The Grace Year(94)

But the girls just stand there in silence.

“Fine,” Kiersten says as she stomps toward the gate. “I’m putting an end to this right now.”

“What are you doing?” Jenna asks.

“I can prove the magic is real.” Kiersten yanks open the gate. “Watch. No harm will come to me,” she says as she steps over the threshold.

I know most of the poachers have already left the island, but there’s at least one more out there.

Counting her steps, Kiersten seems to gain confidence with each stride, and when she reaches ten, she turns to face us, spreading her arms out wide. “See. I told you. Nothing can touch me. My magic forbids it. Come, join me and you’ll see.”

A few of the girls are edging closer when a dark figure stumbles from the brush.

The girls freeze at the sight of him.

Kiersten glances at him over her shoulder and laughs. “Look, he’s trembling. He can’t come any closer.”

The poacher stands there, eyes darting wildly around the scene, trying to decipher if this is some kind of a trap or madness. Tentatively, he takes a step toward her.

Kiersten’s manic smile begins to waver, but she stands her ground. “That’s as close as my magic will allow. Watch.”

Slipping the knife from his sheath, he takes another step.

“Stop. I command you. Don’t come any closer … or else,” she says, her voice starting to betray her.

Lunging forward, the poacher grabs her from behind, holding a blade to her throat, so close that when she murmurs, “What’s happening…,” the steel bites into her skin.

With blood trickling down her chest, her confusion swiftly turns to terror.

There’s a part of me that should feel satisfied—Kiersten’s finally getting what she deserves—but I only feel tired. Tired of hating each other. Tired of feeling small. Tired of being used. Tired of men deciding our fate, and for what?

Picking up a shattered piece of the rain barrel, I hold it in my hands, feeling the weight of the solid wood.

“Enough,” I whisper.

The girls look at me, then look at each other, and without a word, they pick up whatever they can get their hands on—rocks, buckets, ribbons, nails.

As we step over the threshold, I feel something swell inside of me—it’s more than anger, more than fear, more than anything they tried to pin on us, it’s a sense of belonging … that we’re a part of something bigger than ourselves. And isn’t that what we’ve all been searching for?

We may be without powers, but we are not powerless.

As we march forward as one, the poacher digs the knife in further.

“Come any closer and I’ll skin her right in front of you.”

“Please … help me,” Kiersten whispers, a fresh trail of blood seeping down her neck.

The girls are following my lead, waiting for a signal, but as the poacher’s eyes scan the crowd, I recognize something. I’ll never forget those eyes, the ones I saw when he climbed the ladder to Ryker’s shelter to threaten me.

And suddenly, I don’t see a poacher, I see a boy, who lost his entire family, whose eyes are still wet from witnessing the death of his best friend. We have that much in common.

It’s not just the grace year girls that are victims of the county. It’s the poachers, the guards, the wives, the laborers, the women of the outskirts … we’re all a part of this. We’re the same.

Lowering the wood plank, I say, “Go home, Anders. There’s a family that needs you.”

He looks at me, all of me, and his eyes seem to soften.

As he lowers the blade, they grab Kiersten, carrying her inside the encampment.

Anders and I watch each other until he backs away into the foliage, until all I can hear is his heavy breath … until all I can hear is my own.





Huddling on the floor of the lodging house, I realize we’re right back where we started. But that’s not entirely true.

“What do we do now?” Kiersten asks, wiping away her tears, and I realize she’s looking to me. They all are.

There’s a part of me that wants to tell them they’re on their own, this isn’t my fight anymore, but I promised myself that as long as I had breath in my body, I would strive for a better life. A truthful life. Looking around at the empty iron bed frames stacked up around us, I think about Betsy, Laura, Ami, Tamara, Meg, Patrice, Molly, Ellie, Helen, and so many others.

“We can start by leaving this place how we would’ve liked to have found it.”

Whispers erupt among them.

“Despite everything that’s happened here, I’ve seen glimpses of strength, mercy, and warmth from every sin gle one of you,” I say as I meet their eyes. “Imagine if we were able to let that shine, how bright the world could be. I want to live in that world. For however much time I have left. My father always told me that it’s the small decisions you make when no one is watching that make you who you are. Who do we want to be?”

A hush falls over the room, but as I look around, I realize it’s a good hush. A necessary hush.

“But what about you?” Gertie asks, her chin quivering. “You can’t go back … not now … not after everything that’s happened—”

“You’re right. I can’t go back to the county to be a wife, but I can tell the truth. I can look them in the eyes and tell them what the grace year really is.” It takes everything I have not to lose it right then and there, but I have to stay strong. One crack in the veneer, one chink in my armor could dismantle me completely, sending me crashing to the floor. I’ll let myself feel, I’ll let myself grieve when they light the match for my pyre. But not until then.