He was swimming through a sea of winds that spun and whirled without moving as they shouted, calling out to each other in panicked voices. Their cries buffeted him and sent him reeling from one to the other. Each burst burned, and although Matt tried to right himself, his body wouldn’t obey. Tossing and turning helplessly, he tried to understand, but their words sounded strange and twisted. Like the ones he knew but different.

They weren’t talking to him. Matt stopped struggling as he understood. They were calling out to each other, and he was the air they were shouting through. But where were they? Why were they afraid?

“Matt.”

A pair of vices crushed his shoulders, and aches erupted through him, waking Matt with a start. He gasped, and his eyes popped open. His mom was leaning over him, silhouetted in the dim half-light. Her hands curved around his shoulders as she shook him gently.

“Matt, wake up.”

Matt flinched back from her, and the pain spread to his stomach. Closing his eyes, he tried to roll over, but his muscles refused. He flopped back into the bed like a fish out of water. With each twitch, energy leaked from his body like breath. As soon as he stopped moving though, the weight of his limbs pulled him downward. His eyelids fluttered once before he began to sink back into sleep.

There was a soft sound, and then a warm hand flattened against his chest. A familiar wind swept through him, cooling and soothing the burning aches to a dull throb. Matt groaned, and his eyes opened once more.

“Better?” his mother asked softly.

He nodded and groaned again as he pushed himself upright. That took all his energy, and he slumped against her side.

“Mm-hm,” he mumbled, breathing in her sweet floral scent and closing his eyes. Her lips brushed his forehead, and she hugged him briefly with a sigh before setting him upright and looking him in the eye.

“I know you’re tired,” she murmured, brushing his hair back from his face, “but you need to get up.”

“Yes, Mother,” he said, yawning in the middle of it. He remembered to cover his mouth before he finished. She half smiled then stood.

“Get dressed in your work clothes while I wake your sister.”

Matt nodded dumbly, rubbing the grit from his eyes. Then, his head dropped forward, and he sat for another minute, not moving. Eyes closed. Under him, the bed felt so soft and welcoming.

“Again?” The wail shrieked through the wall.

Eyes snapping open, Matt shot upright, pushed himself off the bed, and immediately stumbled, bending over with a groan. It didn’t really hurt – whatever Mom had done really worked – but he felt a little like one of his sister’s wooden toys that had strings running through the arms, legs, and back. Only someone pulled his string too tight.

With another groan, he pushed himself upright and stumbled across the creaking wooden floor to the battered wooden dresser. Pulling open the drawer was harder than it should be. So was bending over to pull on his pants. When he finally got them up and buttoned, he stared glumly at his shoes and socks. Blowing out a breath, he sat back down on the bed and reached down.

The sound that came out of him made him think of a rusty door hinge. Hand on his shoe, he hung there a moment with his head by his knee. Then, with a sigh, he pulled himself back up. It took two tries to get his foot up to his knee. Repeating the process was equally slow.

Fully dressed, he sat for a moment and rested back on straight arms. The bed was cool under his hands. Sighing, he let his head fall back for a second before pushing up.

After two steps, he smelled cooking eggs and bacon, and his stomach growled like a rabid dog. Suddenly, he was starving!

With newly energized steps, Matt rushed to the kitchen. His dad was standing in front of the old stove with a wooden spoon in one hand and a plate in the other. Matt’s mouth watered as he watched his dad scoop a large pile of yellow eggs and crisp bacon onto the plate. Dad turned with the plate, caught sight of Matt and grinned.

“Right on time,” he said and jerked his head toward the pan. “Grab a plate before it’s all gone.”

More than happy to comply, Matt hurried to the cupboard while Dad carried his plate to the little kitchen table. Plate in hand, Matt turned to the stove and nearly genuflected when he saw the huge cast iron skillet filled with eggs and bacon. Mom had cooked enough for an army! Grinning with anticipation, Matt reached for the wooden spoon. When his hand closed around it, he felt the heat that had seeped into the wood and paused. Glancing down at the burner and the flickering light beneath it, he bit his lip for a millisecond.

“Thank you for cooking the food,” he mouthed soundlessly.

When there was no response, he sighed with relief and eagerly started scooping eggs and bacon onto his plate. He had to force himself to stop and leave some for Mom and Sarah – he felt like he could eat the entire pan of food and still be hungry!

In two steps, he was sitting at the table and eating his first bite of hot, juicy bacon (cooked to the perfect amount of crispness). Matt moaned with sheer bliss and shoved in another piece. For an unknown length of time, Matt’s world narrowed down to delicious bacon and bite after bite of light, fluffy eggs.

As the food on his plate dwindled, he slowly became aware of Sarah sitting across from him and eating with the same single-mindedness. The table clunked hollowly as Mom set a plate of toast in between them.

“Get some toast, and don’t be afraid to go back for seconds,” she said, settling behind her own plate. “We’ll need the energy.”

Squeaking wood almost drowned out her last sentence as Dad took her at her word, pushed his chair back from the table, and headed back to the stove. Matt was right behind him.

As Dad scooped eggs out of the pan, Matt eyed the remainder with a calculating eye. He knew he’d eaten a massive pile already, but he still felt hollow. He reminded himself that there was toast waiting on the table and restrained himself to a third of the remaining eggs and bacon. There was always the chance that Mom and Sarah wouldn’t want any more.

He set the plate on the table and added two pieces of toast before he sat down. They were golden and heavy with butter. He spooned a bite of eggs onto a corner and took a bite with a loud crunch followed by an mm of pleasure. Similar sounds chorused around the table, broken only by the occasional scrape of a chair as someone went back for more. With each bite, the gray light grew and warmed to a rich gold.

When he’d consumed the last crumb on his plate (and checked to be sure that was no more left), Matt wrapped his hand around his stomach and leaned back with a contented groan. The first serving had finally made it to his belly, and he was feeling pleasantly full. Closing his eyes, he pictured going back to bed and sighed wistfully. Not today. Around him, the happy chewing sounds continued, but soon enough, everyone would be finished. And the fields were waiting.

Groaning internally, Matt opened his eyes, picked up his plate, and carried it over to the basin. There were no scraps to scrape off, so he set the plate down, picked up the kettle, and started pumping. When it was full, he shifted the empty skillet aside and put the water on to boil. He mouthed his silent thank you to the fire and then nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand landed gently on his shoulder.

“Thanks, Matt,” his mother said as she leaned around him to set down her own plate. “I’ll leave the dishes to you and Sarah. Join us in the fields as soon as you can.”

“Yes, Mom!” Matt perked up at the unexpected reprieve.

“No dawdling.” Her voice was stern, but her lips curved affectionately as she squeezed his shoulder. Matt grinned back.

“Yes, Mom!”

“Mom, Dad… I’m sorry.”

Matt was sure that apologizing would be awful, and with the sick feeling he got in his stomach just from thinking about it, he probably wouldn’t have tried without the wind’s gentle support. He stood in the field, facing the wagon and his parents with his pulse pounding and wished he could absorb some of the wind’s confidence. Even though the air wasn’t blowing, he could feel the wind all around him. There was no horrible pressure like yesterday’s anger or even a few moments ago when it held him so sternly. This was simply a sense of presence, and with it, a feeling of warm approval.

His parents turned at his words, and he needed that comfort. He held his breath in the silence. Then, some of the stiffness in their shoulders and faces eased. Mom nodded and started to speak, still frowning. Matt winced internally at the lecture he knew was coming, but Dad shook his head, stopping it before it started. Laying a hand on Matt’s shoulder, he squeezed gently.

“Ready to learn to use that scythe?” he asked.

That simply, Matt was forgiven. Swallowing against the knot in his throat, he nodded vigorously. Following his dad into the field, Matt felt the warmth around him glow and grow. Stopping abruptly, he closed his eyes, and thought at the wind: Thank you.

There was no response in words. And after a moment, the strong feeling of presence faded. Matt sighed and focused on his dad’s directions.

