The Farm

PART TWO

KORE

Shouting roused Kore from the grass. She lifted her head and tilted an ear toward the distant sound, eventually making out the shape of her name, and running feet, and the swish-crunch of plants trampled underfoot. Kore scrambled to stand, just in time for Theophania to charge into the clearing.

The woman doubled over, hands on her knees, to try to catch her breath. Her hair, which Kore herself had twisted into a braided updo only that morning, hung in frizzy strands. Her bronze skin glistened with sweat, her long dress stained down the middle of her back.

Kore helped her stand upright. She settled her hands on Theo’s shoulders and urged her to take deep breaths. “What’s going on?”

“The truck is leaving,” Theo gasped. “Your mother is picking drivers.”

“What?” Kore looked to the sky, panic crawling through her stomach at the angle of the sun. “It isn’t time yet.”

“I know. She thought if it left early, it would stop you asking to go for another week.”

Hurt burned down Kore’s throat, but she swallowed it. “Is it too late?”

Theo took her wrist and tugged. “If we hurry, we might catch it.”

Kore wasted no time on words. She followed after Theo, her knees sweeping through the grass. They burst through the trees, out of the safety of the woods and into the fields. Long lines of neatly planted crops stretched before them, from breezy stalks to thorny bushes to the wood of fruit trees. Kore chose a row and ran, beginning to outpace Theo even though Theo stood a head taller.

The farmhouse loomed on the horizon, and above it, the great oak which marked the beginning of the road. Kore and Theo crashed through the dirt, finally stumbling onto the circular drive. Mother and the nymphs stood there already, watching the truck rumble away down the road.

Kore stared. Mother had promised, had looked her in the eyes and said this time, finally this time, so the truck couldn’t be disappearing past the shimmering barrier that separated them from the human world. And yet, as Kore watched, it made its way through the fog and faded from sight.

Mother must have heard their pounding feet, but she didn’t turn until birds once again filled the silence. She tilted her head and considered Kore and Theo. “There you are. We’ve been looking for you, Kore.”

A glance at the nymphs standing around them said that wasn’t true. Kore’s tongue turned sour. She fought the pressure building behind her eyes. “Why didn’t you come and get me?”

“We tried. You wandered off to who-knows-where.”

The tone, equal parts chiding and nonchalant, burrowed under Kore’s skin. She resisted the urge to shout in the way she knew would get her nowhere, and instead, did her best impression of a daughter who made her mother proud.

“The truck wasn’t supposed to leave until sundown.”

“You know the human world. I hardly want any of you stuck out there at night.”

Kore pressed her lips together. “You could have told me.”

Mother clucked her tongue. Her weathered face turned, disapproval carved into every smile line and crow’s foot. “Now isn’t the time for this conversation.”

Once, Kore would have read the warning in Mother’s expression and left it there. She’d push her hurt down to her feet and hope it bled into the dirt. She’d find Theo or one of the other girls and pretend she wanted nothing more than dust on her face and sunshine on her skin.

Lately, she hadn’t been able to summon that ability.

“Mother, can I talk with you inside, please?”

Mother sighed, as if Kore had asked for a great and personal inconvenience. She gestured for Kore to lead the way, followed as Kore trotted up the steps to the farmhouse and let herself into the cool, shaded interior. Stairs curved up and to Kore’s left, which would take her to the big loft she shared with the other nymphs. Instead, she continued into the kitchen, where she’d at least have a little privacy from the eyes that would surely find their way to the windows.

“Honestly, Kore,” Mother said, “this is quite childish behavior. We still have work to do.”

Kore waited until Mother had come fully into the kitchen, until she stopped fussing with the dishes left on the counter and redoing her tight yellow bun and turned her full attention to Kore.

“You promised I could go this week,” Kore said.

“It’s not my fault you weren’t around when the truck left.”

“You sent it as soon as you couldn't see me. Would you have waited until tomorrow if I stuck to the farm?”

“Dear, you’re taking this all a little personally.” Mother settled her hands on the counter and her yellow eyes on Kore. “We were done with the harvest, it’s as simple as that. I keep telling you, if you want the benefits of the farm, you need to be there for the work.”

Mother had a point, of course. If Kore hadn’t been skygazing, she would have been around. She would have been on the truck and would have, for once, gotten to see the humans they did all this for.

Sympathy crossed Mother’s features. She stepped close to brush wet from Kore’s cheek. “You can go next time.”

Kore nodded, though a tightness crept through her chest, the kind of feeling that said there would always be a next time.

