Excerpts fantasy Read an Excerpt From A Land So Wide by Erin A. Craig Like everyone else in the settlement of Mistaken, Greer Mackenzie is trapped… By Erin A. Craig | Published on September 4, 2025 Comment 0 Share New Share We’re thrilled to share an excerpt from A Land So Wide by Erin A. Craig, a blend of dark fairy tale and romantic fantasy—available now from Pantheon. We’re also excited to offer an audio excerpt—click here to jump straight to the audio excerpt! Like everyone else in the settlement of Mistaken, Greer Mackenzie is trapped. Founded by an ambitious lumber merchant, the village is blessed with rich natural resources that have made its people prosperous—but at a cost. The same woods that have lined the townsfolks’ pockets harbor dangerous beasts: wolves, bears, and the Bright-Eyeds—monsters beyond description who have rained utter destruction down on nearby settlements. But Mistaken’s founders made a deal with the mysterious Benevolence: the Warding Stones that surround the town will keep the Bright-Eyeds out—and the town’s citizens in. Anyone who spends a night within Mistaken’s borders belongs to it forever.Greer, a mapmaker and eccentric dreamer, has always ached to explore the world outside, even though she knows she and her longtime love, Ellis Beaufort, will never see it. Until, on the day she and Ellis are meant to finally begin their lives together, Greer watches in horror as her beloved disappears beyond the Warding Stones, pursued by a monstrous creature. Determined to rescue Ellis, she figures out a way to defy Mistaken’s curse and begins a trek through the cold and pitiless wilderness. But there, Greer is hunted, not only by the ruthless Bright-Eyeds but by the secret truths behind Mistaken’s founding and her own origins. Prologue The voyage began with a whispered secret and a most peculiar piece of wood. Upon first impression, it was nothing extraordinary. Just a simple cut of log, brought back from an explorer’s journey to the new world. The whole continent was nothing but vast forests, untamed, unclaimed. Lumber was hardly a surprising resource. But this cut, this tree, was different. It was not oak or pine. It was not walnut or cherry or maple or birch. It wasn’t like anything the man had ever seen. Impressively strong. Surprisingly flexible. Impossibly light. Lumber from this tree could be fashioned into the finest fleet of ships ever known. It could create bridges that would span for miles. Houses and buildings and palaces. All would spring up like weeds and last for centuries. This was a tree that could build an empire. The man paid the explorer three times. Once, for the cut itself. A second time, for the explorer to show the man the exact place he’d found the trees. Together they crossed the sea, then a bay, then a cove. The explorer canoed them deep into the new wilderness, tracing the routes he’d marked on his maps, charting where he’d gone, where the trees grew. The man had stared with wonder at the vast forest, thousands of trees strong, thousands of gold coins in the making, and a strange hunger kindled within him. So he paid the explorer again. This time, for his silence. The explorer, gladdened by his heavy pockets, set sail once more, now heading south. He wanted to be somewhere warm enough to burn away the memories of those trees, of the dark and wild world in which they grew. Even as he basked half a world away, sun-kissed and surrounded by swaying palms, those trees made him shiver. Back at his home in the north, the man drew up a plan, put together a ship and supplies, gathered a crew and equipment. He thought through everything. He left nothing to chance. Day after day he toiled, driven more by that strange hunger, that gnawing ambition and greed. He wanted to be the first to conquer this new world, to bring it under his heel, one fallen tree at a time. The man was clever. Very, very clever. He knew that the most important piece in this endeavor was not the machinery or the blades, not the rations or the transport. The thing, the one thing that would make his schemes work, was the morale of his men. So, when he told them of this new expedition, he instructed them to pack it all. Pack their homes, bring their wives and children, their maiden aunts, their elderly parents, their sweethearts and livestock. They were meant to bring anything holding them to the old world. They would not be returning. They were on a noble mission, a greater destiny. They were bound for glories unimaginable. He spun the men stories and, starry-eyed, they followed after. Their voyage was long and hard, crossing the cold northern sea, one punishing wave at a time. Sickness claimed some of the older ones. Tears