Strange Omens

by Jim Stein

  Thursday, we gathered around the monitoring console to go over next week’s schedules. Friday was a holiday. I would be in the office Monday morning and be on the road by lunch if the week launched smoothly.

  “Check.” Meg nodded, her short bob of dark hair slapping prettily at round cheeks. “I can reschedule on the fly if needed. Advertisers only care about the number of promos per day and if we hit the timeslot they paid for.”

  “Power out is stable and our remote receivers report good modulation.” David laid out his beloved charts and raw data. I grinned at his enthusiasm, especially given the rest of us couldn’t make heads nor tails out of the information.

  “So, good to go?” I slapped his back to ease his disappointment over us not digging in to read the data.

  Hassan grinned, winked, and opened his mouth, but a crash sounded from the hall. We all spun as the door burst open, admitting a frantic farmer.

  “Shit, Ed, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all morning.” Pete was covered in dirt, grease, and splatters I would rather not know about.

  “What the hell happened?” I glanced at my phone out of habit, and of course the voice-mail symbol mocked me from the upper left corner. Stupid cell service.

  “Locusts!” Pete snatched a cup from the water cooler, filled it, and downed the liquid in one swift gulp. That was when the smell hit me, cut grass mixed with an acrid chemical I couldn’t place. “A swarm band is eating everything along the outer fields.”

  “Are you talking about cicadas?” I asked. “We don’t get locusts in Pennsylvania.”

  “Well, we do now.” Pete swigged another cup. “And they’re frickin’ hungry. We’ve netted some of the beans and splashed turpentine on the equipment to keep the intakes clear, but there’s millions of ‘em. We need help.”

  As if the world wasn’t screwed up enough.

  9. The Cost of Magic

  C LOUDS FED by tendrils of smoke billowed on the horizon as we approached the farm.

  “They’re burning the shelter belts, hoping to stop them at the tree line protecting the fields.” Pete’s knuckles turned white on the wheel as he turned up the dirt road toward the outbuildings.

  The clouds shimmered and shifted, largely avoiding the rising smoke.

  “Holy crap.” The heavy haze stung my eyes, but blinking didn’t change the facts. “Those are bugs.”

  “They’ve multiplied.” Pete let out a low growl of frustration. “You can call fire?”

  “Well yeah, but…” The puny fire net I had in mind might cover a third of one of those swarms. There were three main clouds of locusts, and the ground was littered with them. “There’re just too many.”

  “Insecticides won’t be enough.”

  The truck’s tires crunched and popped over a carpet of insects, and bare branches swayed to either side of the car. The old elms lining the road had been cast back into winter. There wasn’t a speck of green left on any of them. In fact, the entire hillside beyond the farm was a brown mass. New Philly wouldn’t have fall produce if we didn’t get this under control.

  “Get us to the far side, beyond your fire line.” I didn’t need the farm hands watching my spells. Only Pete’s sister, Melissa, knew about my powers and the other strangeness surrounding the oblivious masses.

  “Sure.” Pete pulled alongside a group of weary farmers hauling equipment from a cluster of metal sheds “Norm, I’m circling around to the north side. Throw a can of kerosene and a torch in the back. We’ll try to trap them between us and you.”

  I barely recognized Pete’s cousin through the soot and ichor staining the tall, lanky fellow. Twigs, leaves, and maybe grasshopper legs were caught up in his curly hair. Norm hoisted a five gallon can and blue propane torch into the truck bed. He slapped the quarter panel, and Pete raced down the main road, angling around the narrow strip of trees that blazed between fields. We bumped up onto the stone pad I’d made out of their troublesome boulder, rode smooth for a few seconds, then thumped back down to the rutted path.

  Thin mesh stretched over the juvenile soybean plants in a gauzy carpet, but several grasshoppers had already found their way under the protective net. The edges of the fields were wet with standing puddles that would hopefully prevent the crops from burning. The fire and a slight rise along the soybean fields hid us from view of the others. We bounced to a stop by an island of black walnut trees. I waved away the cloud of dust that washed over us as we hopped out.

