My mouth felt dry, but I kept my gaze defiant. “The umbrae rebelled.”
“And were sealed in their cities.”
“The ketoi rebelled as well.”
“And they will surely be punished for their defiance.” Creigh folded her arms across her chest. “Humanity cannot win a war against the masters. The best we can hope for is to prove our usefulness, so they don’t wipe our entire species from the face of the earth.”
I didn’t bother to hide my contempt. “And the fact you’re enslaving the men and women of the poor farm, infecting them to accumulate your own power? Don’t pretend you act out of charity.”
“The rust is but one tool of the masters, abandoned when they left.” Creigh smiled. “There are others. Don’t imagine the Fideles are not busy elsewhere as well. The Restoration will take place. You cannot win.” She tilted her head. “Perhaps it’s just as well you won’t live to see it.”
She left in a swirl of skirts. As the door locked behind her, I slumped forward in my bonds and prayed.
Chapter 24
Whyborne
Christine and I went on foot to the poor farm.
We’d considered taking the wagon—Lawrence would have gladly lent it—but I didn’t want to deprive the family of what might be their only chance for escape, should they need it. Instead, we armed ourselves as best we could and set out with the lowering of the sun.
Christine had brought her rifle and all the ammunition she could carry. In the dark, we might find a place where she could lay low and pick off the corrupted from a distance. And if not, or if Creigh threatened her with the fire spell, she’d brought an old scythe as a weapon. Though no longer used in modern farming, Lawrence had kept it as something of a memento in the barn. Now its edge gleamed from recent sharpening, and from the intent look on her face, I knew Christine wouldn’t hesitate to use it against anyone who dared get between her and Iskander.
I carried a lantern, extra kerosene, and Griffin’s lock picking tools. It seemed likely he and Iskander would be held in the jail, and though I might be able to remove the outer door by force, opening the cells without injuring the captives would require more finesse.
And if I stepped inside and found them already transforming into the cinereous form of the corrupted, as the previous captives had...
I’d burn it all down, and wipe the whole accursed town from the map.
We didn’t speak, merely strode down the empty road side-by-side. In the distance, the light of lanterns bathed a large barn. No doubt that was where the community dance was even now underway.
Creigh wouldn’t be there, but Vernon likely would. Smiling and strutting, while Creigh did God knew what to Griffin and Iskander...
There came a rustling from a low hedge not far before us. Christine and I both froze, and I lifted the lantern warily. Was it animal or ambush?
A human figure emerged, and for a moment I thought Creigh had sent the corrupted to lay in wait for us. Christine hefted the scythe, and the frost spell hovered on my tongue.
“Christine!” Iskander cried. “Hold up—it’s me!”
He looked the worse for wear: his suit torn and one eye blackening. Christine let out a glad cry, dropped the scythe, and ran to him. He caught her up in his arms, and they clung to one another.
No one else emerged from the hedge. Griffin wasn’t with him.
“Where is Griffin?” I asked urgently.
Iskander and Christine stepped apart, though she kept a hand on his arm. “Still captive, I’m afraid.” Iskander shook his head angrily. “It was Vernon—he captured us at the Kerr farm and took us to Creigh. We were separated once there. I don’t know where they took Griffin—the jail, I assume. I was locked in one of the bedrooms on the upper floor of the big house.”
Christine frowned. “Why separate the two of you?”
“Sod if I know.” He glanced from her to me. “Whatever they had planned for me, I wasn’t about to wait around for it. I stripped the beds, tied the sheets into a rope, and lowered myself from the window. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I ran.” He winced. “I’m terribly sorry, Whyborne. I feel a coward for abandoning Griffin as I did, but I was at a loss as to see how I might free him by myself, without getting recaptured. And I had to let you know of the trap.”
“Of course,” Christine said staunchly. “There was nothing else you could have done, Kander.”