“Take one grip in your left hand and the other with your right.” Dad followed his own instructions as he spoke, showing Matt how the left hand counterbalanced the weight of the blade and cradle (that name still baffled Matt). “You can use the weight to help your swing, but be careful. Don’t swing wildly, and aim low to the ground” He swung forcefully from right to left. Matt flinched back from it, but the only thing it cut was a three-foot swath of wheat. The cut plants were caught by the cradle and swept together to the left.

As Matt watched, his dad took a step forward and swung the scythe again. Then, he took another step. In another handful of steps, he had a rectangle cut into the field about the size of their kitchen table.

“Sarah, Matt, you can both help with this part.” Mom brushed by Matt and began picking up the fallen wheat. Once she had about enough to fill her hand, she gathered it into a bundle and loosely tied it with the stalk of another piece.

“But…Dad wants me to help him,” Matt objected hesitantly.

“You will.” Her voice was soft and grim. “He’s going to need a break in a little while. When he does, you’ll get your turn with the scythe.”

Frowning thoughtfully, Matt obediently began to gather the fallen stalks. Why would Dad need a break? Following mom’s lead and wrapping a handful of wheat with straw, Matt snuck a glance back at his dad. The motion didn’t seem very difficult… Matt’s eyes widened, and his fingers fumbled. Dad’s neck was really dark. Popping upright, Matt sidestepped quickly to where he could see and couldn’t believe how red his dad’s face was already. Beads of sweat were pouring down it and soaking his shirt.

“No lollygagging, Matt.”

Startled, Matt jumped and turned back. Sarah and Mom had already gathered the rest of the cut wheat, bound it, stacked it, and moved up to the next section. Matt bent down immediately to grab the wheat he’d dropped and catch up. Soon, he, Sarah, and Mom had fallen into a rhythm where at any one moment, one of them was gathering the wheat, one was tying off a bundle, and one was adding a bundle to the stack.

But even as Matt bent and bundled and gathered, he kept one eye on his dad. Although all he could see was his dad’s back, that was enough to see the spreading darkness down the center of his shirt and under his arms. And as the three of them got better at their bundling, they began to catch up. By the time the three patches merged into one, they were moving fast enough that sometimes, they ran out of wheat to bundle, and as they stood waiting, the only sound was Dad’s heavy breathing. Even the wind was silent.
In that eerie silence, the wheezing breaths grew harsher and harsher. Matt was sure that Dad would stop any minute, but he pushed on until his swings became clumsy and unsteady. Matt heard his mom’s gasp when a stumble brought the blades swinging back towards his leg. Dad pulled it back and rested the scythe on the ground. Matt started forward, but after a second, Dad lifted it again and almost desperately swept it across two more sections before dropping it and half-collapsing, bent over coughing with his elbows on his knees.

“Sarah, go get a pail of water and a cup,” Mom said softly.

Wide-eyed, Sarah nodded and sprinted back across the fields towards the yard. Matt took one look at Dad’s red face, grabbed the scythe, and pulled it away in case Dad keeled over onto it.

“It’s not as easy as it was when I was fifteen,” Dad gasped.

“You were a lot younger when you were fifteen,” Mom said exasperatedly, “and you worked in the fields every day. Without a tractor.”

“I know, I know.” He waved a hand at her and pushed to standing with a groan. “But it needs done.” He coughed and wiped chaff off his face. “I even forgot the handkerchief. Put one over your face before you start the next section, Matt.” He coughed again.

Scythe in hand, Matt turned. The field of wheat seemed to go on forever. The tiny row that his dad had worked so hard to cut wasn’t even… he struggled to guess what fraction of the field. It was about half the width. That had to be less than a tenth of the whole field. No, less than a twentieth. A lot less. And Dad could barely stand. Matt looked from the field to the tool: a bit of wood and metal. It was impossible. Helplessly, he looked up at his parents.

“How…” One glance at their faces froze the words on his lips. They knew. They’d known before they even started. But Dad had still… Swallowing, Matt took a deep breath, dug in his pocket for a kerchief, and tied it around his face. “Like this?”

Still coughing and wiping at his face, Dad nodded. The pressure of the kerchief felt strange on Matt’s face, and the day was suddenly hotter. Stifling. Wrinkling his nose (which made the kerchief shift oddly), Matt turned back to the endless field.

The scythe felt heavy and awkward in his hand. Hesitantly, he gripped it the way Dad had shown him. Putting his left hand on that weird handle made it easier to hold all those blades up, but the weight pulled at him like current in a river. He could resist it, but he couldn’t stop it.

“Use the weight to help your swing,” Dad reminded him mid-cough. “But keep it controlled.”

Matt nodded without looking back. Swallowing, he squared his shoulders and lifted the heavy blades up and to the right. They pulled back down the whole time, greedy to cut and slice. At the top of the swing, he reversed it and drove them through the wheat. Too high. The scythe cut the wheat in short strips, not long stalks like Dad had done. And it wasn’t a full row. Frowning, Matt took a step forward and tried again. This time, he hit low enough. It wasn’t as neat a cut as Dad’s had been, but it left enough wheat to bundle.

“That’s it, Matt!” His dad called encouragingly from behind him. “You’re doing fine.”

Licking his lips, Matt took another step forward and another swing. Then another. And another. With each one, his control got better, and he slowly began to move faster, falling into a rhythm as his world narrowed down to the wheat and the scythe. Swing. Step. Swing. Step.

There was no sense of time. No awareness of his family behind him. He didn’t even hear the wind or the birds crying out as they passed overhead. At the same time, he felt the beat of the sun stronger, like it was branding the back of his neck and arms. The kerchief that had felt so strange at first now stuck to his face like a second skin, and each breath drawn through it and the chaff stuck to it was a struggle. And the pull of the scythe seemed to reach further across his shoulders and back with each swing. At first, it had felt kind of good, satisfying. Then, satisfaction had turned to an ache and an ache to a pain.

His arms trembled, and he had to work harder each time to keep the cut where he wanted it. His lungs began to burn, and his heartbeat rang through his ears. Sweat stung his eyes, and he stumbled. Catching himself, he let the scythe rest briefly on the ground and gasped for air.

“That’s enough for now, Matt.” His mom laid a firm hand on his arm before he could raise it again. “Get some water.”

Matt didn’t even think to object but stumbled the few steps to the edge of the field and collapsed on his behind. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he let his head fall back and tried to catch his breath. His lungs screamed with each burst of cool air, and his heart pounded in his ears. He listened to them numbly and stared up at the sky.

“Here.”

Turning his head to the side felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done. Even his eyes seemed too tired to focus properly at first. Or maybe that was because the blackened ladle was so close to them, and the heat boiling from him made the cool water in it shimmer like a cruel mirage.

Suddenly, all the aches, pains, and burning were consumed by a ravenous thirst. He snatched the ladle and brought it to his mouth. The abused muscles of his arms shook and twitched enough to send splashes of water onto his shirt and legs, but even that felt good – cool and soothing. And the sweet taste of it was like a gift, a new breath of life. He couldn’t get enough of it fast enough, and he could feel it spreading through his body, dulling the aches and dousing the fires.

It was empty too soon. But small hands took it from him and an instant later it reappeared, miraculously full again. The second round was even more refreshing, and this time, some of the coolness reached his brain. Like a water pump that was finally primed enough to run. Shaking his head to clear it, he did his best to calm his breathing.

“Are you all right?”

Sarah was kneeling next to him. Her hair was frazzled and curling around her sweaty face in wisps. Her little face was screwed up with concern.

“Do you want more?”

He swallowed, promptly coughed and wheezed, and shook his head.

“Thanks,” he managed.

“Sarah,” Dad called. “I need you.”

Sarah jumped up so fast Matt felt a breeze from the motion. Blearily, he followed the blur that was his sister as she dashed to Dad. Dad’s breathing still echoed, and his hands were clumsier than usual. But he was tying a bundle of wheat when she came to a screeching halt in front of him. An instant later, she ran over to gather up another bundle of wheat and tie it while Dad reached for yet another.