  “My spell can only reach about twenty feet,” I shouted over the crackling buzz.

  Even that would be a stretch. I’d only fashioned the thing a few times in an attempt to reproduce the spell an adversary used against Koko. The Fire element was fickle, responding to deep melodious tunes for healing and communications, but requiring more frenzied music when tapping its wild and destructive properties. I considered my options as Pete splashed kerosene into the trees.

  This would require power and control. I plucked my travel amp from the truck and plugged my phone into the brick. An external beat would help me focus. The dark blizzard blowing across the field make it hard to see the songs scrolling on my tiny screen. I brushed at stray locusts pelting me from the fringe of the cloud, then nodded to Pete as the music began.

  He lowered the roaring torch, and flames whooshed up to engulf the juvenile walnuts. Having fire to work with was simpler than creating my own. Three Days Grace songs brimmed with unbridled energy, the tempo surging and waning unexpectedly. “I Am Machine” started with snares and simple guitar chords speaking of vigilance and getting the job done. I drew forth Fire, laid the power alongside the introduction, and separated the flow of energy into strands and cross-threads to form my net. It crackled and surged, wanting to be free. I experimentally whipped the spell out across the burning trees. Flame and heat drawn by natural affinity gleefully abandoned the wood. My net blazed with power and cleansing fire.

  I swung my arms high, willing the spell to unfurl. It stretched to three times my height and the sizzling edge cut into the swarm overhead. Smoking insects dropped to the ground. The swarm shifted, rushing away from the leading edge only to be caught in the net. Pete grabbed me around the waist as I was dragged forward by the surge of insects. Thousands fell, but millions made up the first of the three swarms. I swept my net from side to side, but much of the mass flowed over the top edge to freedom.

  “Not enough.” My eyes streamed from the smoke, my arms ached, and my stomach threatened to rebel against the acrid stench.

  “They’re too many,” Pete shouted in my ear and swatted at the insects covering him.

  I drove more music out through the net. The flame strands thickened, flaring white hot, but I just couldn’t push it any farther. My arms turned to lead, but still I swept my spell through the never-ending mass. My sneakers crunched as I strode forward, determined to get them all, but my legs refused to work properly.

  “Jussth a lithle clothhher.” My tongue had gone thick and sluggish.

  Pete spun me away from the truck, which somehow managed to get in front of me. The swarm blurred, and I lashed out. A swatch of the agricultural mesh burst into flames and bean plants curled black. Then the ground rushed up, and my spell winked out.

  Pete called from the bottom of a well. I couldn’t make out his words over the incessant buzz, couldn’t think why he was even here. I finally rolled over, crunching burnt carcasses and icy crystals as I got to my feet.

  “To the truck, Ed.” Pete grabbed my right arm and helped me walk.

  “Time?”

  The sky had grown dark, but not from flying insects.

  “After eight.”

  I plunked down in the passenger seat. Dusk came on fast, but only a few grasshoppers floated about. Flames sputtered at the edge of the field, the side of Pete’s truck smoked, and a twenty foot ring of white coated the ground where I’d fallen. The frosty circle shrunk as its perimeter melted back to dusty brown.

  “Did I get them all?” Tingles crawled up my neck
and my head jerked in little spasms as deep chills took hold.

  “Maybe ten percent.” Pete threw a blanket made of fire ants and mold over me. “The swarm left for the night, but they’ll be back.”

  I tried to tell him to take back the filthy blanket and get my phone. In response to my stuttering snake impression, he hiked the gross covering up to my chin.

  “I’m getting you down to the house and into a hot bath. No arguments!”

  ***

  “Thanks Mrs. Easton.” Her cocoa was scalding good.

  “Drink up, dear. The color is finally back in your cheeks.” She topped off my mug with more steaming chocolate.

  I sighed and snuggled down in the big oak chair at the kitchen table. The Easton house smelled of stone and wood, spices and smoke—a bubble in time. Stone foundation showed beneath plaster walls behind the kettle of heaven simmering atop an iron stove.

