The Grace Year(88)

“It’s all true.” Gertie steps forward. “The ghost you saw in the clearing, the sound we kept hearing in the woods, it’s a poacher. Tierney escaped from him, climbed back through a breach in the eastern fence, and now he’s come to claim his prize … the kill that got away from him.”

“The figure at the larder door,” Hannah says with wide eyes. “I thought it was a ghost, but it was the shrouds they wear.”

“You’re not seriously listening to this, are you?” Kiersten grabs the hatchet from Jenna and raises it.

“If you kill me,” I say, holding up my hands, “he’ll take revenge on every single one of you. He wants me. I’m the only one who can stop this.”

“I think she might be telling the truth.” Jenna sidles next to her. “Why else would he have left Helen’s body behind?”

Kiersten kicks the edge of my boot. “How?”

“I’ll go into the woods. I’ll wait for him.”

“And we’re supposed to trust you?” She huffs, tightening her grip.

“What do you have to lose?” I say. “Either way, you win. If I kill him or he kills me … all of this will end.”

“Kiersten, please.” Jenna pulls on her arm. “We’re so close to going home. Let him have her.”

Kiersten takes in a deep breath through her nostrils, and then lowers the blade.

I’m shocked she’s agreeing to this so easily, but I’m not about to wait around for her to change her mind.

As I turn and walk toward the perimeter she says, “But first, you have to put Helen outside the gate.”

My body freezes in place. “I can’t,” I whisper.

“You want her sisters to be punished? You want her body to be unaccounted for? She deserves an honorable death. And since it was your fault—”

“Don’t make me do this,” I say, my face contorting in agony, but I know she’s right. This is my responsibility.

As I walk toward Helen’s body, the girls step back, giving me a wide berth. Gertie gives me a supportive nod, but I can see she’s on the verge of falling apart. We all are.

I push the wagon to the barrier, then open the gate; the high-pitched groan of the rusty hinges settles deep inside my gut. Putting my hands under her arms, I lift her off the wagon, but I’m so shaky that I end up dropping her in an ugly heap. Tears are streaming down my face. I can hardly catch my breath. This is not what she deserves.

Even though I can hear the call of the poachers, see their shadowy figures emerging from the tree line, I take my time. I’ve seen plenty of dead bodies in the healing house before, but never one that’s been a friend.

And Helen was my friend.

Straightening out her limbs, her dress, I close her eyelid and place her hands together on her chest. Out of respect. Love.

I only hope someone will do the same for me.





Walking to the ridge feels like something out of a dream … a nightmare.

I feel dead inside. But maybe that’s exactly what I need to get through this.

Setting up a guide rope, I gather as many fallen branches as I can find and start to dig.

I dig through the morning, I dig through the afternoon, and when the sun begins to set, still red on the horizon, I stop. I wanted to dig so deep that I’d reach the devil himself, but this will have to do.

Honing the branches into needle-sharp points, twenty in all, I bury the blunt ends into the bottom of the pit. It’s primitive, but so is Anders.

With bloodied, blistered hands, I climb the rope to the surface. It feels good to breathe again. To feel the air on my face. I head down to the spring and plunge my aching hands into the cool water. I want to leave them there until I can’t feel them anymore, but I’m done trying to numb myself. Untying the veil from the rocks, I stretch it over the pit until it’s taut and then tack down the sides with hawthorn spikes. It would be a lot easier to use rocks, but I can’t afford anything to impede his steps. I need a clean drop.

Sprinkling a thin layer of fresh dirt over the surface, I stand back to survey my work.

This is the best I can do.

This is all I have left in me.

As I sit on the ridge, staring past the woods, the barrier, beyond the shore, I acknowledge the three moons that have passed since I last saw Ryker. I want to tell myself it’s easier now, that sometimes I can’t remember his face, or the sound of his voice, but I cling to the memories like stolen jewels, only to be taken out on special occasions. But it’s no use hiding them away anymore. He’s with me all the time now.

As dark comes, I don’t bother trying to conceal myself. I want him to see me. And who would dare try to hide from this moon?

Just before dawn, I hear footsteps coming up the incline, past the spring, toward the ridge. It takes everything I have not to look back, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of seeing my fear.

When he reaches the top of the ridge, I know the moment he sees me, because the scratching sound grows more intense … fevered.

With each step closer, it feels like he’s hacking away pieces of me, until I’m nothing but a pile of discarded flesh.

I’m convinced he’s seen my trap, that he’s making his way around it right now to slit my throat, when I hear the most beautiful sound in the world—the wet crunching sound of his body being impaled.