Excerpt from The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

Vardø is an island, the harbour like a bite taken out of one side, the other shores too high or rocky for boats to be launched. Maren learnt nets before she learnt hurt, weather before she learnt love. In summer her mother's hands are speckled with the tiny stars of fish scales, flesh hung out to salt and dry like white drapes of baby's swaddling, or else wrapped in reindeer skins and buried to rot.

Pappa used to say that the sea was the shape of their lives. They have always lived by its grace, and long have they died on it. But the storm has made it an enemy, and there is brief talk of leaving.

"I have family in Alta," says Gerda. "There is land and work enough, there."

"The storm did not reach so far?" asks Sigfrid.

"We will hear soon," says Kirsten. "I imagine they'll send word from Kiberg—the storm must surely have struck there." "My sister will get a message to me," nods Edne. "She has three horses, and it is only a day's ride."

"And a rough crossing," says Kirsten. "The sea is still fierce. We must allow them time to reach us."

Maren listens as others talk of Varanger, or more outland- ishly, Tromsø, as if any of them could imagine life in a city, so far away. There is a small disagreement about who would take the reindeer for transport, for they belonged to Mads Petersson, who drowned alongside Toril's husband and sons. Toril seems to think this gives her some standing over them, but when Kirsten announces she will care for the herd no one argues. Maren can't imagine starting a fire, let alone keeping a herd of high-strung beasts through the winter. Toril likely thinks the same, for she drops her claim as quickly as she took it up.

Eventually the talk falters, finishes. Nothing is decided except that they will wait for word from Kiberg, and send for it if it does not arrive before the week is out.

"Until then, it is best to meet daily at kirke," says Kirsten, and Toril nods fervently, in agreement for once. "We must watch for each other. The snows seem on their way out, but there 's no telling."

"Watch for whales," says Toril, and the light hits her face so Maren can see the bones work beneath her skin. She looks ominous, and Maren wants to laugh. She bites down on the tender spot on her tongue.

There is no more talk of leaving. Walking down the hill homewards, Mamma clinging so tightly it makes her arm ache, Maren wonders if the other women feel as she does: bound to the place now more than ever. Whale or no whale, sign or not, Maren was witness to the death of forty men. Now some- thing in her is tied to this land, as tied as she is trapped.

Excerpted from The Mercies by Kiran Millwood Hargrave. Copyright © 2020 by Kiran Millwood Hargrave. Excerpted by permission of Little Brown & Company. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.