Fallow

by Jordan L. Hawk

  Curse it—I’d forgotten the handles were wrapped in leather.

  I tried to lurch to my feet, some vague idea of outrunning him in my head. A blade whistled past my ear, and I ducked back down onto the roof. Iskander bent over me, and I caught a glimpse of his face: utterly calm and without either rage or fear.

  If I died here, Christine would never forgive either of us.

  I seized his wrists, striving to keep him from plunging the knives into me. But Iskander was far more athletic than I could ever dream of being. I might hold him off for a few seconds, but no more than that. I had to use magic, somehow, I had to think—

  Energy surged into me as the train crossed the arcane line.

  I grasped it, in the seconds it took to clear the line, and funneled every bit of magical fire I could through myself and into Iskander.

  He screamed, back arching, but I closed my eyes and clung to him, refusing to let go. My scars ached, and I tasted metal and something burning...and then the line was beyond my grasp.

  Iskander slumped to the side.

  I rolled out from under him, then pulled him away from the edge of the boxcar. Blood slicked his face, trickling from his nose. Something black and dead mixed with the red.

  With shaking hands, I checked for a pulse. Oh God, if I’d killed him along with the corruption...

  His heartbeat met my fingers, strong and sure. Overcome with relief, I slumped over him for a moment.

  I had to keep going. I had to reach Marian.

  “I’m sorry, Iskander,” I said aloud. If he heard me, he gave no sign. “I don’t want to leave you here, but...I’ve no choice.”

  Turning away from him, I returned to the gap between cars. This time, I didn’t hesitate to leap over it.

  Chapter 38

  Griffin

  “What is that?” I asked.

  Christine and I had been making our way forward, jumping from car to car. A perilous undertaking in the dark night, especially for Christine in her skirts, but it wasn’t as though we had any real choice. We had to get to the front of the train and reach Marian.

  And Whyborne, I hoped. If we weren’t too late.

  We couldn’t be too late.

  A dark shape lay in the center of the boxcar in front of us. I drew my pistol, then leapt the gap. Christine did the same, and we approached cautiously. Then a gasp escaped her. “Kander?”

  She ran to him. I stood back, pistol at the ready...but no. I blinked, looked at him again.

  “The corruption is gone,” I said.

  Christine knelt by him. “How?” she asked. “Why? Kander? Can you hear me?”

  A groan escaped him and he blinked. “Oh, sod it all...my head.”

  I joined Christine. Iskander squinted at me; the whites of his eyes looked unnaturally dark in the dim light. Blood slicked his face, and he gripped Christine’s hand as he sat up shakily. The wind tore at his dark hair, and he winced as the cars rattled and vibrated beneath us.

  She embraced him, then kissed him fiercely. “You’re all right! Well, mostly,” she added. “What happened?”

  “I...I’m not sure.” He frowned—then a look of horror crossed his face. “Dear God! Christine, I threatened your life! I—”

  “Yes, yes. You were under Marian’s control,” she said dismissively.

  He shook his head slowly. “None of it even felt wrong,” he said. “It all seemed...natural. I didn’t fight against it, didn’t question it. Then I tried to kill Whyborne...”

  “Whyborne?” I leaned forward. “What, just now?”

  He nodded. “Yes. We fought—I meant to stab him—and then something happened.”

  “We crossed the arcane line,” I said. “He must have burned the corruption from you, just as he did from himself.”

  “I only know I feel as though the train ran over me.” Iskander lay back, hand to his head.

  Christine and I exchanged a look. “Kander’s in no shape for a fight,” she said. “But I’ll come with you.”

  I shook my head. “No. Don’t you remember in July, when Whyborne accidentally channeled the power of the arcane line through me? Iskander could lapse back into unconsciousness at any minute. One of us needs to stay with him.”

  She looked torn. “I...”

  I held up my left hand. “I’m Ival’s husband. I think that entitles me to claim the honor of helping him.”

