Christine joined me. “Do you think it has any connection with the fact nothing will grow?”
“I can’t imagine it would. It surely must run for miles—Griffin said he saw it even before we arrived.”
Iskander looked around. “How should we proceed, Christine? If nothing else, years of agriculture have disrupted the site rather badly.”
We’d agreed to treat our search for any sign of what the masters might have left here—and the Fideles after—as part of an archaeological dig. For one, it would lend credence to our cover story, should anyone question us. For another, Christine’s methods would allow us to survey the area for any remaining traces of the masters’ presence.
“We’ll walk a few transects, radiating out from the well and into the fields,” she decided. “Whyborne, we’re looking for any sign of an old disturbance. Changes in soil color, where a structure might once have stood before rotting into the ground. Any fragment turned up by the plow that might be part of an artifact. A pattern in the corn where it isn’t as tall as the surrounding stalks, which might indicate a buried structure beneath. Once we’re done, Griffin will have hopefully secured permission for us to be here, and we’ll investigate the barren spot as well.”
“If the sphere came from so far below the ground, will we see anything at the surface?” I asked dubiously.
“Possibly not,” she admitted. “But we can’t rule it out.”
We did as she ordered. I soon found myself making my way between rows of corn. Had there once been a city here, similar to the city of shadows in Alaska? Its walls destroyed by the relentless forces of water and wind, worn away and buried, until nothing remained?
Or had the sphere come to be here in some completely different fashion? Had it been deliberately buried deep in the earth?
The sphere had been burned out from the inside, according to Christine. What had once lurked inside, ready to burst free? And where had it gone after? The Fideles had clearly been searching for something, so presumably whatever was originally inside the sphere hadn’t gone far.
Perhaps not far at all. They’d confined their search to the fallow spot, which suggested they might have an idea as to what caused it in the first place.
I shook my head and forced myself to focus on the task at hand. The irrigation ditch had cut a wide path, but now that I was edging through the rows themselves, I felt curiously claustrophobic. Green stalks hemmed me in on either side, their leaves whispering in the breeze.
I didn’t feel a breeze.
I came to a halt, listening intently. Were the leaves rustling...or whispering?
A soft moan sounded to my left.
I spun, my heart rabbiting in my chest. I peered through the stalks, but could see nothing save endless rows of corn. “Who’s there?” I called.
There came no answer...but the rustling increased. As if something moved through the corn toward me.
I swallowed hard. It could be anything. Wouldn’t I feel the fool if it turned out to be a stray cow?
God, I hoped it was a stray cow. Even a murderous rooster.
“Who the hell are you?” growled an angry voice behind me.
~ * ~
I let out a startled cry. A man stood behind me, his handsome face drawn into angry lines. His clothing was covered in dirt and bits of corn husk, and he carried a heavy knife.
I held up my hands quickly. “Please, allow me to explain.”
He stalked toward me, expression menacing. “You ain’t from around here. Who are you? What do you want?”
“M-My name is Dr. Percival Endicott Whyborne,” I said, backing up quickly as he continued to approach. “I’m here with the Nathaniel R. Ladysmith museum. An artifact was found on this land, and we came to see—just to look—”
His expression failed to get any friendlier. “We don’t appreciate trespassers here.”
“We aren’t!” I lied. “One of my companions is the son of the woman who owns the farm.”
The man’s eyes widened, and his grip tightened on the knife. “Griffin Flaherty?” he demanded. “Is that who you mean?”
Curse it. Griffin had already been attacked twice already. Why had I been so quick to invoke his name?
“Yes?” I said uncertainly.
The man shoved his way through the stalks into the next row and broke into a run, heading in the direction of the house.
Panic seized me—surely the man must be corrupted, just as Odell and Evers had been. I bolted after him, shouting for Christine and Iskander at the top of my lungs. My mind raced—should I use sorcery to stop him before he reached the house and Griffin? Risk flattening the crops with a burst of wind? But that would destroy the harvest, and Griffin surely wouldn’t thank me for leaving his mother destitute. Fire was out for the same reason, and the water of the irrigation ditch was too far away to be of use.
