I tried to imagine such devastation. “That’s terrible.”
“We made it through, though.” Griffin stared off across the fields. “Pa said we had to put our faith in God. We prayed together every night and every morning, and if he ever doubted the Creator would fail us, he never showed it. And eventually the grasshoppers left. Rail cars came from the east, carrying the food we needed to survive, and enough grain to plant for the next year.”
“But wouldn’t God have created the grasshoppers as well?” Christine asked dubiously.
“Christine, please,” Iskander said.
“I’m only saying—”
“Yes, dearest, we know what you’re saying.”
Griffin stiffened suddenly and pointed. “There’s an arcane line! It must be the same one we crossed over before coming into town. I never imagined there was one so close to the farm.”
My heart plummeted and my palms grew damp. Of course there was a line. It made sense, didn’t it? How else was the damnable maelstrom to exert its will on the unwary?
Griffin had lived here his entire childhood, unaware of the arcane magic flowing through the earth. He’d escaped to Chicago without it harming him...and then returned, marked by the umbra, to be collected.
God.
“Fascinating.” Christine peered in the direction Griffin pointed, as though she might suddenly perceive it as well. “I do wish we knew more about these arcane lines. Do they all connect in some fashion? If we followed this one, would it eventually lead us to Widdershins?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It hardly matters, at any rate.”
It did matter, of course. Very much.
Iskander had risen to his knees to look as well. Now a frown creased his brown brow. “I say, is that...green?”
As we drew closer, it became apparent he was right. In contrast to the withered fields we’d passed through, those on the horizon appeared to be thriving.
“Mr. Reynolds did say the farm was doing well,” Christine said with a frown. “But this is more of a contrast than I’d expected.”
Even from a distance, the difference could not have been more stark. The fields we’d passed had only withered brown and yellow stalks, stunted to knee height at best. But the Kerr fields boasted a literal wall of green, towering far overhead, save where the harvest had already removed stalks heavy with ripened corn.
“There’s the house,” Griffin said, indicating a structure at the edge of the verdant fields. Then a deep frown suddenly creased his face. “That windmill—not the one near the house, but further back. It wasn’t there before.”
“I imagine much will have changed in the four years since you left,” I said sympathetically.
He made a negating motion. “It isn’t that. It’s the windmill’s location. Perhaps I’m wrong, but I think it must be near the fallow spot, if not in it.”
“Bloody hell,” Iskander said, sitting back. “The drilling equipment in the photographs. Could the Fideles have been seeking artifacts of the masters under the guise of drilling new wells to combat the drought?”
“There’s a second one.” Griffin pointed. “If I remember where the boundaries were, it’s near the poor farm.” Fear sparked in his eyes. “Do you think the water could have some sort of contamination?”
“I doubt it,” I said dubiously. “It seems clear from the writing on the photo that the Fideles were looking for the transferal sphere. Whatever the sphere’s original purpose, it seems innocuous enough now. And if the water was contaminated, surely the crops wouldn’t be thriving as they are.”
A mailbox sat on a post to one side of the dusty road. Griffin halted the mules beside it and stared down the track leading to a large farmhouse. Wash flapped on the line to one side, and a weathered windmill turned slowly near a barn.
“Is this it?” I asked. He nodded.
I studied it with a new eye. This was where he’d grown to manhood. The place that had shaped him, as Widdershins had shaped me.
Well. Not so literally in his case, I assumed.
“Should one of us come with you?” I couldn’t imagine what he must feel at the moment. His mother, whom he hadn’t seen for three years, was likely in that very house. Would he wish to confront her alone, or with someone at his side?
“Someone ought to,” Christine said. “Griffin’s already been attacked twice.”
“No.” He straightened his shoulders. “I’ll be fine. And if for some reason I’m not, I have my revolver with me. If you hear me fire a shot, take it as a signal for help.”
I didn’t like it, but I nodded. “As you wish.”
“In the meantime, why don’t the rest of you inspect the area where the artifact was found?” he suggested. “As Iskander suggested, the windmill must be on the very spot. You can cut through the corn field to get there.”
I didn’t like leaving him to face Nella alone...but my presence would hardly help the situation. “All right.”
Griffin passed the reins to Christine. “I’ll join you at the well in the fallow spot,” he said, swinging down from the driver’s seat.
I caught his hand. “Griffin...”
He cast me a smile. “Don’t worry, my dear. I assure you, last night you gave me something to remember you by today, even while we’re apart.”
I blushed furiously. Iskander looked fixedly away, but Christine laughed aloud.
“There you have it,” she said, and urged the mules forward. I glanced back in Griffin’s direction, but his form had already been lost behind a cloud of dust.
Chapter 11
Griffin
I walked slowly up the lane to the house, my heart pounding in my throat. The structure sported a fresh coat of bright, white paint. The warm sunlight beat down on me, and every step stirred up dust from the rutted lane. In the distance, the corn field created a wall of green stretching off in the direction of the fallow spot.