  “You’re right.” Christine said. “I’ll stay here with Kander, then.”

  “Thank you.” I started to rise to my feet. The wind threatened to tear my words away, and I lifted my voice to a shout. “We’re going to try and stop the train. Secure yourself and Iskander, if you can. I don’t want either of you falling under the wheels.”

  “Excellent point.” Christine held out her hand, and I shook it. “Good luck, Griffin. Send Marian straight to hell for me.”

  Chapter 39

  Whyborne

  My legs were shaking badly by the time I reached the coal car.

  I didn’t dare look behind me, didn’t dare divert my attention from my agonizingly slow progress up the length of the train. The train’s speed continued to increase; they’d built a good head of steam and were putting it to use, the miles clipping past beneath the wheels, the wind tearing my hair and stinging my eyes. The landscape around us was utterly black, the sky above spangled with stars.

  Where was Griffin now? And Christine?

  I couldn’t worry about them. Somehow I had to stop the train. My plan, such as it was, consisted of overcoming the engineer and fireman, and applying the brake. I was fairly certain I recalled which lever to pull. I was the heir to Whyborne Railroad and Industries after all; surely I could figure out how to stop one of our own locomotives.

  All right. I had only to leap to the coal car, and thence directly into the cab.

  I took a deep breath, tensed every muscle, and jumped.

  The coal formed far shakier footing than I’d anticipated. The pile instantly began to slide beneath my feet, and I sprawled onto my back. I caught a glimpse of the lantern-lit cab, the engineer turning from the controls toward me.

  Without the slightest pause, he grabbed the coal shovel with the clear intent of using it against my head.

  I scrambled to my feet, or tried to—the coal kept slipping out from under me. The engineer lifted the shovel high, the edge of the blade aimed at me, and brought it down.

  I rolled frantically to the side, and it bit deep into the coal, missing my fingers by inches. Undeterred, he lifted it and struck the other side, forcing me to roll in the opposite direction.

  I fetched up hard against the side of the coal bin. He lifted the shovel again, and I lunged up and back, parting my legs so the edge missed my groin by the breadth of a hair.

  Before he could withdraw the shovel from the coal pile, I wrapped both legs around the handle, above the blade, to keep him from pulling it free. He yanked hard, and I laid frost on the wood.

  The engineer let go with a startled grunt. I reached for the wind howling past the train and snapped it around the side of the cab, magic adding to its force so it punched into him like a great fist.

  I caught a glimpse of his face as he tumbled away into the darkness. God—I hoped he fell clear of the train.

  If he hadn’t, there was nothing to be done now. Clinging to the shovel as a prop, I managed to get to my feet and step from the coal car to the cab. Now, if I recalled correctly, the brake was—

  Marian stepped out of the fireman’s station.

  The antler-like projections on her forehead swept the roof, and the clusters of orange tendrils on her back squirmed. Her mouth split open in a grin, revealing black mold and something moving deep inside her throat.

  “How lovely. My meal has delivered itself,” she said. “And I didn’t even need to bring a dining car.”

  ~ * ~

  I acted on instinct, flinging frost and wind at Marian. To no avail: she swallowed my spells down as soon as I could form them.

  “Y
es,” she said. “Please, continue. Weaken yourself and make me stronger.”

  My heart pounded. If I could just get past her to the brake—

  But how difficult would it be for her to get the locomotive moving again? If the engineer had survived, she could summon him back almost immediately.

  I needed to stop Marian, now, in whatever way I could.

  I grabbed up the coal shovel, but she struck it from my hand before I could swing it. Both of her hands locked on my wrists, the feel of her flesh horribly smooth and spongy.

  “I know what you are, little spark,” she said with a grin. I fought, trying to wrest my wrists from her grasp, but she was inhumanly strong and held me with no apparent effort. “Tonight, I’m going to eat you. And in a few days’ time, I’ll be in Widdershins, where I can drink from the maelstrom itself. The corn will be only the first source of infection; once I have the energy of the vortex at my disposal, I’ll be able to create new spores.” She laughed, the earthy stench of her breath ghosting over my face. “I’ll grow an empire of the infected. I’ll create a world where no man is driven to his death for being different. Humanity will live in perfect harmony.”

