The Grace Year(42)

“They can smell your blood.” She smiles up at me.

I’m backing away, trying to get away from whatever’s happening here, when my vision starts to blur. I’m staggering around the clearing trying to find anything to latch on to. The well. If I can just get some water. As I reach out for the stone ledge, my legs go out from under me. Smacking my head against the hard surface, I go down like a sack of bones.





As my eyes slowly come back into focus, I hear someone say, “All you have to do is run to the cove and back.”

Tilting my head back, I see the girls huddled in front of the gate.

“As soon as you embrace your magic, I’ll take out your braid,” Kiersten says, as if she’s talking to a child. “You can be one of us.”

Getting to my feet is harder than I thought it would be. My head is pounding. The dizziness makes the fence blur in and out like the dial on Father’s microscope.

“Can you hold Dovey for me?” Helen offers the bird to Kiersten. Kiersten cringes, shoving Jessica forward to take it. “She likes it best when you nuzzle her under your chin,” Helen adds.

“Wait,” I say as I make my way over. “She can’t leave the barrier. There’s poachers out there.”

Jenna shoots me an exasperated look. “We thought you were dead.”

“Yeah … no such luck.” I brush past her. “Helen, you can’t do this.”

“But I’m invisible,” she says with a grin.

“Since when?” I ask.

“Go away,” Tamara says, pushing me aside. “Not that she needs any help, but we’ve got Ami distracting the poachers by the eastern fence with that awful singing.”

I squint toward the east. I think I see Ami’s tiny frame crouched by the barrier, but I can’t be sure.

Frantically, I’m stumbling around the crowd, searching for anyone who can talk some sense into Helen, when my eyes settle on Gertie. “You have to do something,” I whisper.

Although she’s looking away, pretending not to hear, I see real fear in her eyes.

“All you have to do is concentrate. Feel your magic,” Kiersten says, pressing the palm of her hand against Helen’s belly. “Remember, if something goes wrong I can always use my magic to make the poachers do what I want.”

Helen looks up at her and nods, but I can tell she’s not right … she’s not completely there. She looks like one of those dolls Mrs. Weaver makes with the huge blinking eyes.

“I’ll even let you wear my veil. For protection,” Kiersten says, placing the netting on top of her head. “That’s how much I believe in you.”

“Hey, that’s my veil,” Hannah says from the crowd, but she’s quickly shushed.

As Kiersten lowers the netting, they open the gate. I know I should turn around, walk away, Helen’s made her choice, but I can’t stop thinking about those scars on her feet, the ones her mother gave her for dreaming. “A seed of kindness,” I whisper.

I’m terrified of even going near the gate, let alone through it, but I can’t let this happen.

Pushing past the girls, I dart out after her. Some are screaming at me to turn back, but Kiersten says, “Let her go.”

The second I leave the safety of the encampment, the sheer force of the wind coming off the great lake hits me, taking the air right out of my lungs. I stagger back a few steps. The openness, the nothingness … maybe I’ve been cooped up in there too long, but I don’t feel free here, I only feel … exposed.

A caw in the distance slips under my skin. I’m not sure if it’s real or imagined, but it’s what I need to regain my focus.

Searching the vast landscape, the muted palette of autumn giving way to winter—blue to gray, green to beige—I spot a blur of movement. Helen’s veil clinging to her like a cloud of low river gnats.

When the second caw arrives, I know it’s real because Helen freezes in place. I’m running toward her, motioning for her to come back, but her eyes are fixed to the north, on an advancing poacher. Just the sight of him makes me woozy. He’s covered from head to toe in a gauzy charcoal fabric, a gleaming blade in his hand. Everything inside me wants to turn away, but I can’t let her die like this. For nothing.

Picking up my pace, I call out her name.

She looks at me, sheer panic washing over her face. “You can see me?”

“Run.” I shove her back toward the encampment and then take off in the opposite direction. “Run!” I scream. I’m looking over my shoulder, making sure the poacher took the bait, when I trip on a tree root, skidding to the cold earth. Instead of closing my eyes, bracing myself for what’s to come, I flip over to face my executioner. He raises his blade to deliver the blow—and then stops.

“Kick me.” A soft whisper emanates from the thin dark cloth covering his nose and mouth.

I have no idea if he said it or if it’s just the sickness settling in, but I’m not about to stick around and find out.

Pulling my knees in, I kick him as hard as I can. He reels back before doubling over on the ground.

I think about taking his knife, slitting his throat right then and there, but there’s something about the way he looked at me—something in his eyes. I wonder if it’s the same poacher I met on the trail … the one who let me go before. Leaning over his body, I’m sure it’s him. I feel it in my gut. I’m reaching out to remove the cloth obscuring his face when I hear caws coming from each direction. Backing away from him, I run toward the gate.