flooded the nights, the children certain they’d never see land again. Doubts crept in, stalking through the crew, taking hold of the men and their women. These doubts clouded their thoughts, corroded their hope. The man would not listen to doubts. He pressed ahead, pointing the ship west, his gaze fixed on the watery horizon. He reminded them of the wealth that awaited. He restored their dreams. For a time. When they did finally reach land, finally spotted the thick black slabs of rock rising high from the water like slumbering leviathans, any cheer the company felt withered away. They stood in an awestruck line along the ship’s starboard side, watching the ancient cliffs draw nearer, silent and grim. There was a strangeness to this land, an uncanny watchfulness that set their neck hairs at attention. This was not a land to be conquered, as the man had promised. This was a land to be feared. But the man did not heed those who wanted to turn back, who wanted to flee for the comforts of home. Instead, he pointed them up the coast, following the lines of the explorer’s maps until they reached the mouth of a vast waterway, bordered by primeval forests. They gave one last look to the sea behind them, then entered a vast bay. Rocky cliffs grew steeper, forming forbidding granite mountains. Blackflies and mosquitoes festered, swarming and hungry for flesh to feast upon. Bloodcurdling cries were carried upon fierce and howling winds. At night, the sky burst into shimmering flames that danced silently across the dark void. Women clutched their children close. Men cried and whimpered for their own mothers. In his cabin, the man studied his maps. He just needed to keep going, to lift everyone’s spirits long enough for them to see he’d done right. Once they saw the trees, they would understand. He was certain of it. The morning’s sun rose red and bloody, bringing with it the promise of storms. Angers flourished and tempers flared. Wives bickered and children wailed. Roiling clouds of thunder piled high. The air crackled with doom. They begged the man to stop, to turn around. Grown men knelt on their hands and knees. They grabbed at his clothing. They rent their own. Still, the man would not be dissuaded. The first mate was the first to whisper it, that sly, sneaking, treacherous word. Mutiny. It lit through the crew like a line of gunpowder, racing from man to man until the entire ship was clamoring for action. But then an excited cry rang out from the crow’s nest. The man’s oldest son, high aloft with a brass spyglass, had spotted them. The trees. They grew in a clustered grove along the far edge of the shore. Tall. Wide. Packed together in numbers so dense the man’s heart raced as he imagined the staggering prices he could charge. They only needed to sail their way through a narrow channel flanked by a series of rocky peaks, and the trees would be his. The man’s spirits buoyed and he laughed aloud. His ebullience was carried away on a sharp draft. The sky turned black. The wind pitched sharper, and waves climbed over the bow of the ship, heralding the storm’s approach. The mutiny would have to wait. There was no time to turn, no time to alter course. To remain on open water would lead to a most certain death. The tree-lined cove beckoned, offering the promise of protection. Without option, the first mate gritted his teeth and pointed for the narrows. They nearly made it. Just as they cleared the channel, the hull scraped against an underwater crag. The ship shuddered. Planks split apart. Brackish saltwater flooded into the lower decks. Cargo toppled over. Goats bleated in terror. Oxen and horses trampled their stall doors, fighting for their lives. Lightning flashed, and the echoing thunder boomed so loudly one man’s heart burst inside his chest. The world was noise and darkness, blinding light and fear. As the ship grew heavy with filling water, it cracked into pieces, throwing men, women, and children into the bay. Some swam. Some sank. All rued the moment they’d chosen to follow the man. The storm eventually blew east, leaving behind a sky so brilliant it looked obscene. Those still alive sputtered and pulled themselves to shore, surveying the wreckage. They took stock of their surroundings. They counted their dead. They found the man underneath one of his trees. At first he appeared to be sleeping. Then they noticed the branch jutting from his abdomen, mixing its strange red sap with his innards. His first mate touched his shoulder with caution, jarring the man awake for a moment. “This was a mistake,” he whispered, flecking his lips with blood. “Coming here was a mistake. A mistake and…” “Mistake and…” the first mate repeated, but the man did not answer. With dead eyes fixed upon his grove of trees, Resolution Beaufort’s ill-fated voyage had come to an end. Part I Mistaken If they just went straight they might go far;They are strong and brave and true;But they’re always tired of the things that are,And they want the strange and new.