by Kim Liggett
Tonight, as the sun gives way to the moon, a million stars making me feel smaller than a speck of dust, I stand on the perimeter, listening to the incessant scratching noise. It’s so dark I can hardly see a few feet in front of me, but I can’t stop picturing her standing there, the ribbon snared around her neck, grating against the bones of her throat.
“Tierney.” Gertrude nudges me. “They asked you a question.”
I look back to find the entire camp staring at me.
“Well?” Jenna prods. “What are they saying?”
I haven’t spoken of the girl on the ridge yet; maybe it felt too sacred, too real, like it would be a betrayal of some kind. But maybe this is the one secret I don’t have to carry all by myself.
“I don’t know her name,” I reply. “But her bones lie on the highest ridge of the island.” As I turn my back on the woods, the scratching noise seems to grow more insistent … furious, but I don’t let it deter me. “Do you hear that? It’s the sound of the frayed red ribbon coiled around the bones of her throat. She was strangled so violently that her ribbon ripped in two.”
“Maybe she’s trying to find the other half,” Jenna says. “Just like the story of Tahvo.”
“Is that the Viking one?” Lucy asks.
Jenna nods excitedly. “His entire crew turned on him, stabbed him one hundred times before he fell. Instead of burning his flesh, a proper burial for a warrior, they left his bones to rot on a distant shore.” Jenna leans forward, the firelight dancing in her eyes. “But every full moon he rose from the dead to take his revenge. It took him eight years to hunt down every single one of them and their kin. Only then could he earn the pyre that would carry his soul to the heavens.”
I’m trying not to let my imagination get away from me, but what if the dead girl’s own grace year girls did this to her? Maybe she’s looking for revenge. And if she’s bound to the encampment forever … maybe we’re the next best thing.
* * *
As Gertrude and I settle into the larder, sweat soaking through our clothes, she says, “If you won’t keep the door open, you should at least take off your cloak.”
“I’m fine,” I say, pulling it tighter around me.
“If you’re worried about Helen taking it from you—”
“I told you I’m fine,” I say, shorter than I’d like, clutching the hatchet to my chest.
The sound of her skimming her fingers over the healed stubble on the back of her head grates on my nerves.
“You haven’t been drinking from the well, have you?” she asks.
“No.” I look at her sharply. “Of course not.”
“Then what is it … what aren’t you telling me?”
I take in a deep breath. “You know how I talked about the bones on the ridge?”
“That was a really good one tonight. And then when Jenna said the thing about the Viking … I almost believed it—”
“I think it might be real.”
“What?” she asks, trying to hide the goosebumps on her arms.
“The sound I hear in the camp … it’s the same sound I hear when I’m on the ridge … the ribbon scratching against her bones.”
She looks at me for a moment and then bursts out laughing. “Very funny.”
I laugh along with her and then turn on my side so she can’t see the tears in my eyes.
“You’re finally up,” Gertie says, straightening the jars of preserves on the shelf behind her. “I’ve been begging you to keep the door open all summer, and now that it’s finally cooled down you decide to open it?”
“I didn’t,” I say, sitting up, peeling the cloak away from my skin.
“I heard you do it.” She rolls her eyes. “Oh, and nice touch, blowing out the candle, scratching at your ribbon like that. The girls are going to eat that up tonight.”
“What are you talking ab—”
Reaching for the ribbon that was tied around my wrist, I freeze. It’s not there. It’s not in my hair. Panicking, I get on the floor to start looking for it.
“Missing something?” she asks.
“Helen,” I say with a deep sigh as I get to my feet and head to the lodging house. She’s got to stop doing this. Sneaking around, taking people’s things. I don’t want to get cross with her, but she needs to straighten up if she’s going to make it back in the county.
As I pass the well, I glance down and catch my reflection, a bright red slit running across my throat. Doubling back, I stare into the water. Then my fingers fly to my neck, cringing when they graze against the silk.
Tugging at it, I’m trying to free myself, but it’s knotted so tight I can’t get it loose. I’m fumbling with the knot, but it only seems to make the ribbon coil tighter.
I’m leaning over, fighting for air, when I see Kiersten’s reflection directly behind me.
“Careful, now,” she says as she reaches her hands around my throat, deftly untying the knot. “Poacher’s Kiss,” she whispers in my ear.
“What?” I gasp, bracing myself against the side of the well.
“That’s the name of the knot,” she says, lacing the ribbon around my wrist, fashioning a gentle bow. “The harder you pull, the tighter it gets.”
“How do you know that?” I ask, staring at her reflection in the water.
“The last time I saw someone stare into the water like that, I made them drown. You remember Laura, don’t you?”
I swallow hard.
“As I recall, you didn’t think my magic was the cause … you didn’t think our magic was real at all.”
“I was wrong,” I whisper as I turn to face her. “That was before I went into the woods. You helped me understand.”
She looks me dead in the eyes. I can’t help the shiver racing over my flesh. I thought the large black pupils were scary, but now that her irises have returned, the cool blue hue is even more chilling.