  I flung my full weight against her grip, but she only laughed—and slammed me against the backhead. I struggled, the heat of the boiler soaking even through the heavy iron, but she held me pinned.

  The boiler.

  Marian leaned in close and began to feed.

  I could feel my strength sapping almost immediately. She’d drain me, drink every scrap of arcane energy from my bones, and toss my husk away like an empty bottle. In a day or so, she’d ride triumphantly into Widdershins—hidden at first, no doubt. The infection would spread through the corn, then through her spores, until everyone and everything I’d ever loved was corrupted.

  How far would it spread before she was stopped? If anyone even could stop her, with the infinite well of the maelstrom to feed from?

  I ceased my ineffectual struggling and concentrated. On the other side of the heavy iron backhead, I sensed the water pumping through the boiler.

  With all the remaining strength I could muster, I pushed the water away from me. Away from the fire box, to the front of the train.

  Without the water, the iron of the boiler would become superheated over the fire box. Marian would drain my strength, and without my magic to hold it in place, the water would flow back. Hit the superheated metal.

  Flash instantly, uncontrollably, into steam.

  The explosion would probably vaporize us both. But at least Marian would be stopped.

  Iskander would be saved, assuming he didn’t fall off the boxcar beneath the wheels. He and Christine would have a chance, at least, of growing old together.

  And Griffin...

  He’d have Christine and Iskander, Father and Mother, Jack and Persephone and the Mother of Shadows. He wouldn’t be alone.

  A figure rose up behind Marian, an ax clutched in his hands.

  “Leave my Ival alone!” Griffin shouted.

  ~ * ~

  The sharp edge of the blade bit deep into Marian’s neck, severing her head in a single stroke.

  There was no blood, just a sort of wet oozing, and her body didn’t fall. Still, her grip loosened, and I tore myself free.

  Her arms flailed for a moment—then she crouched on the coal-black floor. The antlers had prevented her head from rolling far, and to my horror, I saw her eyes glaring at me from behind her fungal veil.

  “Ival!” Griffin grabbed my arm. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes—but not for long.” Even without her feeding on me, my strength was fast running out. “I’ve affected the boiler with magic, to make it explode, but I can’t keep it back for long! You have to escape!”

  His eyes widened in fear, and he gripped me. “I’m not leaving you.”

  Marian lifted her head triumphantly and set it back on her shoulders.

  Griffin’s gaze slipped past her. “The tree,” he said.

  “What?”

  The wound in Marian’s neck sealed closed.

  “The boundary tree by Dogleg Creek!” he shouted. “Never mind, just jump!”

  He hauled me bodily from the speeding train. I glimpsed the dead, gnarled tree that stood at the outskirts of Fallow, the starry sky, and muddy water.

  My magic failed.

  We struck the water of the creek even as the locomotive boiler exploded.

  For a moment, I knew only pain—the air driven from my lungs by impact with the creek, the blast vibrating in my bones. My feet struck the bottom, jarring one ankle, and for a moment there was nothing but darkness and water.

  Griffin hauled me to the surface. As my face broke into the free air, a huge sheet of iron slammed down not ten feet from us, tons of metal tossed as though it weighed no more than a feather. The train rolled on above us, grinding rapidly to a halt as the air brakes automatically locked in place, the ruin of the locomotive trailing boiler tubes and flame. Of the cab, nothing was left but ash and fragments.

  Thankfully Griffin was able to drag me to the bank; I didn’t have the strength left to do it myself. We flopped onto the bank, gasping and coughing, clinging to each other all the while.

  “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked, running a hand desperately over my face, my arms.

  The flaming wreck gave off enough light for me to see his face. Bruised, blackened from smoke and coal dust, but alive.