Matt blinked hard. Dad and Sarah were gathering wheat. Brow furrowing, Matt turned his head slowly to the left. Sure enough, his mother held the scythe firmly and swung it with grim determination. Eyes widening, Matt followed the angle of the swing. She cut a nice clean swath through the wheat – much more accurate than his had been. But Dad was still shaking from using it.

Frowning, Matt struggled to sit all the way up. She’d been working non-stop since they started, but although her clothing had already begun to darken with sweat as they’d gathered the wheat, she’d still looked as put-together as she always did. Now, the darkness was spreading rapidly. Her hair was already coming free, falling down on her back and neck. There, sweat plastered it to her skin. As his own breathing began to quiet, Matt could hear how each swing made hers more ragged.

Convulsively, Matt pushed himself to his feet and stumbled backward in reaction to the sudden screaming burn of his muscles and lungs. The burst of pain faded quickly as he straightened fully, and he only stumbled a little as he walked determinedly to Dad and Sarah. Bending to gather the wheat stretched the muscles he’d so recently abused swinging the scythe, creating a strange mix of pain and relief. He blew out a breath. He could do this.

As he fell back into the pattern – cut, bend, gather, bundle, tie – the ache of his back and arms began to fade, overwhelmed by new burning aches in his legs and backside. When the pain became unbearable, he bent his knees. When that became too hard, he knelt and crawled forward. When that became too much, he stood again. Doggedly shifting from position to position, he pushed himself forward.

As long as they were working, he would, too.

Continue to Chapter 6

There was no sign of Mom and Dad in the yard. Matt grabbed the post and yanked himself to a halt at the edge of the porch. Sarah blasted by him and down the steps.

“What are you doing?” she hollered back at him, spinning herself around and scattering chickens.

“Hush!” he snapped and craned his head from side to side. He didn’t see anyone in the fields. When the wind tugged him toward the yard, he frowned but listened. At first, there was nothing except excited screeches and flutters, but then he thought he heard some sort of muted clatter of metal or wood coming from the barn. As soon as he caught the noise from the huge old structure, he took off. Ignoring the squawk of chickens (and sister), Matt darted through them and raced across the yard. He only slowed when he reached the partly open door, skidding to a halt for an instant before he stepped through the shadowy opening.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light that leaked through the narrow windows and the gaps between the slate roofing tiles, Matt walked steadily through the scattered straw and dirt until he could see the threatening shadows of old equipment. Mom didn’t like them to go back there (she was sure they’d fall on something and kill themselves). But that was where the noise was coming from.

In the flickering light of a bare bulb, the wicked-looking blades seemed to move on their own, and it was hard to tell the real edges from the shadows. It made for slow going. Picking his way through carefully, Matt relaxed slightly when he saw his parents on the far side. He began to move more purposefully although he was still cautious of the masses of protruding metal.

“Here it is.”

Matt was nearly through the snarl of equipment when the words stopped him. Looking up quickly, he saw his dad reach up and lift something off the wall. Another confusing tangle, the straight wooden pieces ended in curving blades of dark metal. As Dad swung it down, the blades reached for Mom like greedy claws. With a strangled gasp, Matt lurched forward.

Before he’d gone more than an inch, the blades stopped, but that was too late for Matt. Unable to stop his lunge, he stumbled straight into a strange contraption of poles and spikes. A heavy gear punched him in the ribs with bruising force, knocking the breath out of him and throwing him even more off balance. The whole left side of the machine spun and moved with him, clanging discordantly against the rest as Matt staggered to his knees.

“Matt!” Only his mom could sound shocked and scolding at the same time. “What are you doing back here?” Even as she said it, she darted over and ran her hands over him. “Are you hurt?”

Matt jerked away but stopped when his back ran into something pointy.

“What’s that?” he blurted, staring at the frightening weapon in his dad’s hands. Even as he rubbed his side, he never took his eyes off of it. The only reason for something to have that many blades was to hurt someone, so why did his dad have one?

Mom sat back on her heels with a surprised expression.

“It’s a scythe,” his dad said. Matt stared at it in disbelief.

“But all the blades!” he protested, pointing at them.

“That’s the cradle,” Dad said in a baffled tone. Matt’s face screwed up skeptically at the name, and Dad hesitated before going on. “It… directs the grain and makes it easier to pick up later.” He trailed off, turning to his wife for guidance. She waved him aside and took Matt firmly by the shoulders.

“Are you all right?”

“That thing-” Matt tried to reconcile his dad’s explanation to the clawed weapon in front of him.

“You’ll get your turn with the scythe soon enough,” she said in a firm tone that warned him not to argue. “Now, answer me. Are you hurt?”

Soundlessly, Matt shook his head. She titled her chin down and frowned, considering him.

“I’m fine!” he said and struggled to get up. “Just bruised!” Although she didn’t quite look like she believed him, she helped pull him out of the tangle of tools.

Back on his feet, Matt was turned and checked and dusted until he couldn’t stand it. He pulled away with a shrugging twist of his shoulders. She inspected him with an eagle eye and folded arms. Guiltily, he remembered he wasn’t supposed to be there.

“Where is your sister?”

“I was looking for you!” he blurted at the same time. “You weren’t in the fields, and I…” He trailed off. She was staring at him like he’d grown another head. Matt’s shoulder’s hunched. It wasn’t his fault. She’d told them to come out to work. He thought of the wind and winced.

“Matt?” the small, hesitant call echoed through the field of equipment and broke the tableau.

“Stay out there, Sarah,” Mom called. “Meet us outside – behind the barn in the back field.” She grabbed Matt’s arm and turned him side ways. “Follow your dad.”

As his dad led them toward the back wall, Matt kept a skeptical eye on the so-called scythe. The combine didn’t have blades like that – it looked like a big metal box with a scoop in front, not a big knife.

At the back wall, both Dad and his creepy claw-thing turned and disappeared behind a hulking metal shadow. Matt blinked and rushed to catch up. Were they going through the tools? When he reached the wall, he found a neat path between the equipment and the barn doors. Thinking of his own treacherous route, Matt flushed and then scowled. If they’d told him about the path instead of treating him like a baby, he wouldn’t’ve had to go through them at all.

“Matt, help me with this door.” Dad set down the scythe and pushed one of the big sliding doors open.

Sunlight burst into the dark barn, and Sarah burst in right behind it. Matt shielded his eyes and glared at both resentfully.

“Where were you?” she demanded. Then, she saw the scythe and ran up to it, her face alight with curiosity. “What’s that?” Her obvious fascination sparked his already fouling temper.

“It’s a scythe, moron!” he snapped. Her face immediately folded into mutinous lines.

“It is not! I know what scythes look like!” She stuck out her tongue. “Fat-head!”

“That’s enough of that.” Mom stepped between them and gave them both a scalding look. “Sarah, I told you to wait in the field.”

“But-”

“Since you couldn’t do that, go get bandanas for everyone.” She cut off Sarah’s next protest with a raised finger. “Now.” Sarah drooped but dashed out the door. “And don’t dawdle back!”

Matt rolled his eyes and headed out behind her.

“Matt, don’t forget the door,” his dad called out.

Matt made a face at the open door and kept walking.

“Matt, your dad asked you to help with the door.”

“He already opened one. He doesn’t need help.”

“Help him anyway.” Her voice held a warning note.

So they wouldn’t tell him anything, but they’d boss him around and make him do pointless stuff? Seething inside, Matt stomped over to the door and shoved it so hard that it slammed into the stop and bounced back a couple inches, rocking on its track.

“Matthew!”

“What?” he snapped. “I did it.”

With that, he stalked out to the field. It’s not like they needed him for anything. They had magic. They could do whatever they wanted and not even tell him about it. But he wasn’t allowed to do magic. He couldn’t even talk to the wind. What a jip!

He kept walking even when he heard the sound of the cart behind him. A small voice in his head warned him that he was being a jerk. That only made him madder. Mom and Dad would be sure to point it out, and everything would get blamed on him even though it was their fault.