I’d grown up believing the barren place cursed. We didn’t plant the corn too close, even though it meant leaving a strip of empty land between the fallow place and our crop. No one would risk putting a well there, lest whatever unknown poison kept anything from growing in the spot leech into the water.
Ma must have been desperate to let anyone drill there for water, let alone use it to irrigate the crops.
The farm seemed unnaturally silent as I walked up to the house. There came no barking of dogs. No cluck of chickens. Not even the meow of a barn cat come to investigate the new arrival.
We’d always had dogs to chase away predators, or hunt prairie chickens, or warn of visitors. And of course we kept a healthy clowder to keep the mice out of the grain. Even if Vernon had decided against raising chickens for eggs or cows for milk, he’d surely have kept the dogs and cats.
So where were they?
Movement caught my attention. A woman made for the small garden meant to provide vegetables for the house. Although she was too far away for me to make out her face beneath her bonnet, her posture straightened when she spotted me. Before I could call a greeting, she turned and ran in the direction of the fields.
No doubt she meant to fetch the men of the household. Lawrence had spoken of prowlers—perhaps she deemed it better to be safe than sorry.
Then the front door opened, and I forgot all about her when Ma stepped out on the porch.
More lines of care lay on Ma’s face than when I’d last seen her. We’d been in the park in Widdershins, with Whyborne and my cousin Ruth. I’d spent the visit keeping alive my parents’ hope I might marry Ruth. So as not to disappoint them too prematurely, I’d invited her for a carriage ride around the park.
I’d been an idiot, asking Ival to come to such an outing, forcing him to watch me pretend to court Ruth. I’d stupidly assumed he’d know it was all a sham—and that, even knowing, it wouldn’t break his heart.
Then cultists had attacked us, and the fact that I’d been lying about our living arrangements came to light. Pa ordered Ma and Ruth back to the hotel, and
I’d been so frantic over Whyborne I hadn’t even thought to look at Ma. To get one last glimpse of her face.
I blinked, and the arcane line glowed faintly in the distance in my shadowsight, cutting a path through the fields and curving not far from the house. But Ma...
She was just an old woman. No sign of corruption on her skin at all, and I half wanted to collapse with the relief of it.
“Griffin?” she whispered, and sagged against the doorframe. News of our arrival might have spread to folk in the town like the mayor, but it clearly hadn’t yet reached the far flung houses.
“Hello, Ma.” I wanted to say more, but my throat constricted impossibly. I came to a halt at the bottom of the porch steps, unsure of my welcome.
She put a hand to the bodice of the faded gingham dress she wore. “Has something happened to Ruth?”
“No.” I chanced the steps. I ached to hug her, to feel her arms go around me, but she didn’t move from the doorway. “Ruth is fine. Can I...can I come in?”
Hope sparked in her eyes. “Oh, Griffin...have you come back to us?”
It seemed an odd way to put it. “I never wanted to leave.”
Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she finally embraced me. I returned the hug, holding her tight. She felt so frail, hollowed out by the slow weight of years and the hard life of a farmer’s wife. I breathed deep and smelled baking bread and dried lavender, and my heart ached with the familiarity of it all.
Eventually, she pulled back and wiped her eyes with the corner of her apron. “Look at me, being all silly,” she said with a little laugh. “Come in. You must be hungry—I’ll get you some biscuits and a bit of sausage to hold you until lunch.”
The house seemed so much smaller than it had before. A lump formed in my throat at the sight of Pa’s old chair in the sitting room, the table and chairs Ma proudly ordered from a catalog, the worn spinning wheel she’d spent so many nights working while Pa read to us from the Bible.
I followed her to the kitchen. “Sit down; sit down,” Ma said, ushering me to the table. “I’ll just get that biscuit.”
How many times had I sat here as a child, eating what she cooked for me? Biscuits and eggs, beans cooked with pork fat, bread with fresh churned butter. An apple pie every year on my birthday.
Tears threatened, and I fought against them. If I’d come here to find her corrupted by some horrible magic...but I hadn’t.
And she hadn’t turned me away, but brought me inside. Welcomed me home. The only thing that could have made this moment better would have been if Pa were alive.
“I’m so glad you’ve come back,” she said, tears choking her voice. She put a biscuit, no doubt left over from breakfast, on a plate along with the promised sausage.
“So am I.” I caught her hand when she set the plate in front of me. “Sit down. Let me talk to you.”
She swallowed thickly and nodded. “Just let me pour us some coffee, then.”
I took a bite of the biscuit, washed it down with the coffee. “You remembered how I take my coffee,” I said.
“Of course I do.” She sat beside me, looking at me as though she couldn’t believe I was here. “You’re my son.”
Had she feared I was angry with her? Had she only been waiting for my return, afraid to reach out first after my falling out with Pa? “I’ve missed you, too,” I said.
She gave me a tearful smile. “Oh, Griffin, I prayed this day would come. God has truly smiled on this family. First the harvest, and now you.”
A thread of unease touched me, but I pushed it away. “I saw the fields, though only in the distance. It appears you’ve escaped the ravages of the drought.”