Blast it.
My side was burning by the time I reached the end of the fields. A wide area of dry ground lay between fields and house, occupied by a barn and a few empty pens, which must have held livestock at one time. A woman had joined the man, and together they ran for the back door.
“Griffin!” I shouted. “Griffin!”
“Whyborne!” Christine bellowed from behind me. “What’s going on?”
I hadn’t the time or the breath to tell her. She and Iskander caught up with me just as I reached the back door, which stood open.
“Vernon!” exclaimed a voice I recognized as Nella Kerr’s. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“How dare you show your face here?” Vernon said. “How dare you come among decent folk, and sit at our table, and—”
I stumbled into the room and came to a halt. Vernon stood nearest me. A woman I assumed to be his wife held onto his arm, a furious glare fixed on Griffin. Nella Kerr and Griffin both stood at the table, their chairs pushed back and a half-eaten biscuit on a plate between them. Griffin’s skin had gone pale, freckles standing out, and his jaw was clenched.
Nella let out a gasp at the sight of me. She put a hand to her chest and her gaze darted from me to Griffin. “You brought him with you?”
The younger woman turned to me—then took a quick step back. “Who are you?” she demanded.
Between the dust and sweat, I must look like a madman, if my appearance alarmed her so. “Let me explain,” I said to the room in general, although what explanation I could possibly give I didn’t know.
“We’re here on an archaeological expedition,” Christine said quickly. “An artifact was found in your field, and—”
Mrs. Kerr ignored us both. “I thought you’d come back,” she said to Griffin. “I thought God answered my prayers, brought you into the light.” She glanced at me again. “I thought I’d been forgiven.”
The younger woman continued to stare at me as though I were a snake let loose in her kitchen. “You aren’t welcome here.” She turned her glare back to Griffin. “And you. You’ll pay for what you did.”
Oh God. The same words as the corrupted men had spoken to him in Widdershins.
I cast a wild glance at him, but his gaze was locked on her, his eyes wide with horror. “Marian?” Griffin looked shocked to see her. “Ma said...but Benjamin...?”
“How dare you speak his name?” Marian snarled.
“I think Aunt Nella and my wife have made themselves clear.” Vernon’s voice was cold and hard as stone. “And so have I. Leave this house and don’t come back. Ever.”
Christine held up a restraining hand. “Actually, I was hoping to get your permission to conduct an archaeological survey on your land. As I said—”
“Out!”
“How rude!” she said with a sniff.
“We’ll just be leaving,” Iskander said with a wary glance at the knife. He caught Christine by the elbow and steered her toward the front door.
I wanted to protest, but there was nothing to be said. When we reached the door, Griffin paused. “We’ll be at the Reynolds’ farm for at least a few m
ore days, Ma. If you want to talk.”
Nella sank down and put her face in her hands. Marian shot me a venomous look, then turned her gaze on Griffin, with such an expression of raw hate it took me aback. “You’re going to be sorry you came back to Fallow, Griffin. As sorry as I can make you.”
Griffin looked as though he wished to argue. But instead, he simply nodded, and followed the rest of us out of the house.
Chapter 13
Griffin
“I’m sorry,” Whyborne said, once we were well away.
Christine had taken up the reins, and Iskander sat in the front of the wagon beside her. Glad not to have to think, I climbed into the back beside Whyborne. We sat without touching, watching the farm recede into the distance behind us.
I’d hoped. For a few moments, I’d truly believed Ma had wanted me back, despite everything.
She’d hoped, too. For a few moments, she’d believed I’d changed. Repented. Left the man I loved above all others and returned to become the son she wanted me to be.
“I thought I’d been forgiven.” What did she mean by that? Did she blame herself for my attraction to men, believe she’d made some error in raising me?
I ached to fall into Ival’s arms. To have him wrapped around me, so I could breathe in his scent, feel his fingers stroke my hair, listen to him murmur that he loved me.