Stewing, he folded his arms and deliberately kept his back to the wagon as he heard it rattle to a halt. Any moment Mom and Dad would bust his chops for not helping and walking away. Tension crept up his back and knotted in his shoulders as the silence dragged on. There were some rustling sounds and the clunks and clanks that meant they were fiddling with the wagon. But no one said anything.

The longer the silence went on, the tenser he became. Guilt pooled in his stomach like acid, making him more and more angry. Why were they dragging it out? If they expected an apology, they could forget it. His teeth clenched. It wasn’t his fault – if they’d told him the truth he wouldn’t have gotten mad in the first place!

The guilt and anger mixed and swirled together, boiling up until he was ready to burst. His hands clamped into fists, and he decided to tell them exactly what he felt. He leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, about to spin around and let them have it. Even as his weight shifted, the wind blew over him, holding him in place.

In an instant, fear replaced the anger. He couldn’t move at all. No matter how he strained, the wind constantly moving over his skin held him as easily as a parent held a child. He fought wilder, panting with effort and panic. It was so cold.

His hands were already turning numb, and even in that firm hold, his body began to shiver. His struggles became uncoordinated jerks as he lost control of his trembling muscles. As the cold seeped into his skull, his brain numbed, too, and he stopped fighting. The anger, guilt – even the fear slipped away into a sort of gray fog. Distantly, he observed that although the wind was swirling around his body, imprisoning him, the wheat in front of him wasn’t moving.

That’s when the wind began to speak. It wasn’t words or speaking the way people think of it (it never was) but a sort of soothing whisper of sound and meaning. Closing his eyes, he stopped feeling and listened as he’d been taught.

It spoke to him of the his parents’ worries – worries he had already seen himself – and without saying a word, showed him clearly how irrational and wrong his behavior had been. With the anger gone, he felt only shame and guilt. They rose up like a flood, overwhelming the numbness, and choked him. The more it told him, the worse he felt. How could he have acted like that? Panic exploded, and he began to struggle again without thinking. How could he face them after doing that? The wind shook him, shocking him to stillness.

Apologize. They will understand.

Even without words, the meaning came through. Into his mind and straight to his heart. He still felt the sick twist of guilt in his stomach, but the surge of panic ebbed and then fell away completely in the face of that gentle confidence. Deep down, he knew that the wind was right. As his heart rate calmed, he tried to nod but couldn’t against the force constraining him. It was a strange feeling, but with that soothing message still being sent through him, it was no longer frightening. And that same message told him what to do. Closing his eyes tighter, he tried to communicate back to the wind in that same speechless way – All right.

He hung there for an interminable moment, bound and frozen in invisible bonds as he tried to project all the meaning behind those two words. Slowly, the wind warmed and gentled. The pressure holding his arms and legs eased, and as his weight returned gradually to his legs, he realized for the first time that the wind had also been holding him upright. Even now as his weight shifted back to his feet, he would have stumbled if not for the wind’s quick movement to stop him. Again, he felt that soundless communion.

I would not let you fall.

Continue to Chapter 5

When Matt was about 7 years old, the circus came to town. As soon as they heard about the lion and the elephants, Matt and Sarah had begged to go. After a few days of incessant pleading, Mom and Dad took them, and there were clowns, trapeze artists, and people who rode horses standing up.

Sarah was enthralled by the man who juggled clubs and fire. She spent weeks in the orchard, throwing apples in the air and then dodging them with a scream when she couldn’t catch them. Matt had laughed and asked when she was going to try fire. (Mom caught them before they’d done more than light the match, and, of course, Matt got in trouble.)

But even after all that, the one Matt remembered best was the magician.

He’d stood on a platform in a fancy suit, and whenever he gestured, something appeared or disappeared. He made a live dove materialize under a cloth, called a bouquet of flowers to his hand, and made his assistant disappear from the box onstage. Everything he did made something dramatic happen that Matt could see immediately.

Maybe, that’s why he hadn’t expected their training to be so boring.

“Matthew, are you listening?” his mother said sharply.

Matt jerked upright.

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh,” She regarded him with folded arms and narrowed eyes. “What did I just say?”

“That the-” Sarah started faithfully but stopped abruptly when their mother held up a hand. Matt swallowed.

“You were talking about how farmers used to make offerings to the wind to get good crops,” he said uncertainly.

“A minute ago, yes,” she said, giving him a stern look. “Matt, you need to listen-”

“But I thought we were going to learn what to do, not what people used to do!” he protested.

“Matt,” she put her hands on her hips, and Matt’s shoulders scrunched together from the edge in her voice.

He ducked his head and waited for the scolding. Instead, he heard a long sigh. When he dared to raise his head, she was looking up with her arms folded and her lips pursed. Finally, she lowered her eyes to his. He couldn’t see any anger.

“I know that it’s hard to understand, Matt. It seems like a lot of old stories that have nothing to do with today.” She blew out a breath. “But you need to know them to make any of the flashy stuff work. Trying to work with the wind without knowing is like… playing frisbee without having a pinwheel.”

Matt flinched. Across the table, Sarah seemed to shrink, curling in on herself.

“I didn’t mean… I thought…” he stuttered.

“Matt,” her tone gentled, and she put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know you didn’t. But you need to understand that the boring stuff is important, too.”

Matt nodded convulsively. When she started talking again, he listened – even when it was about what types of plants people used to burn as offerings a hundred years ago. As she listed plant after plant, all the names started to blur together in Matt’s head. He raised his hand.

She gave him a surprised look, then smiled.

“Yes?”

“Can we stop for a minute?” he asked. She raised an eyebrow at him, and his brows furrowed. “Er,… May we stop for a minute, please?” She smiled.

“All right. We can take a short break.”

As soon as she said “All right,” he was up like a jackrabbit and running to his room. He dug in his school bag for a minute and then trotted back to the table. He set the paper and pencil on the smooth oak. Immediately, he started writing down all the plants that he could remember.

“What are you doing?” Sarah whispered, glancing toward the kitchen where Mom had gone. She looked like she didn’t know whether she should tattle or not. Typical.

“What does it look like?” Matt sneered impatiently. “I’m taking notes.” He’d already reached the limit of plants he remembered, so he went back further, writing down everything their mother had told them that morning. The more he tried to write, the more he got a sinking feeling that he didn’t remember enough. He felt a presence next to him and hunched down as Sarah tried to peer around him.

“The feathers were in Europe.”

“Wha?” he glanced back at her. She pointed to the spot where he’d been writing.

“The group who used feathers to make it happy. They were in Europe,” she insisted.

Matt frowned at the paper. He didn’t remember that. But he hadn’t been sure about the other either. He admitted that Sarah had probably been paying better attention. Giving in, he reached for the eraser and fixed it like she’d said.

Then it was like he’d primed the pump, and she was spouting more and more bits of information and pointing at the paper. How did she remember all that? Matt wrote as fast as he could, and in a few minutes, he was on his third page. He blew out a breath when she paused for air. The only sound was the frantic scrape of lead.

“What’s this?”

It made both of them jump. Recognizing the voice, Matt didn’t turn. Instead, he focused on finishing the note he was writing.

“Matt’s taking notes,” Sarah answered for him, like he knew she would.

Something in the air warned him that someone was leaning over him again, and the scent of sweet perfume told him it was his mom. He wrote the last word and set his pencil down. A warm hand came to rest on his shoulder.

“Notes, huh?” she said. “Let me see.”

Dutifully, he handed her the pages, and she read as she walked to a chair. Seeing the cup of steaming tea in her hand, Matt glanced uneasily at the stove. The fire was out now, and it was probably a silly superstition. He shifted in his chair and glanced at his mom again. She was occupied with reading. Sarah was watching Mom. Matt turned his head back to the stove and mouthed, “Thank you for heating the water.”

Of course nothing happened. Matt chided himself for being silly. After all, if he thanked the fire, shouldn’t he thank the water? What about the ground? Suddenly, his skin was crawling again.

“This is wrong.”

Matt jumped and spun back around. Mom was reaching for his eraser and going to work on one of the pages. Then, she grabbed the pencil. He couldn’t see what detail she was erasing, but he hoped it was one that Sarah had told him. Judging by Sarah’s nervous glances, it was.