  Pete’s mother was taller than her husband. The sinewy forearms jutting from her flowered dress sleeves were layered with lean muscle like the rest of her wiry frame. She tucked a curl of strawberry-blond hair back into her bun with a concerned smile in her sharp brown eyes.

  “Mom.” Pete cleared his throat and sat at the table. “We really need to strategize about tomorrow.”

  “Don’t mind me. I need to water the animals and sweep those nasty bugs off my porch. But do be careful. I can’t imagine what you got into that has this poor boy half frozen.”

  Mrs. Easton dropped her apron onto the counter next to the big porcelain sink and left. As soon as she was out of earshot, Pete turned to me.

  “Yeah, why did the great and powerful Ed turn into a human popsicle?”

  “Spells take energy.”

  “Sure, but I thought it was just a matter of concentration and getting a little winded.”

  “Not that simple.” I downed the last of my chocolate with a pang of disappointment. “A lot depends on the type of spell, its duration, and the intensity. As annoying as Piper is sometimes, she’s really helped me map out the cost of my magic. I’m getting a good feel for the impacts.”

  “Gotta say you missed the mark on this one.” Pete shook his head and unfolded a lumpy napkin he pulled from the pocket of his coveralls. “And we still need to deal with these.”

  “Throwing fire around takes heat. I thought the magic would just pull from the trees you torched.” I frowned down at the two giant grasshoppers he exposed. “Ugly bastards.”

  The three-inch-long insects were armored tanks of dark tan with black spots along their shimmering wings. Their hind legs rose high in a serrated vee. A residual shiver ran up my spine.

  “I talked with Dad while you lounged in the sauna.” Pete grinned knowing damned well the claw-foot tub upstairs was no Turkish bath. “Not a local species. See these stubby protrusions? Short horned grasshoppers for sure, except they are squatter with a more angular head.”

  “A mutation?” I ventured, then gaped at the twin spindles folded against one bug’s abdomen.

  “You noticed!” Pete used a pencil to lift one of the spines, which ended in a tiny jointed section of pads. “Eight legs.”

  “Must be camouflage, not true legs.” Entomology wasn’t my thing, but insects couldn’t turn into spiders.

  “Maybe, but it doesn’t help us deal with them.” Pete crossed to the stove and poured himself a hot chocolate. “You can’t afford any more fire spells. At least not on a scale that’ll do us any good.”

  “You farmers must have some tricks. Maybe burn them in their sleep?”

  “Norm thinks they burrowed underground for the night. He saw a few tunnel, but the main swarm broke up and just sort of vanished. If we burn the trees overnight, there’s nothing left to try tomorrow. Plus it takes more food away and they’ll sure as cow shit home in on those tender green fields.”

  “What drives a swarm?”

  “Food of course, but besides that…” Pete shrugged.

  We decided to do a little research. Although the farmhouse was pushing two hundred years old, the Eastons stockpiled information on horticulture, agriculture science, and business logistics. Even better, their library was multimedia so we didn’t have to slog through musty old books. A thirty minute documentary shot somewhere in Oklahoma at the turn of the century yielded the best information.

  “Gregarious bastards,” Pete mumbled as he shut off the computer.

  That was the term for normally solitary grasshoppers turning friendly due to overcrowding. It stimulated crazy physical changes in body structure, coloration, and social behaviors—such as swarming.

  “I don’t see a way to shut that off. Weather patterns play a big role, but I can’t control those.”

  Maybe Quinn inherited the ability to bring storms, but the Water element and I didn’t get along so well.

  “We need to lure them into a kill zone,” Pete said. “Get them packed tight so we can deal with them. But the bait would have to be food and that’s all around.”

  “The program said they swarm toward green and yellow food sources.”

  I paced the length of the den, coaxing an idea to life. I was no master of illusion like Pina, but I might be able to pull something off with the Spirit element. For that matter, if our sprite was home Piper could bring her out to help.