But we were on a public road in the middle of the day. So I only said, “You have nothing to apologize for, my dear.”
“You’re better off without them in my opinion,” Christine declared.
“Christine,” Iskander said. “You aren’t helping matters.”
“I only mean to say Griffin is worth more than the whole lot of them put together.”
My very bones ached with loss. But there were more important matters at hand than my bruised feelings. “Ma wasn’t corrupted, nor was Vernon.” I paused, remembering her rage. “Marian is.”
“I heard what she said. The same words as the other corrupted spoke.” Ival looked at me uncertainly. “She’s Vernon’s wife?”
“So it would seem. Which...I don’t understand.” I stared down at my hands in my lap. At the white pearl set in my wedding ring. “Marian married Benjamin, after I left for Chicago. I was run out of town, but as he and Marian were already engaged, the wedding was hastily moved up. It was meant to demonstrate he was a changed man. Ma made sure to tell me about it, in one of the first letters she sent. Probably to make certain I wasn’t tempted to come back for him. Or maybe to keep me from hoping he’d join me, I don’t know.” I swallowed. “If Benjamin is dead...”
“Perhaps they were divorced?” Christine suggested hopefully.
“It is possible,” I allowed. “The divorce laws in Kansas are quite liberal.” I shook my head. Whatever had become of Benjamin, I couldn’t worry about him at the moment. “How Marian and Vernon, or even Ma, feel about me doesn’t matter. Marian is corrupted, which means they’re all in danger.”
“Do you think she’s a member of the Fideles, then?” Whyborne asked. “Like Odell and Evers?”
“I’ve no idea.” It didn’t make sense, or at least, no more sense than a man like Odell joining the cult. But the photos proved the Fideles had dug the new well; they would have had a chance to speak with her. To offer her...what?
“If only we knew what this corruption even is.” Whyborne took out his handkerchief and wiped some of the dust from his face. “Or why the corrupted seem so fixated on you, Griffin.”
“At least Marian didn’t physically assault him,” Iskander pointed out.
“All I can say is that it’s extraordinarily strange not to be the one everyone wants to kill.” Whyborne folded his handkerchief and put it back in his pocket. “If Griffin wasn’t in danger, I’d almost call it a pleasant change of pace.”
“Well, it’s only fair we should take turns with this sort of thing,” I said. “Did you find anything in the field? Any clue?”
“Not a blasted thing,” Christine groused. “Kander?”
He shook his head. “Nothing. Though we didn’t have much time to look.”
Whyborne shivered. “I...I thought I heard something in the corn. Like the rustle of a breeze, except I didn’t feel any stirring of air. Whether it was a trick of the wind or something else, a moment later I’m certain I heard a moan. And there was something moving among the rows.”
“A stray farm animal?” Iskander suggested hopefully.
“There wasn’t any livestock,” I recalled. “No dogs. No barn cats. Not even any chickens.”
“Thank heavens for small favors,” Whyborne muttered. “I don’t know what it was. Before I could investigate, Vernon appeared and started waving around his knife and threatening me. He must have spotted us and thought us trespassers. Mr. Reynolds spoke of nocturnal prowlers going about frightening people—perhaps Vernon believed us the culprits. I rather thought I might have to defend myself against him, truth be told. Until he realized we were with you, Griffin, and...well.” Whyborne glanced worriedly at me. “I thought he meant to kill you. You’re certain he wasn’t corrupted?”
It made no sense. Even if Vernon had believed them indigent trespassers, he would have seen Christine with them. The presence of a woman should have soothed his fears, or at least caused him to approach less aggressively.
Not to mention he apparently hadn’t brought any field hands with him. If he believed he’d spotted a group of potentially dangerous prowlers, why not take the rest of the work crew to apprehend them?
“His animosity for me aside, I find Vernon’s action suspicious,” I said carefully. “Although I suppose I might be letting personal sentiment cloud my judgment.”