“I should’ve known it was a sign.” She glanced at the cross hanging on the wall and smiled. “The drought was awful. Our corn looked as bad as the rest. But then Vernon had the idea of putting in the new well—and to think I tried to talk him out of it!”
“Why?”
She laughed, as if amused by her former self. “Foolishness. He wanted to put it in the fallow place, and I told him no, the earth there is poison. But he insisted.”
Vernon had the idea...or had the Fideles put it in his head? They would have needed someone’s permission to drill on the property, after all. “What happened?”
“A miracle.” Her eyes shone. “Within days—hours—the corn had completely revived. Green and growing faster than I’ve ever seen it in all my years. It should have been too late in the season for it to flourish the way it did, but...well, see for yourself! We’re going to have a bumper crop.” She glanced again at the cross. “Vernon put his faith in God’s inspiration, ignored my doubt, and was rewarded.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” I said, though I wasn’t certain of it at all. The artifact from the well had been some creation of the masters. Perhaps whatever deep aquifer it came from had some ancient sorcery laid on it, to make the water more nourishing than ordinary. If so, at least for once the masters’ spells seemed to be doing good rather than harm.
“Our prayers were answered once,” she said. “And now mine have been again. Oh Griffin—after what your Pa said you’d done—I never thought you’d return. I should have had faith that God would change your heart and lead you away from a path of sin.”
Realization crashed down over me. She thought I’d returned for good. Given up my life in Widdershins, given up men.
Given up my Ival.
“Marian won’t be too pleased at first,” she was saying, “but she’ll come around. Just give her time. This will be a new beginning for us all.”
“Ma, I’m not—”
Through the open window drifted the sound of Whyborne shouting my name.
Chapter 12
Whyborne
“What the devil is wrong with these mules?” Christine grumbled.
She’d driven the wagon farther down the road, to a point where the corn grew almost to the dusty track. Part of the field had been cut already; in the distance, men guided some sort of steam driven harvesting machine. As we drew closer to the remaining wall of green stalks, the mules began to slow, ignoring the flick of the reins. Now they tossed their heads, and one seemed to be attempting to back up in its traces.
“Something must have frightened them,” Iskander said, baffled.
“Wolves?” I hazarded. “Are there wolves here?”
“This close to town?” Iskander seemed dubious.
I looked at the emptiness all around us, save for the scattered farmhouses. “It isn’t that close.”
“Whatever has them spooked, we don’t have time for it,” Christine replied. “We need to take a look at the area around the well, and do so quickly, in case Griffin’s mother decides she doesn’t want the likes of us on her property.”
I very much hoped Christine was wrong, for Griffin’s sake. Even if Nella would never approve of my presence in his life, perhaps she could at least unbend enough to renew their relationship.
Then I’d tell him the truth, and he would stay here, in Fallow. Safe, or at least safer. And I’d go home alone.
We tied the unhappy mules to the fence, before climbing over and into the field. “We should walk along the irrigation channel,” Iskander said, indicating a long, low ditch filled with water. It ran between walls of tall, green corn, each stalk burgeoning with tasseled ears. “That way we won’t disturb the corn.”
“And it will keep us out of sight of the harvesters,” Christine agreed.
The air immediately cooled as we entered the field. The smell of green sap and damp earth saturated my lungs with every breath, so very different from the fish and salt of home.
Iskander dropped back to walk with me while Christine strode ahead. “I know this must be difficult for you,” he said in a low voice. “When Christine’s parents disowned her for marrying me, I couldn’t help but feel, well, guilty.”
I winced. “I imagine that was quite the family visit.” Christine had brought Iskander to Philadelphia to meet her parents, without fi
rst mentioning to them that he was half Egyptian. The color of his skin had not met with their approval.
“I’ve never seen Christine so angry,” Iskander agreed. “She and her mother are much alike in temperament—although good heavens, don’t tell her I said so! Her mother had been, ah, imbibing. Things went very wrong very quickly.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“No, no.” Iskander waved me off. “I only mean to say I sympathize with your situation. It isn’t easy knowing you cost the one you love most in the world their family.”
I’d cost Christine a great deal more than that, assuming the maelstrom had collected her. And why wouldn’t it have chosen the most brilliant archaeologist in a generation?
“Yes,” I said quietly. “It isn’t easy at all.”
The field seemed to stretch on endlessly. Sweat beaded on my brow, and I took off my hat periodically to fan myself. At least there didn’t seem to be any insects about. I considered wetting my handkerchief with water from the irrigation ditch and wiping some of the dust and sweat off, but the return trip would only get me filthy again.
When the end to the corn came, it was surprisingly abrupt. We stepped out from amidst the stalks and found ourselves on the edge of a wide, barren patch, several acres in size. Though corn crowded in all around it, not a single stalk sprouted within its irregular confines. Not even the heartiest weeds had found a home amidst the cracked, barren earth. Every puff of wind raised a dust devil, and the nearest stalks were coated in a fine layer of brown.
I stepped out onto the arid ground. Instantly, the faint feeling of weakness I’d had since leaving Widdershins vanished. “The arcane line runs through here.”
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