scene. All her focus had been on reaching the camp, on reaching Ellis. Now that he was dead, what was she meant to do?

Part of her thought about rolling back over. She could let the snow cover her in a blanket too heavy to move, too deep to breathe through.

It didn’t matter to her now.

But she was thirsty, and the whole of her throat ached, red and flaming and flayed apart by those screams. She blinked again, wondering what to do.

“Water,” she decided. She could barely push the word from her. It sounded like a bird’s egg, small and fragile and so impossibly easy to break.

She felt the same way.

With a groan, she sat up and instantly regretted it. Her head spun, as if she’d spent the night downing cup after cup of Steward Bishop’s lauded juniper spirits.

She reached blindly through her pack, searching for the canteen. It was a quarter full, and she guzzled back most of it in one long swig, crying in relief as the water cooled her throat. She swayed slightly, thinking through what must happen next.

Though the storm raged around her, sitting on the frozen ground with only Ellis’s flannel shirt over her clothes, she did not feel the cold.

Ellis.

It had all gone wrong so terribly fast.

Greer wanted to forget every moment of it. She wanted to erase those last horrible seconds, his mouth at her neck, his gasps for life as the iron impaled him. She only wanted to remember him as he’d been before. Warm and human and wholly hers.

She crawled out from the shelter, dragging the rucksack behind.

She needed to see him once more. Even if it was just the smallest glimpse.

She needed to say goodbye.

Greer stood on shaky legs, trying to get her bearings in this new world of white. Snowflakes landed on her eyelashes, brushed her skin with cool, indifferent kisses, then fluttered by unmelted, unchanged.

How much of me is left unchanged? she wondered, holding out her bare hands, catching the flakes, studying each starburst, taking in every filigreed point. It didn’t seem like there was much of the old Greer left at all. Uneasy, she let the snowflakes fall from her.

She turned to her left and spotted Ellis.

Wind had pushed the snow into deep drifts around him, completely covering his corpse.

She paused, playing out different scenarios in her mind.

She imagined brushing aside the snow for one last look, taking in all the damage both she and Elowen had inflicted.

Or she could walk away, leaving him behind forever.

Which version would hurt least?

After a long, drawn-out moment, Greer stood on tiptoe and pushed away the snow. A shock of disbelief welled within her and, even though it hurt, she threw back her head and laughed.

The figure that had attacked her, that she’d killed, impaled upon the jagged point of a cart’s handle, was not Ellis.

A Bright-Eyed, one she hadn’t seen before, had masqueraded as her love, but in death, its body had begun to revert to its monstrous state, muddling features into a nightmarish chimera of body parts.

Half its face still looked human, a shard of dark eyebrow and copper-colored skin.

Greer wondered if this Bright-Eyed had belonged to the same people as the girl and her grandfather in Laird, before its turning.

Whoever the poor soul had been, it was most assuredly not Ellis.

But it wasn’t Elowen, either. The set of its now milky eyes was too wide, its body far too tall. Greer stared up at its gruesome visage, the curled snout with black bristles, the ears as cavernously large as a bat’s. She’d never seen a Bright-Eyed so still. For the briefest moment, she pitied it.

“I did it. I killed one,” she whispered with surprise. Laughter bubbled up within her.

“Greer?” Finn’s voice broke through her elation, startling her.

She turned, catching footfalls. Through the white noise of the snowstorm, they sounded distorted and far away, even as she spotted him trudging up the hillside.

“Finn! Look!” she exclaimed before it occurred to her that perhaps he would not be as overjoyed to see the corpse. “It attacked me, but I stopped it!” she added, hoping he’d understand.

Finn squinted against the driving snow, studying the motionless body behind her. His eyebrows raised, impressed. “Salix, one of Elowen’s fiercest guards. Besting him is no small feat.”

A flush of pleasure warmed her cheeks. Greer’s fingers curled; she craved his praise even while acknowledging the horror of what she’d done. She turned from the dead Bright-Eyed. “Where were you? I waited for as long as I could, but the storm—”

He waved aside her explanation. “Plans changed.” He indicated a length of rope held over his shoulder. She couldn’t see what trailed behind him, but she could hear the soft swoosh of snowshoes.

“Finn?”

With a sigh, he stepped back, revealing a dark huddled shape.

“Greer.”

The voice was rendered almost too hoarse to recognize, but Greer would have known its gruff formality anywhere. “Father?”