“All right,” Mom set the pencil down and raised her eyebrows at him. “What made you think of taking notes?” Matt sat up straighter, shifted uncomfortably, and finally shrugged.

“I couldn’t remember it all?” His voice raised uncertainly as he finished. “It’s what we do at school.” He had a sudden horrible certainty that she was going to tell him that he needed to memorize it all, not write it down.

“Good idea.” She turned to Sarah. “You better get yours, too.”

Sarah took off instantly, twin braids flying out behind her as she clattered around the corner. Mom pulled out her chair and had barely sat down when the rumble of an engine reached the house. The sound grew, and the crackle of gravel warned that someone was driving up the driveway.

Matt leapt out of his chair and dashed to the window. He didn’t really need to pull back the lace curtains to see, but he did anyway. The midmorning light was so bright that he blinked for a moment before he recognized the car.

“It’s Dad!” he yelled, spinning around. “I thought he was helping the Brants today.”

“He’s supposed to be,” his mom said softly as he ran by her to the back door.

“Mom! Dad’s home!” Sarah appeared from the other room, yelling at the top of her lungs.

“We know!” Matt rolled his eyes more from reflex than anything else. “Mom, should we change? Does he need us to help him?” Anything was better than studying.

“I don’t know, Matt.” She answered almost absent-mindedly, her focus outside the door. “You and Sarah stay here. I’ll be right back.”

“But Mom-” Matt and Sarah chorused. She only gave them a stern look.

“Study.” With that she was gone, shutting the door firmly behind her.

They gaped for a moment. Then, with an exchange of wide-eyed glances, they rushed the door. Peeking through, they saw no sign of the car. But Mom was crossing the farmyard – she was moving so fast that chickens jumped and flapped to get out of her way.

“She’s headed for the shed!” Matt exclaimed and abandoned the door to rush to the kitchen window. Sarah lagged behind.

“But Mom said to study,” she whined uncertainly.

“We will!” Matt argued. “But I want to see first.”

The big wooden windows had the same kind of lace curtains as the ones in the dining room. This time, Matt didn’t touch them. No, he crouched down low near the sill and squinted through. Dad had already pulled the car into the shed and gotten out. When Mom got to him, he shoved both hands through his hair in a quick, rough gesture and then dropped them. Matt couldn’t hear what Mom said back, but whatever it was made Dad shake his head. Then, Mom’s hands flung out to the side, and Matt’s stomach dropped. He knew that gesture. He used to see it right before he got paddled.

“What’re they saying?” Sarah whispered, and Matt jumped. She was crouched behind him so close that she was practically breathing down his neck.

“I don’t know,” he snapped, shrugging his shoulders uncomfortably at her closeness. The jerky motion sent her skittering backwards. Satisfied with the action, he dismissed her and pressed his face to the glass. “I wish we could hear.”

Even as he strained to hear above the chickens, the windowpane rattled from the breeze.

“They’re scared.”

Matt jumped hard enough to hit his head on the window. At the same time, he tried to spin around and see who was speaking, but he ended up throwing himself off balance and falling back against the wall. Sarah’s reaction had been nearly identical, leaving them both sitting on the floor and staring into the empty room.

“What about tomorrow?”

“There’s no way they’re coming. We’re on our own.”

Matt and Sarah flinched. This time, Matt recognized the voices. But how were they so close?

“All that with the four of us? We would’ve had to start last week!”

“We’ll have to save what we can.”

“But-“

“Linda,… what else can we do?”

The sound was coming from above their heads. As if Mom and Dad were standing right outside the window. With a deep gulping breath, Matt braced himself and then dared to peek through. He couldn’t even see them by the shed anymore.

The breeze caressed the window, and Matt froze.

“I’ll get the kids. Lessons will have to wait.”

An instant later, Mom appeared next to the shed. She was heading for the house. Matt ducked down instinctively and looked worriedly at the window. There was no movement, but he could feel the wind there, waiting.

“Thanks,” he choked and swallowed. “I don’t need to hear anymore.”

The window rattled as the wind blew stronger and then faded. Matt drew a deep shuddering breath and collapsed against the wall. How had he done that? Could you do magic without knowing? The idea made his skin crawl.

“Matt…” Sarah’s hoarse whisper made him turn his head. She looked as wild-eyed as he felt. “How did… What did you do?”

Matt stared at her and felt ice trickle down his spine. He’d been half hoping it was something Mom told them about, but then, Sarah would’ve known. He shook his head helplessly. Halfway through, he froze, staring at the window.

“I wished.”

Footsteps rang out hollowly from the porch. Matt and Sarah jumped as one. In a mad rush, they lunged up and scrambled for the table. Their panic made them clumsy, and they ran into each other trying to get out of the kitchen. The collision sent Sarah into the wall. Matt tried to catch himself but only managed to knock over the spice rack on his way to the floor. Jumping up, he was frantically trying to right the bottles when the doorknob turned.

“Go!” he hissed at his sister as he replaced the last one and raced after her. He slid into the room as the door opened. It was too late to sit, so he grabbed the papers and held them up, trying not to pant.

He tried to focus on the footsteps coming toward him, but he could barely hear over the pounding of his heart. He felt wired with energy and split four different ways as he tried to calm his breathing, keep the paper from shaking, listen to her approach, and pretend he hadn’t even heard her come in. He tried to look like he was reading, but he just knew that Mom would take one look at him and know exactly what he’d done – whatever it was.

Even though Matt wasn’t entirely sure what he’d done, he was sure that it was something he wasn’t supposed to do.

“All right, you two, go change into your work clothes.” His mom’s brisk order interrupted his thoughts.

“Are we studying outside?” Matt spun around, everything forgotten in his excitement for actually getting to do something.

“Not today. And I don’t want either of you saying one word to the wind while we’re working, is that clear?”

Matt shrank into himself and fought not to squirm. He hadn’t meant to talk to it!

“Hurry now. We need to get out in the fields.”

“But we’re supposed to do that tomorrow,” Sarah piped up, “with the Granges and-”

“Not anymore,” Mom interrupted. “We need to get started yesterday, so hurry and change.”

Her voice was brisk and had that edge she got when she was about to yell at them. Suddenly, the conversation they’d heard clicked in Matt’s mind, and all the excitement drained out of him. He swallowed and headed out of the dining room, grabbing Sarah’s arm before she could ask anything else. She started to anyway.

“Yes, Mom,” he said loudly over her and quickly propelled Sarah back to their rooms.

“But Matt-” Sarah objected, and Matt shushed her.

“Get changed,” he hissed and darted into his room to do the same. He rushed over to his dresser and swiftly dug out his old work clothes. He changed in under a minute, and leaving everything else where it had fallen, he hurried back out, grabbing his boots on the way. Mom was already back outside, but Matt still put his boots on as fast as he could. If they weren’t out there in a minute, she’d definitely come looking for them.

“I don’t understand,” Sarah whined. Matt glanced up as he tied the last lace. At least she’d changed. “Why aren’t we waiting for everyone to help?”

“Weren’t you listening?” Matt snapped, standing. “They’re not coming!”

When she goggled at him, he hissed with impatience and shoved her towards the chair.

“Put your shoes on and stop talking about it. Mom and Dad are already upset.”

He guessed she finally understood because she put her shoes on quickly and didn’t say another word as they ran outside.

Continue to Chapter 4

“Matt!” The high-pitched squeal made his knotted muscles relax, but he didn’t open his tired eyes until a loud thud next to him startled them open. Sarah was kneeling next to him. She was horribly pale, and her eyes were huge in her face. He looked her over blearily. She seemed ok. Better.

“He’s all right, Sarah,” Mom said. With great effort, Matt rolled his head to the right and found her kneeling on that side. She was looking at Dad. Matt blinked as his dad laid a hand on her head, and she leaned against his side. Their faces were paler – and older – than he’d ever seen them.

There was something about that that should bother him, but it was too hard to keep his eyes open.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“He’s just tired,” Dad’s deep voice was low and reassuring. “Now, back up a bit, sweetie. I need to get to your brother.”