—Robert W. Service, “The Men That Don’t Fit In,”The Spell of the Yukon, and Other Verses 1 Scritch, scritch, scratch. Even with her face buried in a sketchbook and her back turned away from the bloody business, Greer Mackenzie could still hear every bit of Louise Beaufort slicing into the hare’s pelt, splitting a bright seam down its stomach. The flick of the knife. The wet squelch as fur peeled away from red meat and glistening sinews. Those cords of muscle stretching taunt, then snapping asunder. “Last one,” Louise announced as an eagle screeched overhead, circling them in lazy, hopeful patterns. It beat its wings against currents of air, once, twice, before drifting off for a more promising meal. The tip of Greer’s pencil dug divots into the soft paper as she doubled her concentration upon the map, forcing the noises away as she made sure her lines were tidy and accurate. “Take your time,” she said, glancing back, regrettably, to see Louise twist the rabbit’s heart free, her fingers stained with rust-colored offal. “It’s probably our last trip out before Reaping.” “A good one, too,” Louise commented, sounding distracted. “So many hares, and I’m sure your father will be pleased as well. Never seen this many Redcaps.” Greer’s gaze fell on the copse of scarlet trees, standing out starkly against the forest’s green pines and yellow tamaracks. Named after the murderous goblins found in whispered childhood tales, Redcaps were wide and squat. Their limbs spread farther out than up, as if they were monstrous spiders moving in for their prey. The red bark was thick and riddled with bulbous whorls. When it broke off, shedding jagged bits and pieces across the forest floor, a pungent scarlet sap flowed forth, raining down like blood. Gray moss clung to the creaking branches, like tufts of straggled hair. They were not attractive trees, not by half, but the wood was surprisingly strong and flexible. Perfect for lumber, for boats and buildings. It was what first drew Resolution Beaufort and his workers to this land: the whispers of bounty, the lure of untold, easy wealth. Her butchering done, Louise sat back on her feet and stretched, tipping her face to the sky. Rich amber sunlight sparkled down, turning the forest around them to flame. “That’s all I want to carry back today.” “I’ll put up the flags, then,” Greer said, pulling out the strips of cotton from her pack. They’d been taken from other trees nearly a mile back. It gave Greer a thrill to move the flags on each of their excursions, claiming more of the surrounding unknown, yard by yard, bite by bite. She loved knowing that, even though she might be stuck behind Mistaken’s border each night, there were small pieces of her remaining out in the wild, tiny scraps of defiance that would not budge, that were not subject to the Warding Stones’ pull. The markers were made of blue-and-white ticking, their stripes bold and unmissable—perfect for warning any travelers from Mistaken that they were about to venture too deep into the forest, that they wouldn’t be able to return before sunset. Anyone who went blithely by those bright strips of fabric needed to know they weren’t coming back. Alive, at least. Greer tied them along these new Redcaps, careful to keep her fingers from the sap. When brushed against skin, it caused painful rashes, burning as bright as the trees themselves. She jotted the flags’ new positions along her map, adding the marks to the others running along the ridge’s curve. She glanced at the sun’s position before turning to her friend. “All packed? Only a couple hours till First Bellows.” Buy the Book A Land So Wide Erin A. Craig Buy Book A Land So Wide Erin A. Craig Buy this book from: AmazonBarnes and NobleiBooksIndieBoundTarget Autumn had toppled heavily over the land, the night nibbling in earlier each day, swallowing up more seconds of sunshine, and leaving Mistaken in a shroud of hazy twilight by mid-afternoon. Soon the sun wouldn’t even bother to rise, leaving them in the clutched fist of unending night, trapped inside the town’s Warding Stones, hunkered down against winter’s fury. Greer didn’t mind the cold, didn’t mind the dark, but the weight of the cove’s limits pressed down in those long stationary months, flattening any potential joys or cheer. She could already feel the serpentine squeeze of claustrophobic dread tightening around her, as binding as shackles. She