“Do you want to come with me to the peach orchards?” Mother offered. “They’re ready to fruit. Helping them along will cheer you up.”

Kore shook her head. “I’m going to go lay down.”

She didn’t add that she couldn’t continue to say words and know they weren’t being heard. That as content as Mother was to spend every waking moment on the farm, Kore couldn’t imagine a more dismal existence.

#

Nightfall had come when Theo found her in the loft. Kore sat in her usual spot under the big window, reading against a stack of pillows. She could almost recite the book from memory at this point, but Mother hadn’t gotten new ones in some time. Too much work to do, she said, and hardly any use for such frivolities as reading.

Theo lowered herself beside Kore. “You didn’t come back out to the fields.”

Kore shrugged in response.

“You want to talk about it?”

Kore let the book fall shut. She glanced at the others lounged around the big space, sleeping or writing letters or reading books of their own. She shrugged again.

Theo understood. She held out a hand and waited for Kore to take it, or push her away.

Kore paused, before slipping her fingers into Theo’s. Together they stood and picked their way over and around the others. She followed Theo down the stairs and onto the front porch, where they could have something resembling privacy. Theo folded her long legs onto the bench overlooking the drive, and beyond that, somewhere in the dark, the line separating the farm from the rest of the world.

For a long time, neither said anything. Theo seemed to be waiting for Kore to start, but she didn’t know where to. Something rustled in her hair, and she realized with a flush of embarrassment that she’d sprouted flowers. She reached up for it, came away with a perfectly-formed orange poppy.

Theo flashed her a strained smile. “This thing your mom is doing won’t last forever, you know. Once you get out there and show her you won’t melt, she’ll relax.”

Kore snorted. “She’ll have to let me out there first.”

“She’ll come around.”

“You’ve been saying that for three hundred years. I’m not exactly inclined to believe it at this point.”

“Give it another three hundred. You’re almost there.”

Kore knew Theo meant it as a joke, but she couldn’t bring herself to laugh. Something small and fragile wilted at the thought of being stuck on the farm for another three centuries.

Theo leaned close, settling her cheek against the top of Kore’s head. “I’d take you out there myself if I could.”

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Kore appreciated the sentiment, even if she knew Theo spoke impossibilities. She’d be kicked off the farm for such a transgression, and the world no longer held kindness for nymphs and deities and immortal things. At least, that’s what Mother said when new nymphs showed up on their doorstep, begging her protection.

A blue light on the horizon caught Kore’s attention. She lifted her gaze to the spot where the barrier met the farm’s boundary. A silhouette appeared against the darkness, tall and androgynous. The figure approached the farm, quickly materializing into a familiar shape.

Kore stood to wave a greeting.

Beside her, Theo squinted. “Who is it?”

“Hecate.”

“I wonder what she’s doing here.”

Kore walked down the steps to greet the Titan. They shared a hug, though Hecate’s smile didn’t reach her eyes.

“Kore,” Hecate greeted. “Where’s your mom?”

Kore gestured at the house, frowning at the concern in Hecate’s voice. “Is everything all right?”

“World’s ending, nothing new.”

Kore smiled politely, though she didn’t think Hecate meant it entirely as a joke. She led the way inside, motioning for Hecate to wait in the kitchen. Then she turned down the hallway leading to Mother’s room.

Only when she heard the call for her to enter did she open the door. Mother sat up in bed, notebook in one hand and pen in the other. Records, Kore knew. Keeping track of what went out and what needed planting and what could be harvested.

“Hecate is here,” she said.

Mother’s eyebrows creased. “Did she say why?”

Kore shook her head.

Mother slipped from under the covers and took her robe from where it hung on the corner of the dresser. She wrapped it around her and led Kore back to the kitchen.

Hecate smiled when she saw Mother, but this one seemed even more strained than the first. “Thank you for meeting me, Demeter. I wish I could have given you more notice.”

Mother cinched the sash of her dressing robe tight around her. “Sometimes these things can’t be helped. What can I do for you, Hecate?”

If the lack of small talk bothered Hecate, she didn’t show it. She glanced, instead, at Kore and Theo. “I have a few questions for you, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course. We can use my office.” Demeter gestured for the Titan to start down the hall. To Kore and Theo, she pointed upstairs. “I’ll be right back.”

Kore understood the request. Mother made the same one every time Hecate had actual, interesting business to discuss.

Those conversations aren’t for you, not yet, Mother had said when Kore had asked to join one. In good time. You’ve got an eternity, after all.