Not really listening to the words, Matt felt the rest of his worry ease automatically at the sound of that deep rumble. By the time the shuffling around him was done, Matt’s world was the half-fog of approaching sleep. He barely felt the hands pressed lightly against his chest, and their warmth only made the fog deepen. Then, it was as if a blast of wind rushed through him, entering his chest and flowing through his entire body.

Matt sat up with a gasp, completely awake as terror spiked. His head twisted from side to side, trying to find evidence of the wind. How had it gotten in? What would it do? No matter where he looked, he saw nothing. The drapes didn’t move; the papers didn’t rustle. But he couldn’t feel that awful stillness either.

“Shhhh, it’s ok Matt,” his mom reached out and touched his shoulder. The touch made him jerk back, and he stared at her hand.

“It was you!” he gasped. His dad moved, and Matt flinched away from them both, instinctively scooting as far away as he could and running hard into the door. “It was both of you!”

“Matt-” his dad started.

“Stay back!” Matt yelled, hunching against the door. Panic seeped through everything. “You’re part of it! You’re-”

“That’s enough of that, Matthew Aaron!” His mom lunged forward and grabbed his ear, tugging down on it hard. The sharp pain broke through the hysteria, and he yelped. Struggling hurt, and he immediately stopped trying. She was acting like he’d broken her favorite vase, and the normality of it poked holes in the fear so that the panic had no choice but to leak away.

“Linda, he doesn’t understand.”

“Then he shouldn’t have been playing with it,” she snapped. Releasing his ear, she grabbed his shoulders and shook him. “Think, Matthew! Why did you think our house was safe? Why are you and your sister the only children who understand it?”

As his head bounced back and forth like a baby rattle, Matt could only gape at his parents. It was like someone had taken the facts of his life and poured them out on the floor where they scattered like marbles.

“Is… is it our fault?” Sarah whispered. Matt had forgotten she was there. “The other houses – the people. Is it our fault?”

Her eyes were huge in her pale face, and Dad immediately pulled her down on his lap, wrapping his arms around her.

“No, honey, it’s not your fault. It’s none of our faults.” His reassuring words were strengthened by the soothing tone of his voice. More magic? Matt’s brow furrowed, and he shuddered. How would he know if it wasn’t? How could he be sure?

“We’ll explain.” Mom promised suddenly as if sensing his thoughts. “We were going to wait until you were both a little older, but,” she sighed, and her hand trembled on his shoulder, “it’s too late for that now.”

They helped him up and guided him to the couch. Matt followed their directions numbly. His body was still shaking, and his mind was whirling like a children’s toy. The image of the pinwheel popped into his head, and he flinched. The sudden shudder was too much for his tired knees, and he fell onto the couch with a dull thud. Sarah curled up next to him. Her thin shoulder pressed against his side, but he didn’t protest.

Their parents stood uncertainly in the center of the room. Dad ran his hands through his hair and then rubbed them against his legs, as if he couldn’t quite make them still. He started to put them through his hair again, but Mom reached out and caught one, linking their fingers together. She leaned her face against his shoulder and sighed. When his dad stroked her hair and kissed the top of her head, Matt’s insides began to feel tense and shaky. Even when the house shook from the wind, Mom and Dad hadn’t looked like that. They weren’t supposed to look like that.

“They’re too young. They shouldn’t have to deal with this.”

The murmur was so soft that Matt wasn’t sure he’d really heard it until his dad whispered, “We don’t have any choice.”

The shoulder pressed against him trembled, making Matt turn. Sarah gazed up at him with eyes so big he thought they would swallow her face.

“Is the wind bad?” she whispered, clutching his sleeve.

He stared down at her, not knowing how to answer. A sigh turned them back to their parents. They were stepping away from each other. Matt thought they would pull the armchairs up to the couch and could only gape when his mom sat facing them on the coffee table. His dad followed suit.

“We’re not supposed to sit on the coffee table!” He and Sarah blurted together. Their parents blinked and then smiled a little. Some of the tension left Matt’s insides.

“Just this once,” his mom said, and her smile faded. Dad laid his hand over hers. She looked down at their joined hand as if not sure where to start. Matt couldn’t wait any more.

“How come no one else can talk to the wind?” he blurted.

They frowned, and his dad stared up at the ceiling like the answer was up there somehow.

“That’s not exactly true,” his dad said finally. “Everyone used to be able to talk to it and understand it. All of our people did, anyway.”

“Our people…?” Matt gaped.

“Humans, Matthew,” his mother sighed with exasperation. “We’re still human.”

“So are the kids at school!” Matt protested.

“Yes, but they forgot how,” Mom said simply. “Or their parents forgot how. Or their grandparents. For some of them, it’s been generations – hundreds of years – since anyone even thought of the wind as alive.”

Matt goggled.

“What else could it be?”

His parents shook their heads.

“Can you talk to water?” Mom asked. “Can you talk to fire?”

“No!” Matt exclaimed in unison with Sarah and then frowned at her.

“They’re not like wind,” she went on obliviously. “They’re not…” She stumbled on the word, and Matt stopped frowning and leaned back as he recognized the trap.

“Alive?” their mom asked gently.

Matt’s brows bent across his forehead in a deep v.

“Are you saying that water and fire are…” he swallowed and changed words, “like the wind, too?”

His mom’s eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open as her face paled. But Dad was already talking.

“No, no!” he said hurriedly. “She meant that’s how other people think of wind!” Mom nodded emphatically.

“They think it’s a seasonal thing. Or a side effect of other weather.” Her mocking tone was a little weak, but Matt was focused on the words. “When the tornado’s come, they blame it on fate or bad luck when it was their actions that caused it.”

The last bit was said with such frustration and anger that Matt instinctively huddled back into the couch. He could feel Sarah curl closer against his side.

“They don’t remember,” Dad said quickly and soothingly, as if he’d said it a hundred times before. Mom closed her eyes. For a long moment, there was silence.

“What did they do?” Matt whispered, cleared his throat, and tried again. “How did they cause it?”

Mom surged to her feet in a quick, spasm-like movement and strode to face the table in the dining room. Her shoulders stood like sharply defined peaks in the still air. Dad watched her go and briefly pressed a hand to his face. When he lowered it, his eyes were full of answers to questions Matt couldn’t begin to guess.

“We don’t know,” he admitted.

The smack of their mother hitting her hand against the wall between the rooms echoed painfully in the hush. They all turned to see her gripping the wall as she leaned on it, her knuckles white.

“There are too many options.” Anger, tears, frustration, fear – her voice was a hoarse Molotov cocktail of emotions. “We’ve managed to eliminate a few, but…” A harsh breath followed the words, and Dad started to get up. Before he made it even an inch above the coffee table, Sarah had already flown off the couch and across the room, flinging her arms around Mom from behind. Her body jerked, then froze for an instant before she turned and convulsively wrapped herself around her daughter.

Watching his mom hold Sarah and rock, Matt drew in a sharp breath and held it, his whole body drawing up tightly. He’d tasted fear earlier that day, but now for the first time, he began to understand that he’d only glimpsed the very edge of the problem. And Mom and Dad had been dealing with it… Matt tried to remember when they started looking at maps.

The couch cushions tilted, and he knew Dad had moved next to him. Matt stared at his hands. He felt like he had when he’d been sick a week and had to take a math test his first day back at school. He didn’t know what to do, and his mind chased itself in panicked circles. But it always came up with the same question. He opened his mouth, made a strangled sound, cleared his throat, and tried again.

“What do we do?”

He hadn’t expected the answer to be to eat dinner and go to bed. He’d wanted to start learning or searching or whatever right then, but his parents said that was enough for one day. Seeing Mom that upset, he’d swallowed the objection and done as they’d said. That left all the unasked questions still buzzing in his head.

Matt lay in his bed and stared at the dark window. Every so often, he could hear the tree branches move or the panes rattle and knew that the wind was outside. He didn’t know what kept it out of the house – was there something that kept it out of the house? What would happen if the wind decided it wanted in? The questions made the inside of his chest feel like it was wired with electricity. As he stared and thought, the edgy feeling grew until he knew there was no way he could sleep.

