Fallow

by Jordan L. Hawk

  “But we—” She fell silent.

  We were no longer alone.

  A large group of men and women dressed in their nightclothes shuffled from the house toward us. I didn’t need to hear Griffin’s gasp to guess that every one of them was surely corrupted.

  At their head walked a woman who exuded power even though she wore a dressing gown. Unbound blond hair trailed down her back, and her dark eyes flashed in the light of our lantern. Around her throat, she wore a necklace set with a black jewel threaded through with purple veins.

  “Christine, put down your rifle,” Griffin ordered. “She’s a sorceress.”

  Christine swore and let the rifle fall to the ground. Griffin unsheathed his sword cane and held it out before him.

  “Well, well,” the woman said. “If it isn’t Dr. Whyborne. You should have let me know you intended to visit—I might have worn something a bit more suitable.”

  Her lack of concern sent a chill down my spine. I straightened my shoulders and did my best not to let it show. “Mrs. Creigh, I presume.”

  She inclined her head in the direction of the jail. “Indeed. I see you found where we hold those in the process of becoming cinereous.”

  “Cinereous?” I asked. My heart beat knocked against my ribs, and I tried to think of how we might escape.

  “I refer to those you encountered in the corn,” she replied. “I’ll be happy to discuss them with you further. You must have many questions, I’m sure. Lay down your weapons, come with me peacefully, and we’ll discuss this like civilized people over drinks and refreshments.”

  She was obviously hoping I didn’t know how the corruption was spread. And without Griffin’s shadowsight, I very likely would have had no clue. “Very well,” I said. “It’s clear you have me at a disadvantage. I accept your invitation.”

  “Whyb—” Christine started. I trod heavily on her foot.

  “Now, now, Christine,” I said. “It serves no one to fight.”

  I started toward Creigh, who arched a brow. “Indeed. I must say, I’m surprised to find you so sensible.”

  “You should be,” I agreed. And with all my strength, I flung the burning lantern into the harvested field.

  The dry stubble caught instantly. I fanned the fire with a bit of wind—

  It erupted into flame, the desiccated debris of the harvest burning hotter and faster than I’d imagined.

  “Run!” I shouted at my companions.

  We bolted into the night. “Put out the fire before it reaches the rest of the harvest!” Creigh shouted behind us. Then she began to chant.

  The earth turned suddenly soft beneath our feet, slowing our progress. Christine let out a furious oath. I lay down frost, hardening it again.

  Then we were past the jail and the empty barn, and out of Creigh’s line of sight. “This way!” called Iskander, and I followed the sound of his voice to the lane.

  “Whyborne,” Griffin panted, “Are you mad? If that starts a prairie fire, it could destroy the entire town!”

  “It’s the only thing I could think of to distract her,” I snapped. Or tried to; lack of breath took much of the force from my words. “I remembered what you said, and hoped she’d divert the corrupted to the task of putting out the fire before it destroys her work.”

  We reached the road, and I slowed, no longer able to keep pace. Griffin matched his speed to mine. “Truly, it was quick thinking on your part,” he said, putting a hand to my elbow. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful.”

  “Indeed,” Christine agreed. In the starlight, I could just make out her rifle as she hefted it. “I was even able to retrieve my rifle in the confusion. Not shoot anyone with it, of course, but well.” She patted my arm. “One can’t have everything, I suppose.”

  Chapter 20

  Whyborne

  “I must say, Christine keeping possession of her rifle aside, the evening was a bit of a disaster,” Iskander said. We’d retrieved the wagon and returned to the Reynolds farm without any further excitement, the glow of the fire I’d set growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

  “We did learn something about the goings on at the poor farm,” I suggested weakly.

  “And we confirmed that the water is the source of the corruption,” Christine added. “But Kander is right. Creigh knows we’re onto her now, which means our situation has become even more unpredictable.”

  “Creigh was commanding the corrupted via the jewel at her throat,” Griffin said.

