Ailie had always praised her endeavors, calling Greer her little scout and urging her to explore new areas. On lazy spring days, she’d pack them picnic lunches and they’d bravely march into the unknown, searching for a stream to follow or a rocky outcrop to measure.
Martha hated their trips, and went on long diatribes about the foolishness of leaving the safety of Mistaken’s borders. Shortly before Greer’s birth, Martha and two other women had wandered into town, reeling from shock, starvation, and blood loss. They’d come from asmall settlement in the north, an outpost along the coast that had been destroyed when a group of Bright-Eyeds attacked, killing nearly everyone.
It had been an arduous seven-day journey for the women, who’d been drawn to Mistaken after hearing whispered tales of a cursed village kept wholly safe from the monsters of the woods by a ring of strange stones. They’d come and stayed within the borders as the sun set, deciding that a life of being penned by those protective stones was far preferable to taking their chances in the wilds.
Martha did everything she could to persuade Hessel to forbid Ailie and Greer’s daily wanderings, but when Greer discovered a new grove of Redcaps—a find more lucrative than anything the mill’s scouts had come across—the matter was settled.
When Greer was old enough to venture beyond the Warding Stones without her mother, she took her maps and wrote down every bit of the journey, inch by inch. Ailie would study them each night, with a proud smile curving her full lips. Hessel would scan them, making gruff noises of approval as he noted each new Redcap.
Slowly, the vast wilderness surrounding Mistaken became a little more known, a little less feared.
Quickly, Greer had filled her bedroom, hanging her maps over every bit of wall space until they were layered ten deep, the stacks too heavy to be held up by tacks. Every so often they’d fall, fluttering to the floor like so much confetti.
Greer’s gaze drifted to the front room, where the new map remained, still tucked into her satchel. “I thought all the new trees would please Ayaan and Father, but…”
Martha glanced up from her work, and her dark-brown eyes softened with understanding as they met Greer’s. “They’ll want to see it. Later. Show them later.”
Greer nodded.
Martha removed a piece of cloth covering the dish at her elbow to reveal a mound of resting dough. “Start the sauce, won’t you?”
Carrots and celery were at the end of the table. Greer picked up the longest, greenest stalk and held it thoughtfully. “Martha…” She trailed off, the question on her lips too terrible to finish.
The older woman grunted as she spread out the dough, urging her to go on.
Greer started chopping the celery into even slices and the steady rhythm of the knife helped set her thoughts in order. “Have you ever heard the Benevolence?”
Martha made a strangetsk-ing noise that was somehow both laughter and admonishment. “Did you take a tumble in the woods today? Strike your head on something? What a question.”
“No!” Greer set the knife aside, irritation flickering within her. “Not heardofthem. Heardthem. Have you everheard them?”
Martha frowned. “Heard them what?”
Greer hesitated. “Speak.”
An unbearably long moment spread between them, and Greer wished she could seize her words back.
“Have you?” Martha finally asked, carefully, cautiously. “Heard them speak?”
Greer squirmed under her watchful gaze. “I…I don’t know. I thought…when I was in the woods before, I thought I heard…well, I thought I heard something.”
“Louise,” Martha supplied. “Could it have been Louise?”
“It didn’t sound like her. It sounded…” She paused, remembering the slippery hiss. “It sounded wrong, somehow.”
“Wrong,” Martha echoed.
“Not…” She sucked in a breath. “Not human. It must have been one of them, don’t you think? It’s nearly Reaping. They must be somewhere nearby.”
“No one has seen the Benevolence since the truce was made, so many years ago,” Martha reminded Greer, her cadence worn and familiar. “But they protect us still. That’s all we can ever hope for. To wish to see or hear them…” She swallowed and shook her head. “We should not seek such things.”
“Then was it…them?”
It made Greer uncomfortable even to speak their name. The Bright-Eyeds were things dredged from the darkest of nightmares, feral monsters of legend and myth turned flesh. Some said they could control the weather, bringing about raging storms and damaging winds.Others said they could change shape, taking whatever form best suited their needs: fangs and claws one moment, winged membranes and talons the next. But everyone agreed that their hunger—for meat, for blood, for utter destruction—was insatiable, and that, should you be unlucky enough to catch their shining eyes, nothing would stop them from destroying everything you held dear.
Nothing but the Benevolence.
Nothing but their Stones.