Pushing back the light blanket, he sat up and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. Peering in the darkness, he tried to find the board that always squeaked and slowly put his feet down well to the side of it. As he carefully lowered each foot, the muscles of his leg reminded him of the day’s abuse with sharp pains that made his legs twitch and tense. The first time it happened, he stumbled, caught himself with a heavy step, and then froze, listening to see if anyone else got up to check. The only sound was the ticking of the old grandfather clock, booming away in the darkness.

Swallowing to wet his dry mouth, Matt started walking again. When he didn’t try to lower his feet so slowly, his legs didn’t seem to mind as much, and he made his way to the kitchen without further incident.

In the darkened kitchen, he stood for a moment, staring at the cold stove and the dark shelves. He rubbed his gritty eyes and leaned on the table. He wasn’t really sure why he’d come in here. He wasn’t hungry at all. He’d barely managed swallow a few bites at dinner, and with the knots in his stomach, he couldn’t imagine eating anything now. He stood for another moment before sighing and taking down their old scarred kettle. Mom and Dad always made tea when someone was upset or needed to calm down. But that was for little worries. Matt frowned at the worn metal and finally shrugged. If it didn’t help, at least it would give him something to do.

He pumped the water as quietly as he could, but his hand jerked, knocking the kettle into the sink side as he realized why Mom had insisted on putting in an indoor pump and sink. His breath caught and his shoulders tensed. The kettle hit the sink again. The metal clang rang out in the still darkness. He froze, but the only sound he heard was the trickling water.

Blowing out a deep breath, Matt carefully set the kettle on the burner. Pulling out the matches, he removed one and then reached for the gas. His hand paused an inch from the knob, and he frowned at it for a minute before finally switching it on. The quiet hiss sent a shiver down his spine. Swallowing, he struck the match and poked the tiny flame under the burner. It caught with a whoosh, the blue light stinging his eyes in the darkened kitchen.

Matt backed away instantly. His eyebrows lowered, and he kept his gaze fixed on the flickering light. When it did nothing but glow and heat under the circle of the burner, he hesitantly moved by it for a mug and the tea tin. Every few seconds his eyes darted back to the fire.

He set the supplies on the table and turned back to the stove. The low sound the fire made was almost more a pressure in his ears than a noise. He closed his eyes and listened to it as best he could, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t pick out any meaning. Finally, he opened his eyes. Scratching his head, he shrugged uncomfortably.

“Thank you for heating the water,” he whispered in a carefully respectful tone. The light of the fire flared white for an instant, and Matt’s breath caught.

“What are you doing?”

The hiss from behind him had Matt spinning so fast that he nearly knocked over the chair next to him. Sarah stood in the doorway in her pale nightgown, looking like an annoying little ghost. He sank down into the chair in relief.

“I’m making tea,” he said just as quietly. “Go back to bed.”

“I can’t sleep.” She sat across from him. “I keep hearing the wind. At the windows.”

She shivered, and Matt swallowed hard. For a moment, they sat in silence. Matt knew she was scared, and he knew it was his fault. If he hadn’t disobeyed Mom and Dad and played frisbee, today wouldn’t have happened. His fingers traced restless patterns on the table in the growing silence. Finally, they hesitated.

“Mom made it stop,” he realized out loud. Excitement flowed through him with a rush of giddy relief. He reached out and pressed his hand flat on the table in front of Sarah, leaning in over it. “She knew how to make it stop without making it mad!”

“She… Mom did?” Sarah stuttered, gaping at him with shock and disbelief.

“She brought it a pinwheel to play with!” Matt waved his hands in the air in front of him as he tried to verbalize the sudden storm of thoughts. “She didn’t have time to go to the store – she must’ve had it here. She must’ve bought one before. In case it got mad!”

“A pinwheel?” Sarah was goggling at him. “She wanted a pinwheel?”

“No, the wind did,” Matt brushed her comment aside, but even brotherly annoyance couldn’t compete with the sudden surge of euphoria. “But Mom knew it would. Don’t you see?” He tapped his hands excitedly on the table. “Mom and Dad know stuff about it! Once they teach us, we’ll know, too. We’ll know how to keep from making it mad. We’ll know what to do if it picks us up again. We’ll be able to stop it!”

With each word, the pale nervousness faded from Sarah’s face until she was glowing with excited relief.

“Do you really think-” she cut off abruptly, the new color draining a little from her cheeks. “But what about the other people?” she gasped. “Mom said they made the wind act like that! If they keep-”

“We’ll fix it,” Matt interrupted. He could see it now. He could see how it would work. “Like Mom and Dad have been. Only there’ll be more of us doing it, so we’ll do better. And if we teach them about it, they’ll stop upsetting it!”

Sarah bit her lip and stared at the dark window.

“We’ll be safe,” she whispered, almost too quiet to be heard.

The shrill whistle of the kettle quickly covered her voice. Matt leapt up and turned off the burner with new confidence. He set the kettle on the back to cool without bothering to pour any water for tea. He didn’t need it now. Now, he knew what to do.

Continue to Chapter 3

Matt grabbed his frisbee and dashed out of his room and down the hallway. Mom and Dad were poring over maps on the dining room table, as usual. Matt thought they were nuts. He couldn’t imagine working all day and then spending hours staring at maps. He wanted to have some fun.

“I’m going out!” he called and raced out before they could glance up. He paused only long enough to open the door before flying through.

“What’re you doing?”

The unexpected question had him instinctively jerking around, throwing off his balance and knocking himself into the post. He grabbed it to catch his balance and dropped the frisbee in the process. It bounced down the steps before settling at the bottoms. Sarah gasped, and Matt grimaced.

“Mom and Dad said not to play frisbee anymore,” Sarah accused.

Matt groaned. Little sisters were such pests!

“They won’t know – they’re too busy looking at maps!” he argued persuasively. When she grabbed a lock of hair and began chewing on it, he knew she was uncertain. He took a step, reached down for the frisbee, and held it out temptingly. “Want to play, too?”

The hair fell away, forgotten, as her face lit up with excitement. She sat up on the porch swing so suddenly that it nearly bucked her off.

“Really?”

Victory sang through Matt.

“Sure,” he grinned, cocky now. “If you can catch me!”

With that, he leaped off the porch and took off across the yard.

“Matt! Wait” Sarah’s wail was music to his ears. “That’s not fair!”

Exhilarated by the run and her reaction, Matt put on a burst of speed and left her in the dust. It would’ve been fun to keep going and lose her in the fields, but he was smart enough to know that would send her running to Mom and Dad. So when he reached the overgrown fields next to theirs, he stopped and waited for her, laughing as she strained to catch up.

“Slowpoke,” he jeered when she arrived, panting. He snorted when she bent over to rest on her knees.

“Your legs are longer,” she protested between gasps.

Matt rolled his eyes.

“Do you want to play or not?”

She nodded so hard he thought her head would fall off.

“You better look then!” he warned and flung the frisbee into the air. It flew in a high arc. Then, abruptly, it changed directions midair, turning to the right.

“It caught it!” Sarah squealed.

Matt watched, fascinated as the frisbee zipped away from them in a broad curve before winging back. He knew the exact moment when the wind released the frisbee because it wobbled and began to glide in a normal path.

“I’ve got it!” he yelled and raced across the field. He kept his eyes on that bright red and leaped up to catch it. When his hands closed around worn plastic, he grinned and laughed, holding it up in victory. “Again!” he cheered.

He drew back his arm as Sarah ran up, whining.

“It’s my turn!”

Just before she got to him, he released it into the sky.

“If you catch it, you can throw it.” He smirked at her with cocky arrogance.

The wind had already grabbed the frisbee and was turning it end-over-end. The bright red flipped it in the air and changed directions like the show of a very skilled juggler. Again, it released the toy at an angle that sent it far enough away from them that they’d have to run for it.

Matt turned to tell Sarah to run, but she was already sprinting away. He frowned.

