Page 30 of A Land So Wide
First bellows soundedjust as Greer sank onto one of the long benches of Steward House, flushed and out of breath. There was still one hour till sunset, but all she wanted to do was close her eyes and fall asleep.
She and Ellis had hiked every step of the town’s border since daybreak, and her feet throbbed. She was too sore to walk any farther, but not numb enough to forget the pain. Her fingers were smudged black and aching. Her satchel was full of new renderings, new measurements. Still, her work was not done.
Every Warding Stone had moved.
Some had crept in mere yards, as if on tiptoe, hoping the town might not notice their treachery. Others, like the ones in the Calloways’ fields, were far bolder.
Greer’s mind felt impossibly full. All day long, rumors had flown through the community, carried on the wind, and she’d heard each and every one of them.
They did not surprise her. Imaginations didn’t often run wild here. Unable to stray from their small community, the people of Mistaken had learned never to dream of things bigger than their allotted acres.
Those who hadn’t been at the Calloway farm woke to the news of the massacre and, predictably, started looking for someone to blame.
It was so easy to point fingers toward Ellis’s family.
Resolution Beaufort had damned the settlers, luring them across the sea to this cursed cove, and, generations later, his descendants were still scapegoated.
Beauforts were blamed for any problems that plagued the town, from small annoyances—the swarm of blackflies thought to have been brought on by Resolution’s son, Brodie, slaughtering hogs on the Sabbath—to outright absurdity. Once, Melkin Hambright’s favorite goat had birthed an entire litter of kids fused together with a solid band of rubbery flesh. He said Ellis’s great-uncle Hezekiah had offered to purchase the nanny from him only weeks before, and claimed that the elder Beaufort had cursed both him and the goat when he refused.
Greer rubbed at her eyes, then was startled from her exhausted reverie as Steward Enoch MacÀidh stumbled over her ankles. He squinted at her down the length of his thin, crooked nose. The oldest of all the Stewards, Enoch had been going blind for years and rarely left his cottage, situated just a mile from Mackenzie land; he preferred to putter around the certainties of his farm and to leave the town’s affairs to the rest of the council. His presence here only highlighted what a grave situation Mistaken was now in.
He swatted away Greer’s apologies, his hand clawed into a gesture of superstitious protection. “I find it impossible to believe that you, of all people, couldn’t hear me coming, Greer Mackenzie.”
From her seated position, the wide brim of his hat was like a corona of darkness circling his face. He made no effort to hide his scorn. Years before, when Greer was a child of only five years, she’d made the mistake of asking Enoch why she could hear breathy, feminine cries coming from the MacÀidhs’ house every time his wife, Iona, was in town at sewing circle.
“Enoch,” Hessel called from the front of the room, spotting the confrontation. “It’s good to see you, my old friend. Join us.”
With a noise of indignation, Enoch picked his way toward the other Stewards.
They were nine strong, patriarchs of the town, each descended from the crew who had sailed to the new world. Though they sat on the council with apparent equal stature, Greer’s father, Hessel—grandsonof First Mate Tormond Mackenzie—presided over the group with a touch more authority. His was the voice that spoke for the group. His was the opinion all others sought.
He stood at the head of the room now, in deep discussion with the others.
The men were poring over Greer’s new maps with great fervor. As Hessel listened, he glanced across the room to meet Greer’s gaze. His lips didn’t exactly curve into a smile—Hessel Mackenzie was far too reserved—but Greer could sense a glimmer of approval all the same. He was proud of the work she’d done.
The back doors were flung open, and Louise Beaufort hurried into Steward House.
It was a long building, built of spruce and pine. Though large enough to hold every member of Mistaken, the structure boasted only two narrow windows, at the front of the hall. Lanterns hung from the mounted remains of a ship’s wheel, casting over the room a dark-amber hue. A single aisle ran the length of the room, splitting the rough-hewn benches apart like a seam.
Greer automatically slid over, making room for her friend, but Louise hesitated, a look of uncertainty darkening her face. With an unhappy twist of her lips, she sank into an empty spot on the back row, joining Ellis.
He glanced from Louise to Greer with a look of wary curiosity before shrugging it away. Greer could see the toll their day had taken upon him. His face was haggard with exhaustion, and a long cut ran red down one cheekbone. The last Stone they’d found had moved into the middle of a bramble of thorns, and it had taken them nearly an hour to break free.
After a long stare at her friend—one Louise pointedly did not return—Greer shifted her attention toward the rest of the room.
The townspeople of Mistaken looked defeated. Dark circles rimmed tired, pained eyes. Noses were red; hands were pale and trembling. One long length of bench was left empty. Normally, it would have been filled by Cormac Calloway and his family. The unfilled space was as jarring as a missing tooth.
A hush fell as Hessel Mackenzie stepped forward and picked up theceremonial gavel—a cut of polished wood from the very tree that had impaled Resolution Beaufort. Still, he struck it upon the Stewards’ table three times, signifying they were ready to begin.
“Friends, I wish we gathered today under better circumstances,” he began, his words slow and steady. Greer supposed he was attempting to offer the residents a show of reassuring strength, but his dark undertone sent a chill down her spine.
They didn’t know why any of this had happened. Nothing they’d say in the next hour would be anything but conjecture.
“As you know, the Warding Stones have…moved.”
“How many?” someone in the front row asked.
Hessel released a deep breath. “All of them, I’m afraid. Mistaken’s footprint has been considerably reduced. The new borders have cut dangerously across fields and homes…fatally, in one instance.”
