The Grace Year(51)

As I look down at the seeds, floating away down the eroding bank, I start to weep. That was everything I had. My last chance. And all I can do is watch it wash away, slip right through my fingers. Pulling myself back onto the ledge, I look up to the sky and I scream, “What did I do to deserve this?”

A burst of thunder seems to answer back, louder than lions, and I can feel her power, her ire, and it makes me angry—somehow I feel betrayed by her, but there were no promises made, no secret pacts to be broken. No one told me that this would be fair, that this would be easy. I can’t help feeling that maybe I’m not meant to be here. Maybe I’m not meant to survive this. I scream as long and hard as I can, raging against everything that brought me here, and when I collapse into the frozen mud, a scream echoes back to me, a scream that isn’t my own.

At first I think it might be a trapped animal, the final cry of a dying elk, but when it happens again, I know it’s human. A blood-curdling scream, and it’s coming from the direction of the camp.

“Gertrude,” I whisper.





Abandoning the ruined garden, I run through the woods. I know the way by heart now, every fallen log, every wicked branch.

As I get closer, the screaming grows, but there’s also laughing and singing. I break into the clearing to find girls spinning in circles, covering themselves in mud and snow. One of the girls is standing on top of the privy, waving her hands around, as if she’s orchestrating the entire thing.

“Have you seen my veil?” A girl stumbles toward me, soaked to the bone, ice clinging to her dark lashes. It’s Molly. I want to tell her she doesn’t have a veil, but she’s already wandered off in a daze.

I can’t tell if they’ve gotten worse or I’ve just gotten better, but this is pure insanity.

Kiersten grabs Tamara’s hand, pulling her into the center of the clearing. They’re dancing wildly, spinning faster and faster, laughing and shrieking into the inky darkness, when a flash of lightning needles through the sky, striking the earth before them. I can smell the electricity in the air, but it’s more than that. I smell burning hair and searing flesh. Tamara is on the ground, her body convulsing in a shallow puddle.

Helen staggers forward to get a closer look and then covers her mouth. It’s hard to tell if she’s laughing or crying—maybe she doesn’t even know which.

Another flash of lightning beats down, making everyone duck for cover, everyone except Kiersten, who’s grabbing Tamara’s twitching arms, dragging her toward the fence. “Open the gate,” Kiersten yells.

“Wait … what are you doing?” I run into the clearing, but Kiersten shoves me out of the way.

“I’m doing her a mercy,” Kiersten says.

Tamara’s eyes lock in on mine. She still can’t speak, but I see the terror.

“You can’t.” I get back on my feet. “She’s still breathing.”

“Do you want her sisters to be sent to the outskirts?” Kiersten asks. “She deserves an honorable death.”

As the girls rush forward to open the gate, I plead with them to stop, but it’s as if they don’t even see me … hear me.

Searching the clearing, I’m looking for anyone who’ll listen when I see Gertrude hiding behind the punishment tree, tears streaming down her face. That’s how I know she’s still in there: no matter what’s happening, no matter how far we fall, somewhere inside, she knows this is wrong.

As they lift Tamara’s body to throw her out of the encampment, an enormous flash of lightning erupts over the camp, illuminating her face stretched into a soundless scream of horror.

The light dissipates; the dense thud of Tamara’s body hits the ground. The eerie creak of the gate is followed by the clunk of the closing latch, like the final nail in a coffin.

Crowding against the fence, the girls press their faces against the gaps in the splintery wood, vying for a glimpse.

Sick caw noises echo from the shore.

As heavy footsteps descend on the other side of the gate, I back away.

I don’t need to see it to know what’s happening. I can hear it. I can feel it—blades ripping into flesh, Tamara’s soundless scream winding up, building steam until that’s all I can hear.

A few of the girls have to turn away, Jessica clenching her eyes shut, Martha crouching on the ground, everything in her stomach coming up at once, but they will never be able to escape what they’ve witnessed. What they’ve done. The rest stand there, unable to tear their eyes away from the carnage—this feels like judgment to them, God’s will, but it’s really just the will of Kiersten.

“You killed her,” I say. “Tamara was one of your closest friends, and you murdered her.”

Kiersten turns on me, a savage look in her eyes.

“Is … is that Tierney?” Helen staggers toward me, Dovey peeking out of the pocket of her cloak.

“She’s back?” Katie asks, poking at my arm. “How?”

Jenna gets right in my face. Her pupils are so large they look like flat black marbles. “Is she a ghost?”

Kiersten picks up the axe resting against the fence. “There’s only one way to find out.”

As she stalks toward me, I’m backing up to the perimeter.

With every step, I feel the weight in my limbs, my blistered feet sloshing around in my boots, my heart throbbing in my throat.