An unjust part of me wanted to insist otherwise. Say that Iskander shouldn’t have deserted Griffin, left him alone to be corrupted. But the reaction was irrational. “Christine is right. How would you even have gotten into the jail, with the door locked? You would only have been caught.”
He nodded. “Thank you, old chap. And, as I said, I needed to warn you.”
Christine let go of him and retrieved her scythe. “Really, Kander, how stupid do you think we are? Of course it’s a trap. But we can’t just leave Griffin in Creigh’s hands.”
“That’s what I mean. Griffin isn’t at the poor farm anymore.”
I frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Iskander ran his hand back through his thick hair. He looked tired, and dust clung to suit and skin. “I overheard Creigh and Mr. Tate speaking in the house. They must have been just below me; if I pressed my ear against a knothole in the floor, I could make out what they were saying. Creigh and her army of corrupted are waiting for you at the poor farm. But Tate is conducting some sort of-of fiendish ritual at the fallow place.”
Alarm leached the warmth from my extremities. “Ritual?”
“I don’t know what. It has something to do with the rust—that’s what they call the corruption.” Iskander’s dark eyes looked black in the dim light of the lantern. “Something to make it spread, perhaps? I couldn’t make that part out. But it involves blood, Whyborne.”
“Oh God,” I said numbly. “They mean to sacrifice Griffin.”
Chapter 25
Griffin
I stumbled over the sheared corn stalks toward the fallow place, with only the grip of the corrupted on either arm to keep me from falling.
The sun had slipped below the horizon in a glorious blaze of red, gold, and darkest blue. The dust kicked up by the last of the harvesters filled my nose, along with the scent of corn sap. At any other time, I would have called it a beautiful evening; the perfect time to sit out on the porch with a cigar and a whiskey, and watch the stars come out.
Instead, I feared the evening would end with my death.
What had become of Iskander, I didn’t know. I asked Creigh when she returned shortly before sundown to open my cell, but of course she’d given me no answer. Her corrupted took hold of me and dragged me out of the jail and away from the cluster of buildings without explanation.
But why? She’d meant me to serve as bait in a trap for Whyborne. Wasn’t it enough that he thought me in the jail?
The windmill at the new well turned lazily in the breeze, metal blades squeaking with every revolution. No doubt the Fideles meant to use the water to infect later harvests as well. The winter wheat, the spring wheat, next year’s crop of corn, all poison to be shipped east, first to Widdershins, then elsewhere. Philadelphia, Washington, New York...there was no end to the havoc they might cause, the powerful men they might put under their control.
An old scarecrow stood near the windmill’s base, hauled from wherever it had originally stood and planted here. The corrupted dragged me to it. I tried to struggle, but there were too many of them. Shortly thereafter I found myself tied to the scarecrow, my arms outspread. I yanked against my bindings, but they didn’t give.
Shapes emerged from the darkness. The cinereous, their bodies devoured by the rust from the inside out, their wet skin swollen from the corruption within. The only figure free of its touch was a man I assumed must be Mr. Tate. A bit to my surprise, he wasn’t marked by either sorcery or corruption. Indeed, he looked pale and dazed, almost as though he wasn’t quite certain how he’d come to be here.
&nbs
p; And after him came Vernon and Marian.
“At last,” Marian said. She pulled her bonnet off, letting it fall to the ground.
The sight thus revealed turned my blood to ice. Two small nubs, like the first growth of antlers on a deer, jutted from her forehead. The tips glowed with magic, even in the glare of the great arcane line.
Was this yet a third form of the corruption?
She stared at me almost gleefully, her eyes burning bright with hatred. “You’re going to suffer, Griffin Flaherty,” she said. “After all these years, you’ll finally pay for what you did.”
Oh God. Those words hadn’t belonged to the Fideles, hadn’t been uttered at Creigh’s command. They’d come from Marian.
Vernon put a hand to her waist. “Yes he will, my dear.”