Whether she’s the one who did this or not, she’s remembering.
As she walks away, I can’t help wondering how long it will take until Kiersten remembers that she wants me dead.
* * *
As I set out for the spring, the ridge, I don’t look at the bones. I don’t listen to the ribbon scraping against her neck. I keep to what I know to be true. The land doesn’t lie.
Lowering myself over the ridge, I notice the tomatoes, squash, and peppers have given way to turnips, broccoli, and beans. The sumac leaves near the shore have just started to turn. Even the air feels crisper. The season is on the verge of change. So am I.
I’ll never forget Ivy returning from her grace year. When she staggered back into the square, I didn’t even recognize her. Clumps of her hair were missing; her eyes looked unreal, like the large buttons from Father’s winter coat. She collapsed in the square before her husband even got her home. There was a time when they thought she wouldn’t make it.
They let me sit with her once, while my father spoke with her husband about her care. I remember leaning in close to look at her, trying to decide if it was really her. I thought maybe she’d shed her skin out there, like the changelings from the old fairy tales. I think that’s what always scared me the most about the grace year, that I would somehow lose myself, come back an entirely different person.
We just get better at hiding things.
I used to wonder how the women could turn a blind eye to things in the county, things that were happening right in front of them, but some truths are so horrifying that you can’t even admit them to yourself.
I understand that now.
On the way back to the camp, when I hear a twig snap behind me, I don’t stop to listen, to wonder, I just keep pushing the cart down the path. I’m the one who gives this thing power, and I’m not willing to do that anymore. No more games. No more distractions.
Tonight, as we settle around the fire, and they ask me what the ghosts are saying, I reply, “I don’t hear them anymore.”
It’s for the good of the camp. For the good of me.
Th
ere’s a long pause. A silence so loud I can feel it echoing around the campfire, like a dying ember begging to be reignited.
I’m thinking this is it, the end of all this, when Jenna sits up tall, staring into the woods. “I hear them now. Ever since I started drinking the ghost water.”
“Me, too,” Ravenna chimes in.
“So do I,” Hannah says, nodding her head so fast that it reminds me of a bird getting ready to feed its young.
And then one after another they begin telling ghost stories of their own. Far more terrifying than anything I could ever come up with.
Gertrude looks at me, confusion in her eyes.
But I get it.
The hemlock silt simply helped them see what they already believed.
I wake to footsteps in the clearing. It’s probably Helen; she has a tendency to wander at night. I’m waiting for one of the girls to get up and fetch her, but they never do. They’ve grown tired of babysitting her. We all have. As I get up to open the door, I hear the scratching sound of the ribbon enter my bloodstream. I want to tell myself it’s just Kiersten trying to scare me, but I feel a dark presence oozing from beneath the door.
The handle of the larder door compresses. I’m bracing myself, ready to come face-to-face with whatever’s been haunting me, when a blood-curdling scream rings out from the direction of the lodging house. Gertie snaps awake. I’m yanking on the door trying to open it, but the wood must still be swollen. By the time I finally get it open, I only catch a glimpse of a figure moving past the perimeter, like a passing shadow.
The girls are huddled outside of the lodging house, screaming and crying.
Running across the clearing, I find Becca sheltered in the mass, her eyes wide, her body trembling.
“I was going to the privy … and I saw it…,” she snivels. “A ghost hovering near the larder door.”
“Has anyone seen Dovey?” Helen asks.
Ravenna pushes her out of the way. “Was it Ami or Meg?”
“No. It wasn’t like that…”
“Dovey, where are you?” Helen calls out.
Everyone shushes her.
“I didn’t see arms or legs,” Becca continues. “I only saw eyes. Dark gleaming eyes staring at me from the shadows. I don’t know how to explain it, but whatever it was … it felt evil.”
Poacher. My skin erupts in goosebumps. Could Anders be here in the camp?
I know I was late crossing over. I might have forgotten to put the shrouds on the other side of the fence, but I did what he asked. I left Ryker, the only real chance I had at happiness. Wasn’t that enough?
While the others settle back in the lodging house to sleep, I sit on one of the logs around the fire. I don’t face the flames, staring at what could’ve been. I stare out into the woods, at what will be.
For months, I’ve felt something building, moving in shadows all around me; as much as I’ve tried to reason it away, hold it at bay, it’s come knocking at my door. No more hiding. No more denial.
“If you want me, come and get me,” I whisper to the woods.
The only reply is the ribbon grating against my very last nerve.
Whether it’s Anders or a ghost, I’m finally ready to face the truth.
All of it.
Long strands of hair tickle my arms.
At first, I think I’m dreaming of home, that it’s Clara and Penny crawling under the covers to wake me, but the weight is too heavy, the breath too foul. I open my eyes to find Kiersten crouched over me, the hatchet to my throat, her eyes shining like sapphires in the early-morning light.
“Why did you come back here?” she hisses in my ear.
“T-to get rid of my magic,” I stammer. “Just like you.”