Too bad Kore didn’t want an eternity sitting in her room like the child she’d once been. She’d been grown for centuries, and the time had long passed for Mother to understand that.

Mother and Hecate disappeared down the hall. Kore waited approximately thirty seconds, then ran for the back door. Theo followed without a word, and together they slipped onto the back porch, over the railing, and around the side of the house.

Most of the windows to Mother’s office faced the front, but two rested along this side, behind a row of morning glories. The drapes of both had been pulled closed, as they always were, which meant Mother would not be looking this way—hopefully.

Kore and Theo stopped below the nearest window. Kore settled into a comfortable crouch against the siding so she could reach out for the thin, wispy leaves. They shuddered under her touch, lengthening as their stalks grew, reaching for the window and curling around the lip of it. Kore whispered encouragement, guided the stems to push up and up and up, until the window cracked and the sounds of conversation drifted through.

“--not sure what you want me to do,” Mother’s voice said, the tone sharp. “We stay away from the others for a reason.”

“I know,” Hecate answered. “And I’m sorry to have to ask, but if you have a famine planned, I need you to postpone.”

A beat of silence. “I beg your pardon?”

“This is your department, I understand that, and I have no business telling you how to run it. But we’re having a space problem in the Underworld right now, and for the time being, we can’t have a mass casualty event.”

Kore and Theo shared a glance. Kore was glad to see this made as little sense to Theo as it made to her.

“A space problem?” Mother asked, concern creeping into her voice.

“Hades is working on it, but there’s little he can do. The humans don’t keep to the old ways, and many of them have nothing for the crossing. Too many of them are left stranded on the shore. I’ve seen it myself, Demeter. The earth goes black and the dead break the seals. They spill forward in droves, and everything we know comes crashing down.”

Theo’s mouth opened in surprise, and Kore felt her hair rustle in agreement.

“We’re coming into the fall harvest,” Mother said slowly. “Perhaps I can have the girls assist the humans in their world. We can work faster than they can, after all. And the spring plant, I’m sure we can spare a few for that. We might need to use the rivers.”

“Anything you need. I’ll talk to Hades to be sure there are no hiccups. It might be prudent to tell your girls, if they find themselves in the Underworld for any length of time—”

“I know.” Mother’s tone turned sharp. “I will not let another one of them get stuck down there. Not ever again.”

The conversation lulled. Kore strained to hear, but she was met only with the chirps of bugs, the whisper of wind through the trees. She wondered if that was the end of it.

“Demeter,” Hecate said at last. “I know you have your reasons, but I wonder if Kore might—”

“Absolutely not. Do not ask me that.”

A sigh. “You tell me she’s restless, and I can see she’s more powerful than she knows. She can help.”

“No. I will not have her around any of them, god or Titan or anything else. As I said, we stay away from the others.”

Another silence, this one charged with something Kore couldn’t name. “It’s been a long time since the war. Things have changed.”

“I said no. Kore remains here.”

“You’re creating a problem you won’t be able to solve.”

“That’s enough!” Mother’s shout made Kore flinch. “I’ll thank you not to disclose her presence to anyone else, as per our agreement. I allow you on this farm out of an old friendship, but that can change, too.”

When Hecate’s answer came, her tone sent goosebumps along Kore’s arms. “Of course, Demeter. I’m sorry I asked.”

#

Kore and Theo had made it back to the front porch when Hecate let herself outside. Little circles of color had appeared on her cheeks, anger spots Kore had never seen on her before.

“My mother sounded angry,” Kore said before she could stop herself. “What did she say?”

Hecate didn’t answer for a long time. She tilted her head and studied Kore with deep eyes, the kind that had seen more life than Kore could ever imagine. The metal in her ears glinted in the porch light.

“Everything hinges on you,” she said finally. “You have a role to play in this yet, I can feel it.”

Kore felt heat rush to her cheeks. Did Hecate know they’d heard? Or was Kore missing something else entirely?

Before she could ask, Hecate turned and walked down the steps. Her feet carried her quickly towards the edge of the farm, and before Kore could call out, the seals swallowed her.

Kore had time to share a bewildered look with Theo before Mother’s shout called her into the office.

She found Mother standing with one hand against the large desk, leaning on it like she needed the support. Kore glanced around the room she wasn’t allowed in except times like these, the thick rug and the heavy desk and the shelves covering every available inch of wall space, crowded with records of all the plants and harvests and droughts and famines that had happened since Mother had taken over the human food supply.

Kore didn’t like the new worry lines etched into Mother’s drawn expression. “What did Hecate want?”