The cinereous came to a halt just within the circle of light. My mouth had gone dry with fear, but I forced my voice to remain calm. “Marian, I don’t know what you think I’ve done, but it isn’t worth this.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Marian tilted her head back slightly to look up at me. “You destroyed Benjamin, Griffin. You took him away from me.” She grinned, but there was no humor in it. “And now you get to watch while I take your lover from you.”
Oh God. Whatever Vernon’s motives, Marian had entered into some unholy bargain with Creigh looking for revenge. “We never meant to hurt you—” I started.
“Shut up!” She took a step toward me, her hands curling into fists. “You knew we were engaged, but you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself. It’s thanks to you this filthy town discovered his secret.” She held up her hand as I tried to protest. “But we managed to get past that. I loved him. And he loved me.”
“I’m sure he did,” I said. And I even meant it. Benjamin and I had been young and stupid, but he’d cared about Marian even then. There was no reason their relationship couldn’t have bloomed into love.
“We put it behind us,” she said. “Benjamin promised to be faithful to me, and he was. But the rest of the community wouldn’t let it go. The anonymous letters, the barely veiled references in the papers, the sneering sermons by that damned parson, hounded him to his death!”
“No!” cried a voice from the darkness.
To my utter horror, Ma stepped into the light. She clutched an old shotgun in her shaking hands, and her eyes were wide. She looked terrified, and my heart clenched. No doubt she’d seen the lights, the movement, in the field and come to investigate. To drive away the prowlers she and everyone else believed stalked the town after dark.
“Aunt Nella, go back to the house,” Vernon ordered. He took hold of the gun, and she let him pull it away without resistance.
“I don’t know what’s going on here,” she said, her voice trembling as badly as her hands. Her eyes darted wildly to the cinereous, and she swallowed convulsively. “But let Griffin go. If you’ve got to be mad at someone, Marian, be mad at me.”
“And why should I do that?” Marian asked.
Ma closed her eyes. “Because it was my fault, what happened to your first husband. I’m the one who wrote the letters.”
Chapter 26
Whyborne
Iskander had been right. We’d extinguished our lantern well back, and crept slowly through the shorn corn fields, careful to avoid the irrigation ditches. Fallen leaves and husks, dried by the sun, crunched under our feet, but I could only hope it wouldn’t be enough to give us away. At least out in the open, we could be certain there were no corrupted lying in ambush amidst the rows.
We’d seen the light at the base of the windmill from some distance. But now, we were just near enough to make out a few dark figures moving about.
“Here,” Iskander whispered hoarsely. We crouched by him at the edge of one of the irrigation ditches, careful not to touch the water. “Look—what are they doing?”
I leaned forward, straining my eyes. Christine did the same. “Good gad,” she gasped, “is that Griffin? Tied to a scarecrow?”
Horror stabbed through me. This must be part of whatever foul ritual Tate had planned. They’d sacrifice Griffin to the hellish thing infesting the water, use his blood to do...what?
“We have to get down there,” I said urgently. “Before they harm him further.”
“Agreed,” Christine said. “Can you use your magic on the water in the well? Cause it to flood out and knock them over?”
I didn’t like the idea of scattering the tainted water near Griffin, assuming he hadn’t been corrupted already. Still, it would certainly be safer than setting fire to the field. “All right,” I said. “Christine, you stay back and get ready to shoot. Iskander, take the scythe.”
Something hard and cold pressed against the back of my neck. Christine let out a startled gasp.
“That’s quite all right,” Iskander said. “I’m already armed.”
~ * ~
I turned my head as far as I dared, and saw all the blood drain from Christine’s face. Iskander pressed the bore of a pistol to the base of her skull with one hand; the other hand held a second pistol against my neck.
“Don’t move,” he advised us.
“Kander, no,” Christine said, her voice barely above a whisper. “Oh God, no.”
He’d been corrupted the whole evening. There had been a trap, all right, and we’d followed him right into its jaws. Was there even a ritual planned, or was it all just set dressing to trick us into letting down our guard?