rubbed her hands over her forearms with brisk efficiency, stirring her blood as she tried to think on better things. “Are you going to the barn warming tonight?” Louise shrugged without commitment. She tied the hare to her rucksack, letting it join two others, already cleaned. The pelt went inside the bag, but as she reached for the organs, Greer stopped her. “Wait. Aren’t you leaving those?” Louise’s hazel eyes darted past the flags; her face was cloudy with hesitation. “I wasn’t planning on it.” Her voice was careful, the words delicately formed. “It’s not yet Reaping.” It wasn’t, but lacy patterns of hoarfrost stretched fingers over the little pond behind the Mackenzies’ cabin, and Greer’s breath lingered in frosty puffs even throughout the afternoon’s warmth. Great flocks of black-and-white geese had long since flown for warmer climes, and golden stalks of wheat rustled and whispered against one another, nearly driving Greer mad with their secrets. The farmers’ silencing scythes couldn’t come soon enough. The Benevolence would soon descend from their colony high up in the Severing Mountains. Some might already be here. Greer reached out to stop Louise, her fingers covering the bloody bits. “Just these, then. Please?” Irritation flushed over Louise’s face, nearly drowning out her stain of freckles. “Louise,” Greer persisted. She could feel the discontent building between them, like a wall grown taller with every stone her friend dropped in place. Louise pressed her lips together, and Greer could tell she was struggling to hold back a mouthful of sharp words. “You’re right, it’s not Reaping,” Greer tried again, gently, quick to avoid confrontation if she could. “But… we shouldn’t give only when it’s expected. All this”—she gestured to the trees, to the rabbit— “it’s a gift. Their gift to us. We should be grateful for it.” Louise snorted. “You sound just like Martha.” A blossom of pride swelled in Greer’s chest—she adored the older woman who’d lived with their family since she was a small babe—even as she realized Louise hadn’t meant it as a compliment. Still, she held her gaze with firm resolution, refusing to be the first to back down. After their silence grew thorny, Louise turned, facing the forest beyond the flags, and offered out a deep and disingenuous curtsy. “Thank you for the rabbits I had to catch and kill and clean myself. It was very good of you to let me work so hard. I’m wildly grateful,” she called out, her voice mincing. “Stop it!” Greer hissed, disappointed. “What if they hear you?” Louise choked on laughter. “It’s only you and me. No Benevolence. No Bright-Eyeds. There are no people in this valley for miles all around us.” “Maybe not here, right here,” Greer sputtered, swallowing back the urge to remind her that the Bright-Eyeds were not people at all. “But there”—her hand rose toward the Redcaps, toward the flags— “they’re out there. All of them,” she added. “They’re not real!” Louise said, laying out each word with heavy care. “They’re nothing but stupid stories to scare children at bedtime.” Greer glanced into the deeper forest, her eyes darting as she tried to catch a telltale glimpse of eye-shine, certain Louise had just brought perdition down upon them. “You don’t mean that.” Louise was always poking at things she shouldn’t, eager to argue, quick to show that she wouldn’t fall into line just because the rules dictated she should. She loved saying startling things to see how people would respond, only ever redacting them when given a sharp look from her older brother. But Ellis Beaufort wasn’t with them now. Louise licked her lips. “What if I do?” “You’re just acting like…” Greer sighed, tossing the last of her words away, ready for the conversation to be over. For the first time in her life, she wished she could snap her fingers and instantly return to Mistaken. It was bound to be a miserable hike home with Louise in such a contrary and foul mood. “What? What am I acting like?” “A fool!” The words fell free before Greer could stop them. She reached out, intending to console her friend, hoping to smooth the abrasion over, but Louise looked anything but wounded. She stared at Greer with a mix of disdain and pity and let out a bark of laughter. “That’s a fine accusation coming from a grown woman worrying about the monsters under her bed, leaving out trinkets and treasures, trying to buy approval. Do you ever stop to consider how foolish you act?” “The gratitudes aren’t foolish.” Louise shook her head, bristling. “They’re a waste! So much food and resources left to rot out in the woods. Do you know how even a fraction of that could benefit families in the village? Could benefit my family?” “They’re not