Mother shook her head. “It’s always something with the gods. Some crisis or war they expect the others to fix.”

Kore didn’t know what to say to that.

Mother lifted her head and trapped Kore in the weight of her expression. “You know why I ask us to stay on this farm, don’t you?”

“It’s safe,” Kore answered automatically. “It’s hidden from the others, so we can be at peace here.”

Mother nodded. She flipped pages in a notebook on the desk, her mind clearly somewhere else. “You haven’t been out there, Kore. You don’t know what the others are like. The gods are dangerous, the Titans worse. They care little for anyone but themselves. They take what they want and they don’t stop to consider what happens to those they leave behind.”

Kore had heard the speech before, but not like this. Not with the note of old, unhealed pain ringing through Mother’s voice.

“I know you want to see what’s out there,” she continued. “I know how much time you spend with Theophania, especially at the edge of the woods. I’ve let you have that freedom, because I knew I couldn’t keep you here forever. But now you must listen. Something is happening in the Pantheon, and we must remain out of it.”

Kore struggled to understand where this new side of Mother came from. Her gaze had turned intense and unflinching, and Kore didn’t know whether to be more frightened that Mother knew about her ventures to the end of the farm, or about what Hecate had said. The dead, spilling over into the human world? What would that even do?

Suddenly, Mother’s expression softened. She walked to Kore, reached up, plucked a purple flower from her hair. “I only say this to explain why I must ask you, for a few years at least, to put aside these questions you have about going off the farm.”

“Years?” Kore’s voice ripped through half an octave in surprise. “Surely whatever is happening won’t last years.”

Mother’s face twisted. “It very well could. These immortals squabble more than they agree. Their arguments shake the earth and destroy lives and they don’t stop long enough to see what they’ve done.” Mother opened her mouth to say something else, but changed her mind and shook her head. “For now, I must ask you to stay here. We can discuss a safe way for you to explore that leaves us both satisfied.”

Kore doubted such a thing existed. “And the humans? If we stay here, what happens to them?”

“We will continue the shipments, of course. I’ve promised Hecate I would send some of the nymphs down to the mortal realm to help with the harvest and the plant. It will be dangerous, but—”

“The girls get to go and I don’t?”

Mother’s face paled, like she’d said something she hadn’t meant. “I don’t think now is the time to discuss the particulars.”

“If it’s too dangerous for me, surely it’s too dangerous for them.”

“You’re different. You’re a god, and my only daughter.”

“So, what, they’re more expendable than I am?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“That’s what you said.”

Mother made an exasperated sound in the back of her throat. “Honestly, Kore, you’re taking all of this wildly out of proportion.”

Kore shook her head. Anger closed her throat, preventing her from speaking. Heat welled between her eyes. The sound of wood tearing exploded between her feet.

“Kore!” Mother pushed her aside and stooped to pick up the weed that had cracked through one of the floorboards. “This is exactly what I mean. You’re not ready to be out there, not when you can’t act respectable for five minutes.”

Kore watched Mother throw the weed, roots and all, into the trash can beside her desk. She flinched as the little thing screamed.

“This is it, isn’t it?” she whispered.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s always going to be something. Some excuse, any reason you can find for me not to go.”

“You know I can’t understand you when you mumble like that.”

Kore shook her head. Tears fell from her eyes. She hated them, hated that she couldn’t control herself, that she couldn’t be happy here. She would never belong on the farm, not like this.

More green things sprouted, thick and curling. They pulsed, reaching for the ceiling with every beat of her heart. Mother shrieked, yelling at her to take a deep breath before she took the house down. The sound of wood splitting snapped Kore back to reality.

She had to leave, before her lack of control caused anything worse.

Kore ran out of the office, out the front door, down the porch steps. She passed Theo’s shouts, turned away from the road, dashed down the rows. The edge of the woods loomed in her vision, blurred by her shameful tears, and she aimed for it.

The wild tangle would survive if she lost control there. The pressure screaming behind her eyes wouldn’t hurt the already gnarled trees, the tangled underbrush. Even if she felled branches and caused monstrous things to sprout, at least she wouldn’t take the house down or rip up the crops they’d worked so hard on.

She would apologize as soon as she had herself under control. She would take tonight, tomorrow maybe, to be alone. To mourn the renewed bars Mother had slapped over the farm. She would make her peace with it, and she would return the daughter Mother had always wished for. She could—she would make Mother proud.

Kore told herself that even as she ran right past the seals and let the magic swallow her.