“Do you think he’s hiding something?” Iskander asked. “But what? And if his own wife is corrupted, yet he isn’t...well, I’m not certain what that could mean. Is he a Fideles? Or is she hiding secrets from him?”
“I’ve no idea.” I stared out over the bleak fields of dead, stunted corn. Many farms would be abandoned after such a harsh year, and their former inhabitants find themselves destitute on the poor farm. “We need to find out what this corruption is.”
“Perhaps we’ll learn something at this blasted dinner with the mayor,” Christine said. “Although I’m not even certain what questions to ask at this point. I suppose ‘Pardon me, do you belong to any murderous cults?’ is out.”
“You might need a bit more subtlety than that,” I agreed. For a moment, I considered going with them, even though I hadn’t been invited. Surely the mayor wouldn’t just throw me out if I turned up on her doorstep.
But I had questions of my own, which Lawrence could answer. Starting with what exactly had become of Benjamin Walter.
~ * ~
That evening, Whyborne, Iskander, and Christine borrowed the Reynolds’ wagon yet again, to take them to the mayor’s house. Having no wish to add to Annie’s chores, I’d pressed Whyborne’s suit while he scrubbed off as much of the road dust as possible. By the time he drove off, he looked quite respectable, with his hair tamed by oil and a bit of cologne to cover the smell of livestock. No doubt the young ladies at the dinner would appreciate my efforts.
“The mayor didn’t invite you,” Simon observed from the doorway as I watched them drive away.
“I’m not rich or famous enough to be interesting,” I replied lightly. And possibly it was even true. Surely not everyone in Fallow knew of the old scandal, or recalled it after all this time. Perhaps Mayor Tate thought me Whyborne’s secretary or servant, if she knew of my existence at all.
“Ma’s a better cook anyway,” Simon said loyally. “She said to wash up and come in for dinner.”
When we sat down to our meal, Annie asked, “Would you like to say grace tonight, Griffin?”
It had been a long time since I’d spoken grace over a meal. Whyborne was a thoroughgoing atheist, but I couldn’t blame my lapse on him. I’d long ago fallen out of the habit, just as I’d ceased to say a nightly prayer years before we’
d met.
I clasped my hands and bowed my head. What to say? “Heavenly Father, we thank you for this meal. For the good earth that provided it, and the sun and rain which came in their due time.” I licked the memory of dust from my lips. “And I pray You continue to provide for this community. Keep all within it safe and whole. Amen.”
After dinner, Lawrence invited me to sit in front of the fire with him. The October nights held a chill, even this early in the month, and I was glad to agree. He took out a corncob pipe and set about packing and lighting it. His wife settled their children with books and toys, before retreating to a comfortable chair and taking up her sewing.
A nostalgic ache started in my chest. Pa and I had sat like this many an evening, after a long day of work in the fields. Only the laughter of children was different. Pa had built a big house, expecting to fill it with offspring. But that particular blessing had never come, and I’d been the only child they chose to adopt.
Did Vernon and Marian have any children? Or did she have any from her marriage to Benjamin?
The memory of corruption on her face caused me to shudder. God, I hoped not. If this was some kind of magical infection or sickness, if it couldn’t be cured...
“You were right about Vernon’s crop being almost the only one left worth harvesting,” I said to Lawrence. “Theirs and the poor farm’s.”
Lawrence blew a long stream of fragrant smoke from his nostrils. “Should I ask how your ma is doing?”
I looked away. “Well enough, as far as I can tell.”
“You know, folks claimed marrying my Annie was a sin,” Lawrence said, his voice pitched so low I could barely hear it above the crackle of the fire. “Quoting Deuteronomy at me, about how God divided the nations and separated the sons of Adam. Saying the mingling of races is what brought about the great flood.”
And we Sodomites were only blamed for destroying a city or two. “I’m sorry,” I said.
He shook his head. “I’m just saying what is. Folks are so quick to cast the first stone. They forget the bit about not judging lest ye be judged.”
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