Page 5 of A Fractured Song

“Who?”

“The family whose field was the first to catch fire.”

“Oh.” Marieke put the glass down, full memory of the incident rushing unpleasantly into her awareness. The fire. The fire fueled by angry, intentional magic. “Is the fire out now?”

Her father nodded. “They’re still out there, using barrels of water to make sure the last of the embers are extinguished, but it’s all contained.”

“Well, that’s a relief.”

Her father raised an eyebrow at her. “You sound subdued for a heroic rescuer.”

Marieke snorted. “A what?”

“A hero.” Amusement glinted in her father’s eyes. “If I’m not mistaken, the locals will be building a statue of you before the week is out.”

Marieke shuddered dramatically. “Song and power! Let’s get ourselves home before anyone can do anything so horrifying.”

Her father laughed aloud at that. “Good plan.” His gaze softened as it rested on her. “Jokes aside, Mari, what you did was incredible. You really were heroic. I’m proud of you.”

Marieke felt her cheeks heat, and made a scoffing noise to hide her pleasure. “Don’t you start, Father.” She closed her eyes against the aching in her head, trying to marshal her thoughts. How much should she tell her father? She needed to tellsomeonewhat she’d felt. But he wouldn’t know what to do about the information. “How long was I out?”

“At least half an hour,” he said. “Maybe closer to an hour by now.”

She nodded. So it was highly unlikely that whatever singer had fueled the fire with that angry-feeling enchantment was still within reach. Presumably they would have slipped away when their scheme was thwarted. Part of her was disheartened by this information, while the other—more cowardly—part was relieved a confrontation was unlikely to be possible.

“I’ve held you up,” Marieke realized aloud, her eyes shifting to her father. “You were hoping to be home this afternoon with enough time to open the clinic.”

He shook his head, his smile amused. “Obviously there won’t be time for that now, but I don’t think you can take the blame, Mari. Unless you lit the fire in an attempt to display your skills to an admiring crowd.”

The words were spoken lightly, but Marieke felt her brow lower.

“It was a joke, Mari,” her father said. “Obviously no one would suspect that, least of all me.”

“I know it was a joke,” she said quickly. “It’s just…” She put a hand on her still-throbbing head. “Naturally I didn’t start the fire. But I think someone did.”

Her father’s frown now matched her own. “You think it was arson? What makes you conclude that?”

“I felt…”

Marieke hesitated, reluctant even with her father to say what she’d felt. Some farmers felt strongly that magic shouldn’t mix with generations-old farming traditions, and would rather singers stayed away from their fields altogether. She hated to reinforce any mistrust they might have by making allegations that magic was used to nearly destroy a farm.

But there was no help for it. She drew a breath.

“I felt magic. In the fire. Or fueling the fire, or something. I don’t exactly know the form it took. It wasn’t a familiar enchantment to me. But it was targeted magic of some kind, not just the magic of the land taking its natural course.”

Alarm flashed across her father’s face as he considered this information. “Are you sure?”

Marieke nodded. “When I first assessed the situation, I could feel this angry kind of magic that I didn’t identify at first. But when I was using songcraft to change the direction of the wind, I felt it again. The wind was fighting my efforts, and eventually it gave way to the wind under the control of my magic, and then the angry magic disappeared altogether, like its grip had been broken by my opposing magic.”

“You could change the direction of the wind with your song?” Her father’s voice sounded strange as he latched on to the unimportant detail. “Just…anytime you want? You can control the wind?”

Marieke bit her lip, not liking his expression. She’d been pleased when he said her magic was incredible. But something about his reaction now—almost awed—didn’t sit as comfortably.

“Not just whenever I want,” she said. “There are limitations on what songcraft can do, and we have to be very careful that we don’t create unintended consequences of messing with the weather.” When he still said nothing, she forced a reproachful note into her voice. “I have tried to tell you about my studies in agricultural song before, Papa. Lots of times.”

His face softened into a sheepish smile, dispelling the unfamiliar expression he’d worn. “I know, but I never took much in. It never felt real when you talked about it as something you’d learned in a classroom far away. Seeing it in action today…” He shook his head. “Well, it was different, that’s all.” He ran a hand over his chin. “This is concerning, though. If some singer is targeting farms, the situation is serious. We’ll probably have to report it to the Council of Singers, I suppose.”

Marieke didn’t miss the reluctance in his tone, and she understood the reason for it. The Council of Singers ran the country effectively for the most part. But coming from a rural area where singers were scarce and the land’s deterioration hit hardest, she knew as well as anyone that there were valid reasons to feel frustration toward the privileged leaders.

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