left to rot. The offerings are always taken. There’s never a single one left,” Greer snapped, though she knew she was skirting around the uncomfortable truth. There were families in Mistaken whose gratitudes were a hardship, families who missed the extra bushel of apples, the side of venison, the bags of flour in the dark months of winter. The Beauforts certainly. But the gifts returned to the town well outweighed such a minor cost. They had the Warding Stones. They had the Benevolence’s favor. No other outpost up or down the coast could claim such fortune. Louise sighed. “There are a thousand things in these woods ready to snatch up whatever is left on the altars. Ospreys and kites, martens and lynx. Black bears. Foxes. Wolves. I…” She trailed off with a strangled noise of frustration. “The Benevolence is not what takes them. In all the years since our supposed truce, no one has ever seen a hint of them. Because they’re not there,” she spelled out. “Then who is protecting us from the Bright-Eyeds?” Louise rolled her eyes. “Those aren’t real, either.” Horror unfurled in Greer’s stomach, making her queasy and sick. “But they…! Of course they are! Martha has seen them. They killed her entire family.” Louise had the decency to look uncomfortable. “We don’t know what killed them. We never saw it.” “What about the survivors from the other towns? They all say the same thing. You know their stories as well as I do,” Greer said, imagining the bloody chaos, the cries for help, the sky shattering into violence. “Stories told by the men in charge. Men who have a vested interest in keeping everyone on edge so that they’ll be better listened to, so they’ll be better obeyed. Men like Hessel Mackenzie.” “What does my father have to do with any of this?” Louise pinched the bridge of her nose, smearing rabbit blood across her face. It made her look wild and feral. “How do you not see it?” “See what?” Greer could feel anxiety thrumming within her, could hear the racing cadence of both her heart and Louise’s. The air between them felt charged and heavy, like in the moment just before a thunderstorm crested the mountaintops, ready to unleash its torrents. Greer was bewildered by how quickly her insistence on today’s gratitudes had turned into such a tangled, barbed mess. “Our differences! The way you came trampling through the woods today in a dress nicer than my Sunday finest. The way you can carelessly leave an entire dinner behind on a tree stump. The way I’ve been foraging and hunting and trying to store up my family’s winter rations while you spend the whole day messing about in that damned book of yours, doodling pictures and notes and maps that will never matter!” Greer’s mouth dropped, stung by the harsh words, stung that they’d come from her best friend. She turned, unable to take the weight of Louise’s fervent glare, and crossed her arms, holding back the tears that wanted to come. Only then did Louise soften. “Greer, I didn’t mean that.” Her spine stiffened with resolve. “You said we were sharing today’s hunt.” “I say that every trip,” Louise began uneasily. “You never take me up on it.” “I am today. I’ll leave my share as a token.” Louise huffed with disbelief. “Are you… are you in earnest?” Though it pained her, Greer kept still. After a long, taut moment, Louise cast the organs to the ground, letting them land near Greer’s feet. With a snarl of disgust, she grabbed her bag and stalked off. Greer glanced back in time to see the flayed rabbits swinging from Louise’s rucksack like broken marionettes. “Louise,” she started, but her friend had already disappeared into a thicket. To Greer, each footfall was as loud as cannon fire, reverberating down her sternum and making her heart ache. She wished Louise would come back. She wished Louise would come and apologize. They’d lay out the tokens and go home, their friendship cleanly restored. Though they’d certainly fought before—they’d been best friends since they were schoolgirls—the fights had always been small and incidental. Squabbles over dolls, hurt feelings on summer afternoons when the weather was hot enough to spark anyone’s temper. The week of silence after Louise learned Ellis had kissed Greer on the little footbridge spanning Curstag Creek. Greer hadn’t told Louise, because she knew it would upset her, and because, after over a decade of sharing every single thought with her friend, it felt delicious to keep one small thing for herself. But this fight felt different. They weren’t little girls anymore, fighting over hair ribbons or secrets. They were grown—Greer twenty-seven and Louise twenty-two— and these stakes were higher, these words were crueler. Still, Greer waited, certain