  “Really?” I frowned. “The way sorcerers used the Occultum Lapidem in Egypt to control the umbra?” There was a pattern, I thought. I’d dreamed of it last night, hadn’t I? Something about the masters’ creations, how they were made...

  “Exactly,” Griffin said. “We should be able to disrupt it with the curse breaking spell.”

  It was a chance at least. “How are we to get close enough to do so? If we confront Creigh directly, she’ll simply call on her corrupted.”

  Christine narrowed her eyes. “I think you gentlemen are making this far too difficult. Can we lure her away from the poor farm?”

  “The community dance is tomorrow,” Griffin said thoughtfully. “It would seem strange if she didn’t attend. Get-togethers like the dance aren’t just a chance to have fun. They’re one of the ways people stay in touch with each other, given how far apart the farms are. People eat, talk, re-establish the bonds of community. Under normal circumstances, some of the poor farm residents even come.” He sounded as though he was recalling some of those dances, those bonds, himself.

  “These blasted plains don’t offer many hiding places,” Christine said. “I say we wait until after dark, when she’s returning, and ambush her. If she has a lantern, I might even be able to use my rifle from a distance, and save us the bother of trying to break the spell.”

  Iskander looked queasy. “I’m not certain I want to simply assassinate the woman, Christine.”

  She snorted. “Why not? Because it doesn’t seem sporting? Really, Kander, don’t be ridiculous. Look at what she’s done to those who depended on her at the poor farm! She’s taken the most desperate, the most vulnerable, and turned them into monsters. If I have a chance to put a bullet in her skull, I see no reason not to take it.”

  “Depending on Mr. Tate’s involvement, that could leave him still to oppose us,” I reminded her. “We don’t know if he’s a sorcerer or not, but if he is, he could simply step into her place. We must break the spell on the jewel.”

  “Speaking of Tate,” Griffin said, “Whyborne, you need to send a telegram to your father first thing tomorrow morning, followed up by a letter explaining the situation to him. The corn can’t be allowed to leave Fallow. And if we fail, and it does leave, it must be quarantined on the boxcars. Tell him to burn them if he must.”

  I nodded. “Agreed.”

  “And I...” He hesitated, then sighed. “I have to try to warn Ma.”

  “Griffin—”

  “She’s in the same house as Marian, Whyborne.” He turned to me, looking desperate. “What will happen if Marian starts to take on the aspect of the cinereous we fought tonight? Or worse—what if Creigh decides to use her against us?”

  I didn’t want him to go, because I didn’t want to see him hurt again. Curse his blasted family, who cared more about who he slept with than the fact he was a good man: strong and kind and so very brave.

  “I’ll go with you,” Iskander offered. “None of us should go anywhere alone now that Mrs. Creigh knows she’s discovered. And I feel my presence would be more, er, neutral than others.”

  Griffin nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Whyborne and I will head into town as soon as we’ve had breakfast,” Christine decided. She started for the door, then glanced back at me. “Assuming he survives feeding the chickens, of course.”

  ~ * ~

  “Damned creature,” I muttered, sucking on my finger. The shallow scratch Diablo had left behind to mark his victory still stung even an hour later.
>
  Christine and I rumbled down the road to town in the wagon, having promised the Reynolds to bring back a few things from the general store when we returned. The mules hadn’t been pleased at being brought out again so soon after last night, and were currently all but dragging their feet down the road.

  “Honestly, Whyborne.” Christine gave the reins a little snap, which the mules ignored. “You can command the wind. You can set things on fire with your mind. And yet you allow yourself to be bullied by a five pound bird!”

  “It isn’t as though I can use my sorcery against it,” I replied irritably. “I might injure the awful thing.” Assuming Diablo could be hurt by anything short of a stake through the heart, that is.

  Christine’s snort let me know exactly what she thought of me.

  We eventually arrived in town. The place was as dusty and half deserted as it had been our first day in this accursed place. I couldn’t wait to leave Fallow behind forever and return to Widdershins.

  Going by his remark of last night, Griffin didn’t feel the same.

  Almost pleasant, those were the words he’d used. In comparison with this abominable town, anyway.