As the other girls begin to gather around, Kiersten pulls the blade back, but I can almost see the wheels turning in her head—she’s grasping at memories, trying to make sense of things. She studies me in a way that makes me think she’s one tick away from remembering everything.
Getting off of me, she walks back toward the lodging house and slams the door behind her.
As I sit there, dusting off my elbows, I’m looking around trying to figure out what went wrong. They’re pretty much clean of the hemlock silt. I can see it in their eyes, and yet they’re still behaving like wild animals.
Gertie rushes over. “Here, let me help y—” Her breath halts as she stares down at me.
“My cloak,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my threadbare chemise, trying to cover myself the best I can.
“You can borrow mine,” she says, backing away from me, like she’s just seen a ghost.
“If you’re looking for Helen,” Vivi says, creeping along the perimeter, “I saw her just before dawn. She was out searching for Dovey. If you ask me, it’s about time that bird flew away. Her wing’s been fixed for months now.” She drags her hand along the branches of an evergreen, tearing off a sprig. “I don’t know why you’re always wearing that ratty thing anyways, even when it was hot as hades.”
“None of your business,” I snap. But as soon as she skitters away, I feel bad.
“Helen’s probably out by the western fence,” Gertie says as she hands me her cloak. I put it on. It’s too small for me, but it’ll do. “If you want, I can go ou—”
“I don’t have time for this,” I say as I head for the perimeter.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” I try to assure her, but inside I’m screaming. “I just want to get the last of the summer berries on the far south end of the encampment. I’ll camp in the woods tonight … be back first thing in the morning,” I say as I cross into the forest, desperate to escape her sympathetic gaze. I’m afraid I’ve already said too much … that she knows too much, but I can’t worry about that. I have bigger problems right now.
As I’m walking toward the brook, there are light quick steps behind me. My first instinct is to turn around, try to catch them in the act, but maybe that’s exactly what they want me to do. Up to this point, all I’ve done is react, and they’ve played me like an expert at marbles, sending me crashing all over the place, but I need to be smart about this.
So instead, I take a deep breath and think about where I can lead them. Where I can get an advantage. There’s a giant oak up ahead that I took refuge behind many times last winter.
Being as sly as possible, I reach down and grab a fist-sized rock. It makes me think of Laura, slipping rocks into the hems of her skirts on the way to the encampment. That was so long ago, and yet the image of her sinking to the bottom of the lake seems to be etched into the back of my eyelids. One good swing, for Laura. That’s all I need.
As I near the oak, I have to force myself not to speed up, not to let my breath get away from me. Ducking around the girth of the tree, I press my spine against the bark, waiting … hoping they take the bait.
The footsteps are getting closer.
Closer.
I haul back the rock, ready to swing, when I hear a high-pitched scream.
“Gertrude?” I exhale.
She’s standing there, eyes wider than a girl’s at her first hanging.
“You almost killed me,” she says, staring at the rock in my hand.
“What are you doing here?” I search the woods behind her. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.”
“I … I just wanted to help. I’m feeling better now … or I was.” She looks down at the trail of urine trickling over her boot.
I let out a deep sigh. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” I say as I lead her up the incline, to the brook.
“You did all this?” she says, looking at all the various ropes and contraptions I’ve set up.
“Here, put your underclothes in this,” I say, showing her the netting I’ve rigged up in the spring for wash.
Wriggling out of her bloomers, she tucks them in the water. “You’re using your veil for this?” She chuckles.
“Seemed fitting.”
“I’m sorry I fo
llowed you,” she says, “it’s just—”
“It’s for the best,” I say, checking on the birch pipe. “You need to know how to take care of yourself … the others … just in case.”
“In case of what?” She steps into my line of sight.
I try to play it off, but it’s impossible for me to lie to Gertie. My eyes start to well up, just thinking about the things I have to say to her.
“I don’t know exactly what happened to you out there,” she says, “but I know certain things…”
I pull the cloak tighter around me.
“A boy in a treehouse with cold hands and a warm heart,” she adds.
“You heard that?” I whisper.
She nods.
“Ryker…,” I say, running my hand over the deep scar on my shoulder.
A pained look crosses her face. “Did he…”
“No. He saved me … nursed me back to health.” My chin begins to tremble at the thought. “He wanted to run away with me. Start a life together.”
“Then why did you come back?” Her brow knots up.
“I have a duty—”
“Everything’s different now,” she says, taking my hands in hers. “You must know that.”
“I can’t do this right now,” I say, climbing the ridge, trying to escape her words.
“You’re running out of time,” she says.
It stops me in my tracks. That’s the same thing the girl said to me right before I met Ryker on the frozen lake.
“If it’s because of your sisters,” she says, following after me, “I can speak up for them.”
“And risk being banished to the outskirts?”
“It couldn’t be any worse than having to marry Geezer Fallow,” she says. “Exceptions can be made … especially with Michael taking over as head of the council.”
Michael. It’s been so long since I thought of him that I can hardly conjure his face. It’s like a portrait that’s been left out in the rain.
Gertie gasps when she reaches the top of the ridge. “You were telling the truth,” she says, gravitating to the stark bones.