her wishes would come true. But as seconds turned to minutes, Greer’s hope began to wither. Giving up, she glanced to the line of flags shifting in the listless breeze. “She didn’t mean that,” Greer called loudly, ready to catch the attention of whoever, whatever might be listening. She sighed. “I’m sure she didn’t mean any of that.” As if in response, the forest fell silent, the quietest it had been all afternoon. Greer scooped up the scattered organs before ducking under the branches of the Redcaps and stepping past the flags to search for the right altar. She could tell the exact moment she’d crossed over, slipping into an untouched world, alien and new and unmarked on any of her maps. She was the first person of Mistaken to stand upon this ground, so far from home, so far from the Stones’ hold. She took in a deep breath, basking in the sensation. But even as the wonder coursed through her, as heady as a shot of Fenneck O’Connell’s best whiskey, she noticed footprints pressed deep into the spongy moss all about her. Greer blinked, certain the impressions were a trick of the heavy afternoon sun. They remained. She stooped down, inspecting them with her artist’s eye. They’d been made by feet bare and too big. Too irregularly shaped. Her mouth dried as she counted just two toes per print. Greer knew the woods around Mistaken as well as her own cabin. Her mother, Ailie Mackenzie, had taught her every kind of tree that grew there and every type of animal who roamed its depths. But she could not think of a single one that boasted only two toes. This was it. This was a sign. Louise was wrong. The Benevolence was real, as were the dreadful Bright-Eyeds they protected Mistaken from. Unable to show her friend this irrefutable proof, Greer wanted to howl in frustration. From somewhere deep in the woods, a branch cracked, and her heart seized as she suddenly realized she was alone in the woods with whatever had made such enormous two-toed tracks. “The tokens,” she whispered in a rush. “Find an altar, set the tokens, and go home. The Benevolence will be grateful. The Benevolence will bless your endeavor.” The words fell from her in rote succession, instinctive turns of phrase Martha had spent years drilling into her. Greer stopped at the first fallen tree she came across, a long length of birch, its papery bark curling back to reveal spiky clusters of combtooth mushrooms. Their white branches were as jagged as vertebrae. She knelt and placed her fingers along the tree, pausing for a moment of genuflection before beginning her task. Though Martha had given her the words and ways that would be most pleasing to the Benevolence, it was Ailie who had taught Greer to offer reverence for the land and all the marvels it held. Much of Greer’s childhood had been spent exploring the wilds with Ailie. During each journey, they would find somewhere to pause for a moment of reflection. They’d kneel down, skirts pooling together, and the wind would carry away their whispers, tangling them so tightly they sounded as if they’d come from the same person. Martha’s practices inclined more toward pageantry: laying out the viscera just so, making sure her entreaties held the appropriate note of awestruck fervor, keeping everything rigid and orderly, familiar and routine. But Ailie had been infused with a profound sense of wonder, urged to see more, learn more, experience more. She’d believed the only way to show true appreciation was to take what was given, to wander as far as the Warding Stones would allow, basking in the world’s messy glory, reveling within it, and allowing the wild pounding of her blood to be its own sort of prayer. Greer’s faith was a blend of both women’s teachings. She could almost feel their hands on hers now, telling her to stop and feel the textured warmth of the tree bark, guiding her as she arranged a tableau of offerings, ghoulish and macabre. A string of intestines. A liver. Kidneys. The heart. They were covered in dirt after having been cast aside by Louise, and Greer wiped them clean as best she could. When she was pleased with the arrangement, she sat back, scanning the darker depths of pines. She cleared her throat, feeling her voice waver even before she spoke. “With gratitude and thanks, I leave these tokens as an offering for thee.” Every hair on the back of Greer’s neck stood at attention, attuned and ready. “May they be of good use and bring you great pleasure.” She held her breath, wondering if today she’d finally hear the Benevolence’s answer. She waited, watching for any sense of movement, any stirring however small. But it wouldn’t be small, would it? She glanced to the right. The tracks were big, so, so big… Then to