  ***

  It was a long night. We drove to town for supplies and with the hopes of finding Pina, but Piper hadn’t seen her. Meanwhile, the crew tilled under a fallow field adjacent to the soybeans. They churned feed grass into rich brown soil, leaving a rough circle of green about fifty feet across as a bullseye for the incoming horde of locust. Kerosene fumes from the shallow trench around the grassy patch and renewed buzzing rose with the sun. But we were ready.

  “You’ll need to keep it burning.”

  “No problem.” Pete shouldered a long-handled torch with a bell nozzle. “Norm has the far side.”

  Cousin Norm was a calculated risk. Most of the workers would be guarding the crops and setting protective fires same as yesterday. Seen from a distance, my work should just look like the stage lightshow I’d outlined in our plan. The laser projector sat on a table outside the circle, courtesy of Double-M Records. The A-Chords hadn’t had room for the big black box, so I borrowed it from the studio. Green laser illumination would provide a plausible explanation if my scheme worked. Unfortunately, Norm might see more than just a light show while tending his side of the fire ring.

  As the morning chill vanished, the mutated grasshoppers ascended in thin tornadoes funneling into two massive clouds of destruction.

  “Cue the music,” I said.

  “No Ed-cicles right?” Pete asked as he powered up the amp.

  “No worries.”

  Spirit energy links us to the world and nature. Seeking spells use those connections to find lost items. Yet Spirit is also of the imagination—the stuff of dreams. The nebulous element might just be my most powerful. That linkage to the imagination let me focus my desire as I had done to improve the hiding spell.

  Quinn’s bass flowed from the speaker. When Randy’s tribal beat joined in, I imagined lush golden grass and juicy green leaves within the circle. Laser lights zipped along the ground in big, looping flowers. My Spirit energy resonated with Jinx’s slow singing.

  You take me down…down,

  To the ground…ground,

  I need you here by my side,

  Have no fear…fear, my dear,

  The spell mingled with the laser, painting the target lush and green. It wasn’t just a food source, it was the food. All else was dust and decay. Spring dew and flowers blanketed the luscious grass. Room for all, no more crowding. Stems grew faster than I could eat. I looked down on the shining field through faceted vision that made my head swim. And I wanted—I needed.

  Come down with me now,

  To our lovely spot in the ground,

  Down…down…down

  And they came. Funnels descended from each cloud, stirring a rising wind of papery wings and buz
zing clicks. They slammed into the open ground, driven by blinding hunger. Stunned and disoriented, they fed on the grass and each other.

  Whoosh!

  Flames licked up around the perimeter as Ed and his cousin lit the kerosene. Fire encircled the heaps of insects that poured down and threaten to spill over the trench. The A-chords’ song finished, but my spell was set. Lushness flowed across the open ground, I saw it though the flames and smoke. Hoppers on the edge crackled and burned, popping hisses amidst Quinn’s fading riff.

  Clapping hands joined in, then wordless voices and the tribal beat of the Fall Out Boy song. Still the insects piled higher, reverse tornadoes accelerating and dumping an endless stream of hungry bodies. The writhing mass piled ankle, then knee, deep. I reached for Fire, forming my net into a swirling spiral. The lyrics pulsed with wishes in the dark, dreaming, and letting loose.

  “Light ‘Em Up!” Pete and Norm yelled the title, pumping their fists with the beat.

  Rather than the stretching and straining net from yesterday, I released power in a grinding wheel. Flames in the trench dipped low as I pulled from them. The warmth of the world drained away. Pete cursed and hurried to dump more fuel into the feeder trench, rebuilding the ring. And they burned.

  The spell churned through locusts, turning them to ash as quickly as they landed. My world narrowed to an oily, smoking scene. I walked my spell around the area, incinerating, destroying. The flames grew gleeful, wanting more, wanting to escape and roam free. Weariness pulled and made it difficult to keep the magic focused.

  Finally it was over. I released both spells, letting the fires consume the last insects in our ring and grounding Spirit to my aura. My Tokpela danced and fluttered in response, the hiding spell trying its best to rip off the top of my head. I coughed, sagged, and sat hard in the dirt.