  “Whyborne!” Christine shouted. I glimpsed her running alongside the tracks, Iskander stumbling behind her. “Where are you?”

  “Here!” Griffin called.

  A moment later, she scrambled down the bank. “Are you two all right?”

  My leg hurt and my back felt bruised, but I managed to nod. “Yes,” I said. “Just very, very tired.”

  “You’re utterly drained.” Griffin pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Close your eyes and rest, my love. It’s over. We’re safe. And we’re together.”

  “Yes,” I said. I took a deep breath, all the tension uncoiling from my body for the first time in months. “We are.”

  Chapter 40

  Griffin

  I stood on the train platform and took my last look at Fallow.

  I wouldn’t be coming back. Indeed, I suspected that soon there wouldn’t be a town left to come back to.

  When Marian died, the corrupted still human enough to function suddenly found themselves in the midst of actions that had seemed perfectly reasonable only moments before. Their memories, so far as we could tell, remained clear: of abandoning the dance and making their way to the fields, of harvesting everything left and taking it to the grain elevators, and of filling the train.

  Of slick, gray-skinned creatures that had once been their neighbors. Of a monstrous thing created from the woman they’d gossiped about for years, pretending pity while cutting her deeper and deeper, until nothing remained but pain.

  Several families had already packed up and left, all their belongings heaped in carts. More would follow. A few might hold out, to see if the drought ended and rains revived their fields. They would pretend nothing strange had happened; that it had all been a dream.

  “I’m going to stay with Ruth for a while,” Ma said.

  She’d seen us to the rail station, along with Lawrence and his family. The Reynolds had gone unscathed, thanks to our warnings, though how long they could remain in Fallow with the town dying around them, I didn’t know. I’d write regularly, and make sure they understood that if they needed a new home, Widdershins would welcome them.

  “That’s a good idea,” I told her. At least Tate had paid Vernon for most of the harvest, so Ma had some money in the bank to draw from.

  “Will you come and see me?” she asked.

  I still didn’t know what to feel, what to think about what she’d done. If it was even my place to feel or think, considering I hadn’t been the victim of her malice. I’d wanted to have her back in my life so badly, but now that I knew what she’d done to Benjami
n...how could I forgive that?

  “Widdershins doesn’t know her,” Whyborne had told me. Whether he spoke only from his own anger, or from some deeper knowledge, I didn’t ask. Perhaps it didn’t matter.

  “Would you welcome my husband if he came with me?” I asked Ma.

  She didn’t reply. I nodded. “You have your answer, then.”

  The porter stepped out of the private car. “Sir? We’re due to leave in two minutes.”

  “Of course.” I turned back to Ma. “Don’t worry about me. I’m happy with my life; happier than I’ve ever been.”

  She took a deep, shaky breath. “Well. Goodbye, then, Griffin.”

  “Goodbye, Ma.”

  I watched her leave, then stepped inside the car and found my seat beside Whyborne. Christine sat by Iskander, reading to him from a journal. He had a cloth draped over his eyes, and as I took my seat, he lifted the edge to reveal an eye whose whites had gone red with burst capillaries. He’d mainly recovered from his exposure to the arcane fire, but the marks were still fading.

  Whyborne held a piece of paper in his hands, a scowl on his face. “Of all the insolence,” he muttered, balling it up.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “A letter from our dear friend Mrs. Creigh.” He handed it to me. I smoothed out the stationery and read:

  Dear Dr. Whyborne,

  Although you helped me stop Marian, I won’t forget it was your fault she slipped my control in the first place. Nor will I forgive your destruction of the rust beneath the fallow place.

  I assure you, we will meet again.

  Sincerely,

  Mrs. Cordelia Creigh

  I passed the letter to Christine, and she snorted. “Sounds like a bunch of bluster to me,” she said, crumpling it up again. “After what she did to Kander, she’d better pray I never catch sight of her again.”