the left. Two toes, what has two toes? The spruces’ trunks remained in place, unfaltering and still. The tamaracks’ glow dimmed, and the surrounding woods grew darker. Closer. Was the dying light due to an approaching storm, a bank of clouds rolling down from the mountains high above? The falling night? Was it the Benevolence? Or, worse yet… the monsters they held back? The woods waited, stubbornly refusing to offer up its secrets. Greer kept her eyes fixed on the garish lumps staining the tree bark before her. She could be stubborn, too. But as she knelt, waiting in a moment drawn too long, Greer felt it, the falling of the sun, the pull of Mistaken. The Stones tugged on her bones like a fisherman testing a catch on his line. Gentle for now, but persistent. Greer had counted her footsteps today, as she always did when she slipped past the town’s boundary. Ten thousand paces, give or take. Nearly five miles. It would take her more than two hours to return. At least. She had enough time before First Bellows. Just barely. She could wait a moment more. Another minute. Surely, she could last another minute. When the strain grew again, tugging at her with unchecked doggedness, Greer gave up and stood, certain that the moment she turned, the trees would come to life, stooping forward to snatch up her gifts. Greer blew strands of dark hair from her eyes and rubbed her fingers together. They were smudged sticky from the offering. She’d wash them at the first creek she came across. Martha would never let her hear the end of it if she returned home looking like the butcher’s apprentice. Now that Greer’s feet were pointed back toward Mistaken, her lungs released a breath of air, momentarily free of the incessant pressure drawing at her body. She gathered her supplies, but paused before she could roll up the map. She’d been so proud of it before Louise’s hateful words had bitten in, poisoning its joy. She studied the clean lines, the accurate scale, the series of checks marking each copse of Redcaps they’d come across. It was good work, Greer knew that. With resolve, she rolled the map into a tight scroll and tucked it into the satchel carefully. She wouldn’t let Louise taint it. She’d stop at the mill and show it to Ayaan Adair, her father’s second in command. He was certain to be pleased. As she eased the satchel’s strap over her head, something from the periphery of her vision shifted, a pale slip of movement sliding through the trees. Stealthily. Soundlessly. Greer strained her ears, baffled by the silence. For as long as she could remember, Greer Mackenzie had heard things. Big things, small things. Things improbable. Things most impossible. The beating of wings far overhead, conversations from the wrong side of the room, flakes of snow landing upon branches deep behind her home. Sometimes she feared she could make out the heartbeats of every person within Mistaken, tiny, relentless pulses of life demanding to be acknowledged. She didn’t know why or how, only that it was a truth she could not escape. So why were the woods so still now? A sudden terror staked into her middle. She could feel it pressing close, as suffocating as a damp blanket: the eerie weight of the uncanny. Strands of her hair danced by her ear, swaying as if someone had softly exhaled just behind her, but she was too scared to turn. Too scared to see. Something had crept up behind her, and she’d heard nothing. The impossibility was too dreadful to bear. Greer scrunched her eyes closed, unwittingly conjuring up images wild and fantastic. Demons and monsters too horrifying to believe. Trees that could move soundlessly through the forest like a wisp of mist. Trees with shining eyes. Trees with two toes. Trees with long, knobby fingers reaching out to scrape her bare neck… “Hello, little Starling.” Her eyes flashed open. She’d heard that. Hadn’t she? A voice, low and beguiling. Just behind her shoulder. A voice, as real as her own. Greer licked her lips. She wasn’t going to look. She couldn’t bear to look. Except… When her resolve slipped and she whipped around, the forest was still, and her offerings were gone. Listen to an Audio Excerpt PRH Audio · Listen to an excerpt from A LAND SO WIDE by Erin A. Craig, excerpt read by Cecily Bednar Schmidt PRH Audio · Listen to an excerpt from ‘A LAND SO WIDE’ by Erin A. Craig, excerpt read by Cecily Bednar Schmidt Excerpted from A Land So Wide by Erin A. Craig. Reprinted by permission of Pantheon Books, an imprint of the Knopf Doubleday Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Random House LLC. Copyright © 2025 by Erin A. Craig. The post Read an Excerpt From <i>A Land So Wide</i> by Erin A. Craig appeared first on Reactor.