Page 2 of A Fractured Song

“In Bull Creek?” Marieke asked, surprised. “That’s pretty far away.”

Her father nodded. “It’s outside my usual area of service. But the closer horse doctor is out of town, apparently. And they’re in some difficulty with a pregnant mare who’s in a bad way. They can’t afford to lose the mare or the foal, not with things so tight.”

“The journey there and back will take the better part of the day,” Marieke’s mother said, looking worried. “Canweafford the loss of your other work?”

Her husband sighed. “Better than they can afford for the mare to die, I think. I’ll leave at once, the sooner to be back. Maybe I’ll still be able to open the clinic here for a couple of hours before sunset.”

“I’ll come with you,” Marieke offered. “For company on the drive if nothing else.”

“That would be welcome,” her father told her. “And I’m sure we can put you to more work than that.”

Marieke nodded, not averse either to the change in scenery or the opportunity to be useful. She busied herself helping her mother pack a hamper for the struggling family while her father hitched up their wagon. Before long, she was sitting beside her father on the broad bench seat, bumping along the road westward, away from the coast.

The pair chatted easily on the journey, but Marieke’s heart was heavy. The landscape they passed through seemed to mock her optimistic earlier thoughts that perhaps no great threat still hung over Oleand. The dry fields and scrawny trees were such a stark contrast to the thriving, fertile land she’d seen on her visit to Aeltas. Zev’s family holdings had been particularly rich.

And her mind was back on Zev. She forced all thoughts of the inconveniently captivating farmer aside, determined to stay focused on where she was and what she was doing.

When they arrived at the farm near Bull Creek, there was enough to do to keep Marieke fully occupied. But her heaviness of heart didn’t ease—the struggles of the family in question might be a distraction from dwelling on Zev, but they were a further indication of the generally deteriorating state of Oleand.

The silver lining was that her father was able to diagnosethe mare’s ailment, and provide treatment which offered reasonable hope of survival both for mother and foal. They were just packing up their supplies, optimistic about making it home in good time, when a shout went up from the lane leading to the farm.

Marieke paused in the act of loading her father’s old leather bag, looking up in concern.

“Stay here,” her father said, as if she was still a vulnerable child, not an adult and a trained singer. “I’ll see what’s happening.”

He strode out of the barn, his lean form disappearing from view. Finishing her task quickly, Marieke stood and made her way to the doorway, hovering there in half-hearted obedience to his instructions. But she didn’t need to emerge to hear the shout that was going up on all sides.

“Fire!”

Fire? Marieke froze, her eyes wide with horror as they flicked to the farmhouse nearby. But she could see no sign of billowing smoke or licking flames.

“Fire in the fields!”

Marieke let out a gasp. Having grown up around farmers, she understood how those four words contained a nightmare of the worst kind. If someone’s crops were on fire, not only homes would be threatened, but whole livelihoods. And in a field of dry wheat, the flames could spread with terrifying speed. If not stopped quickly, it would be near impossible to quell them.

At least with normal methods.

Disregarding her father’s orders, Marieke hurried out of the barn, joining the group gathering at the gate.

“Where’s the fire?” she demanded.

“Out in Mosley’s wheat field,” a stranger said, oblivious to the fact that Marieke wasn’t from the area and that description meant nothing to her. “It’s spreading fast!”

“What caused it?” demanded Marieke’s father, gazing up at the cloudy sky. It wasn’t exactly peak fire conditions.

“No one knows,” the man said. “Smoke was first spotted out in the middle of the field, nowhere near any dwellings. It’s fields on all sides, and no one was out there that we know of. Half a dozen families stand to lose what little crops they have.”

“No time to waste, then,” Marieke said briskly. “Does someone have a wagon ready?”

“Marieke.” Her father turned warningly to her. “You’re not going near there.”

“Of course I am,” she said, staring him down. “Unless there’s anyone else here who’s a singer trained specifically in agricultural song.”

“You’re a singer?” One of the locals leaned forward, looking ready to seize her shoulders in his relief. “You have to help us!”

“I’ll do whatever I can,” she told him seriously, her insides crawling with nerves. In spite of her bold words to her father, her theoretical studies in agricultural song felt feeble in the face of a real-life crisis where people’s livelihoods might depend on her.

“Come on,” said the man who’d brought the news. “We shouldn’t delay.”

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