  Of course, he’d never hesitated to slander Widdershins in my hearing. Always going on about how in other cities one didn’t usually hear muffled chanting after dark, or that cloaked figures would attract suspicion. He’d even complained of the carols our first Christmas together, claiming “Blood on the Altar” wasn’t a staple of the holiday season.

  And yes, there was a bit more grave robbing than could be accounted for, especially in a town with no medical school. Yes, it was inadvisable to go too far into the local forest, if one didn’t wish to vanish without a trace. True, it was founded by sorcerers and inhabited by ketoi hybrids, and ghūl hybrids, and enough people went mad we’d needed our own insane asylum before I destroyed it, and...

  Oh God. It was a horrible murder town, wasn’t it?

  Griffin didn’t belong in Widdershins. He belonged in Boston, or New York, or San Francisco. But I’d assumed, naively, that he was unaware of it. That he didn’t long for the life that should have been.

  I had to tell him—tell them all—and soon.

  Spirits low, I followed Christine into the general store. While she set about making the Reynolds’s purchases, I searched for a new hat, having lost mine somewhere in the field last night. As I did so, a voice exclaimed, “Why Dr. Whyborne, what a pleasant surprise!”

  I turned to find Miss Tate behind me, followed by a bevy of young women, which notably lacked Miss Norton.

  Had Miss Norton fallen out of favor? Or was she corrupted now, and no longer focused on the business of living her own life, but of carrying out the Fideles’ orders?

  And what of Miss Tate herself? Did she know of her father’s business involvement with the Fideles? Was Mr. Tate an ignorant tool of the cult, or did he work with them in full knowledge?

  Manners forced me to respond, even though I would have preferred to take my leave as quickly as possible. “Miss Tate,” I said, “the pleasure is mine.”

  “You haven’t been around town much,” she said. “I was almost afraid you’d left.”

  “We’ll be here for a few more days,” I replied, though I feared the estimate wildly optimistic.

  She smiled and stepped closer to me. “Then I’ll see you at the dance tonight?”

  I didn’t dare tell the truth. If she mentioned to her father that I didn’t plan on attending, he might suspect we intended to move against Mrs. Creigh.

  “You must come,” she said when I hesitated too long. “It’s to celebrate the harvest.” Her cupid’s bow lips tightened just slightly; surely she knew there wasn’t much to celebrate this year. “Everyone in Fallow will be there.”

  “It sounds, er, lovely,” I said.

  She must have taken the words as encouragement, because she leaned even closer, a smile spreading over her face. “Oh, it will be. Say you’ll come and save me from having to sit all alone in the corner?”

  I doubted she would lack for male company. “Of course,” I lied, and managed something that felt like a smile. “I wouldn’t think to miss it.”

  “Good!” Having secured my agreement, she finally stepped back. “Well, then, I’d best get on to the seamstress’s. She’s fitting the most lovely gown—straight from New York, you know.”

  Having been subjected to the highest fashion in the form of interminable parties at Whyborne House, I doubted any dress in Fallow had ever graced Fifth Avenue. When she lived, my elder sister Guinevere wouldn’t have been seen in anything not brought all the way from Paris.

  “I look forward to seeing it,” I lied.

  Christine joined me once Miss Tate departed. “Securing your conquest, Whyborne?” she asked me cheerfully.

  “Do stop.” I selected the least offensive of the hats and placed it on my head. “Let’s pay for this and be off to the telegraph office.”

  The telegraph office occupied a small building at one end of the street. I could hear the hammer clacking merrily as we mounted the steps.

  It fell silent as soon as we entered, however. The operator turned around—and an odd look passed over his face, expression flickering so quickly I wasn’t certain I’d seen it.

  “I need to send a telegram,” I said, stepping up to the counter.

  “I’m sorry,” he said with a regretful shrug. “The telegraph is broken.”

  Christine scowled. “But you were just using it!”

  The operator’s gaze remained fixed on me. “No, I wasn’t.”