My mind raced. Fire was out—exploding either gun would likely kill all three of us, even if harming Iskander hadn’t been out of the question. Frost? I could only concentrate on one gun at a time. If he dropped one, he might pull the other trigger before I could cast the spell a second time. What orders had Creigh given him, exactly? Were both of us to be captured, or was Christine expendable?
“Fight it, Kander,” Christine urged. “This isn’t you! Creigh is controlling your mind, but I know you. You can fight it off. You can come back to me.”
The guns didn’t waver. There came a sloshing sound, and a moment later, four of the cinereous rose from the irrigation ditch, where they’d lain hidden beneath the water.
Within moments, they’d seized us and hauled us upright. Iskander unshuttered the lantern, keeping one pistol trained on us at all times. His eyes looked flat and black in the light, all trace of his usual liveliness gone.
“Kander,” Christine tried again.
He ignored her plea while he disarmed us both. Then he led the way toward the windmill, while the cinereous dragged us helplessly behind.
Chapter 27
Griffin
“Ma?” I whispered.
The world seemed to have stilled to a point. What Ma had just said was impossible. She might not have approved of me, and certainly not of Whyborne, but she wasn’t cruel. She’d never do such an abominable thing.
Marian’s eyes widened, and she sagged against Vernon. “N-Nella?”
Ma wrung her hands together, her own gaze downcast. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. But don’t you see? Benjamin took away my boy, my only son.” She swallowed convulsively. “I’d raised Griffin right; I knew I had, because he always did right. Never did anything to make me ashamed, not once. So what happened—it had to be Benjamin’s fault.”
I hadn’t imagined my spirits could sink any lower. What a fool I’d been.
“I was so angry at him,” Ma went on. “It wasn’t fair! Why did he get to stay here in Fallow, when my boy was exiled? Why did he get to carry on with his life, while Griffin had to leave, to go to the city where he didn’t know a soul in the world? Why did Benjamin’s ma get to see her son whenever she wanted, and I had to be content with letters and postcards?”
Marian straightened slowly. “No.”
I heard the edge of warning in her voice, but Ma continued on. “He couldn’t just get away with it. So I started sending him letters. One every month, just to remind him that someone knew he’d escaped just punishment. And I sent them to the papers too, ev
ery year or so, to make sure no one else forgot it, either.”
“No,” I whispered, denying it.
“No,” Marian growled, fury flashing in her eyes.
“I never thought it would hurt him!” Ma cried, raising her gaze at last. Tears streamed down her face. “I thought he was—was laughing because he got away with it. That he didn’t care what had happened to Griffin. I thought he didn’t care about anything, that he was just the worst kind of sinner, without remorse. And then...and then...”
Then Benjamin killed himself.
“You were kind to me,” Marian said, and if she’d been a sorceress, the very air would have frozen around us. “After Benjamin died, you were the only soul in this damned town that cared. And you were the one who killed him!”
“I didn’t mean to!” Ma put her hands over her eyes. “When I realized what I’d done, I would’ve given anything to take it back. The least I could do was look out for you. And when Vernon came, and you two got married, I was so happy. I thought maybe I’d made up for it by giving you a new husband to replace the old one. Maybe God could forgive me.”
“God doesn’t forgive, you bitch,” Marian snarled. “And neither do I!”
“Stop!” I shouted as she lunged at Ma.
“Enough!” Creigh rested one hand on the jewel at her throat. It flashed in my shadowsight—and so did the antler-like stubs on Marian’s forehead.
Marian stumbled to a halt, her fingers hooked into claws. A look of utter frenzy crossed her face, but she seemed powerless to disobey.
“I tire of this pointless family drama,” Creigh went on. “I’ve indulged you so far because of your assistance, but don’t forget who is truly in control. You might be the avatar, but I am the master.” She smiled faintly. “So to speak.”
“This isn’t...I agreed to all this to save the town,” Tate said, looking troubled.
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