  It was such a bald-faced lie, I hadn’t the slightest idea how to respond. Christine, however, had no such trouble. “Now see here—”

  “It’s broken, Dr. Whyborne,” the operator said to me, as though Christine didn’t exist.

  Oh. Oh no. I hadn’t given my name. And perhaps he might have guessed my identity...but given his odd behavior, I doubted the explanation was so innocent.

  He was corrupted. He must be.

  “My mistake,” I said. “We’ll just be on our way.”

  “Corrupted,” Christine agreed as soon as we stepped outside. “Blast. I wish Griffin had come with us after all.”

  So did I, desperately. “At least we can mail the letter,” I said, and made for the post office.

  But the man working the counter greeted us with, “How can I help you, Dr. Whyborne?”

  We retreated hastily, the letter still in my pocket. “Damn it!” Christine swore once we were back on the street. “How many townspeople have been infected?”

  I shook my head. “There’s no way of knowing.”

  “I suppose after Delancey betrayed them, the Fideles want to keep anyone else from warning the outside world of what’s happening in Fallow.” Christine turned to the train depot. Nearby, the great grain elevators towered up, and a shudder passed through me at the sight of them. “What do you want to bet Creigh has corrupted agents at the depot as well?”

  It made sense. “We should go back to the farm and wait for Iskander and Griffin.”

  “Yes.” Christine straightened her shoulders. “If we can’t get word to the outside world, and can’t leave, we’ll simply have to deal with things ourselves. It’s all up to us, now.”

  Chapter 21

  Griffin

  My feet felt heavy by the time I reached the farmhouse, and not just because of the long walk. I didn’t know if Ma would even speak to me, or if she’d slam the door in my face. Or what Marian might do—if Creigh would somehow sense my presence and force her to attack me.

  Then again, perhaps that would prove my words to Ma, in a way nothing else would.

  Vernon and his men would no doubt be in the field, bringing in the tainted crop. I wasn’t certain if I was glad or sad that the fire hadn’t spread last night. If it had spread, homes might have been lost, people made destitute. But at the same time, if it meant the corrupted corn was destroyed...would that have been worth it?

  None of it could s
hip to the east. Hopefully Loyal Grain had already paid Vernon for the corn delivered to the elevators. Because if not, the entire harvest would be a loss, and all of Vernon’s hard work for nothing.

  God. I didn’t care for Vernon, nor he for me, but I didn’t want the farm to fail. What would become of Ma if she lost her home?

  Iskander paused in the lane. “Shall I wait out here?”

  “Yes. Please.”

  “Call for help, and I’ll come running immediately,” he said.

  I nodded, grateful for his presence, then made for the house. No one seemed to be about in the outside gardens, which was a relief. I knocked on the door, heard the approach of footsteps, and braced myself.

  Ma’s eyes widened. “Griffin? What are you doing here?”

  Thank heavens, she still wasn’t corrupted. And she hadn’t yet slammed the door in my face. “I need to talk to you, Ma. Can I come inside?”

  She glanced over her shoulder. “You shouldn’t be here.”

  I’d known for years I didn’t belong here. In this town. In this house. But hearing it from her made my heart even heavier. “Ruth told me that when Pa came back from Stormhaven, some of the things he said didn’t seem possible. That he spoke of sorcery.” I took a deep breath. “He wasn’t mad. Wrong about the details, but not mad.”

  She looked at me for a long moment, then stepped back. “You’d best come in.”

  I followed her inside. She went to the kitchen and took out bread and butter, as if feeding me was an instinct. I sat at the table and waited.

  Her back still turned, she said, “Your pa...he weren’t in his right mind after that. He claimed he’d been grabbed to use as a hostage, not out of mistaken identity like the police told us. Said he was there.”

  I bit back a flash of anger. “If by ‘he’ you mean Whyborne, then yes. That’s true.”

  Her hands stilled. “Your pa said he was a devil. That he had some kind of black magic. Threatened James with it. You ain’t going to tell me that’s true?”

  “Whyborne is no devil.” How could I explain any of this? “Yes, he was angry at Pa. For forcing me to choose.”