“You’re not going to make it!” he yelled.

She put on a little more speed. Matt judged her distance from the frisbee’s path. She still wasn’t going to make it.

Even as he thought it, the frisbee’s speed adjusted, shortening its path. Sarah took two giant steps, dove forward, and grabbed the frisbee with both hands. Overextended, she fell flat on her face.

Matt ran to where she’d fallen. He could hear her yelling but couldn’t understand a word of it. Then, she rolled over and sat up like a jack-in-the-box.

“I caught it!” she yelled. “I get to throw it!”

Scowling, Matt tried to snatch the frisbee. He only glared when she barely jerked it out of reach, her mouth falling open in shock and outrage.

“The wind let you catch it,” he accused pugnaciously.

“No, it didn’t!” she shrieked.

“It did, too!” he bellowed. “It slowed it down!”

He could see on her face that she knew the truth but didn’t want to admit it.

“I still caught it!” She hugged the frisbee to her with a glower that clearly said she wasn’t going to give it up without a fight.

“You wouldn’t have-”

The wind blasted against them with a force that ripped the words out of his mouth and flung them both back on the grass. Even then, it didn’t stop. It blew over their prone forms so hard that their clothing pulled upward painfully. Then, they began to leave the ground.

Matt could see Sarah screaming, but he couldn’t hear her. All he could hear was the rush of wind – in a tone of anger he’d never heard before. Fighting the pull as they left the ground, he reached for her hand. No matter how hard he fought the pressure, he couldn’t get any closer. He watched helplessly as she began to lift higher and move away. She was crying. For the first time since she was a baby, he could see fear on her face.

“I’m sorry!” he yelled desperately. “I’m sorry!”

As abruptly as it had started, the wind calmed. The hard impact of the ground against his back jolted his limbs against the joints, sending them flailing briefly in the air. All the air burst from his lungs, and his head smacked against the hard dirt. For a moment, he lay dazed in the dirt and grass.

The sound of crying slowly penetrated the fog of pain and shock. He struggled against the unfocused feeling to raise his head.

“Sarah,” he whispered.

He could barely see her through the tall grasses and weeds. She was curled up on her side with her back to him. Although he couldn’t see any injuries, he could hear her crying. He tried to get up, to go to her, but his body seemed almost disconnected. It didn’t want to do what he told it to. He heard her whimper. Trembling, he forced himself to his knees. Face taut with determination, he attempted to stand.

He couldn’t. And the hard landing back on his hands cut his palms on the sharp grass. Sarah stopped crying. Teeth gritted, Matt concentrated with all his might and crawled toward where he’d last heard his little sister.

Hand. Knee. Hand. Knee. Matt focused on each movement even as he strained to hear Sarah. As he crawled, his body began to steady. Movements became easier. As his body began to act more normal, he dared to raise his head. He could see her huddled form through the grass. Almost there.

“Sarah.” Her name came out a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat as he crawled forward. “Sarah, are you ok?”

A sniffle eased some of the tension in him. At least, she was still alive.

In a rush, he scrambled the rest of the way to get to her. Reaching out a hand, he touched her shoulder. She jerked and curled up tighter with a little whimper.

“Sarah, are you hurt?”

She didn’t answer. Starting to panic, Matt reached out to turn her over and jerked back, remembering at the last minute that he shouldn’t move her if she was hurt. With a whimper of his own, he scurried around to the other side. She was curled up on herself, but he couldn’t see blood anywhere.

“Sarah?” he ran his hand over her arm. He thought that was what he was supposed to do. But what was he supposed to feel? The arm seemed normal. She jerked away a little. Was she ignoring him?

“Sarah! Are you ok?”

The yelling finally got through. Sarah raised her head. Her face was red and puffy from crying. Although he could see her mouth move, all he could hear was a pathetic little moan.

“What?”

Her eyes closed, and tears leaked from behind her eyelids. Matt couldn’t understand what was wrong. She didn’t seem hurt, but she wasn’t talking to him. Fear started to transform into anger.

“Come on, Sarah! Are you hurt or not?”

He was on the verge of getting up and leaving her when her mouth opened again.

“I don’t want to play anymore.”

The whisper was barely out when a soft, warm wind blew over them, caressing their faces in a comforting, gentle touch. Sarah started and gasped. Matt felt his own muscles knot as his heart sped up rapidly. Even though the wind didn’t seem mad anymore, he remembered. He realized that Sarah was trembling again, and the longer the wind blew, the worse it was getting. She remembered, too. He needed to make it stop. The question was how. His hands fisted as his mind raced.

A sliding rustle yanked Matt out of the problem, jerking his head up. A circle of red lay vibrant and glaring in the grass. Matt swallowed. There was no way Sarah was going to get up and play right now. Ten minutes ago, that would’ve been fine. Now… he wasn’t sure how the wind would react.

Another rustle brought his attention back to Sarah. She was shaking so hard that the grass around her trembled, too. He had to do something.

“I need to take Sarah home,” his voice broke halfway through, ending in an embarrassing squeak. He was so focused on the wind, he barely noticed. The air had gone absolutely still. A second ago, that was all Matt wanted. But the stillness was worse. He swallowed and tried again.

“Maybe, we can come back and play when she feels better,” he held his breath. What would the wind do?

A moment passed, then another. The silence and stillness were oppressive and heavy. Matt unconsciously began to hunch down against the pressure. The growing rustle of the grass from Sarah’s shaking was an ominous whisper in the silence. How long before the wind got tired of waiting? It obviously didn’t like the option he’d given it, and he was running out of time. Staring blankly at the vibrating blades of grass, Matt racked his brain. There had to be another way.

“I’ll come back.” The words were out before Matt knew he’d thought them. He swallowed hard when he realized what he was committing to. A glance at his sister had him lifting his chin determinedly. “As soon as I get her home, I’ll come back and play.”

The pressured lightened but not the stillness. Was the wind thinking it over?

Sarah’s eyes were wide and horrified on his. Her mouth opened, and he glared, willing her to stay quiet. She drew in a breath, but before she could speak the terrifying stillness ended. A gentle wind cooled the stuffy air, brushing over their legs. Sarah curled up even tighter with a squeak even as Matt twisted to look.

A miniature whirlwind encircled the frisbee, lifting it straight into the air. It hovered there, waiting. Matt got the feeling that it would stay right there in the air until he got back.

Some of the weight left Matt’s shoulders, making him exhale roughly. The wind had agreed. He could take Sarah home. Ignoring the sick tension in his stomach, he quickly moved closer to Sarah’s side. Driven by the urgent need to get her home before the wind changed its mind, he forced his hands under her body and lifted her up. She gasped and struggled briefly. He ignored her and in one hard jerk, shifted her so that he had her pressed tightly across his chest. Good. He could carry her like that.

His body was better though it still didn’t want to work exactly right. It took effort to stand, and once he did, he had to focus all his concentration on walking. Don’t trip. Don’t drop her. He only had to make it home.

His fear of the wind’s fickleness drove him like a mule driver’s whip. His breathing got louder with each moment, but he pushed himself to go faster. He needed to get back and play. Before it decided to teach them another lesson.

“Matt,” Sarah’s voice was almost soundless. “Matt, you can’t-“

“-Shh!” he panted fiercely. “Not here!”

He ignored her gasp and focused on the distance. He was getting close. With a last burst of willpower, he vaulted up the porch steps, tripping and nearly falling on the top one. He stumbled to the side and hit the post with a loud thud. The impact on his back threw him further off-balance, and he caught the swing with Sarah’s feet. It swung erratically back, smacking loudly against the siding.

Matt tried to keep it from hitting her again, but the sidestep was too much for his tired legs. He collapsed to one knee. As the pain of the impact rushed up his leg, he heard raised voices from inside. Mom and Dad would be coming soon. They would take care of Sarah. Numbly, Matt set her down on the porch.

“Matt.”

Without hesitating, he reached up to grab the railing and yanked himself to his feet. He stumbled down the steps and forced his stubborn body back toward the field.

“Matt!”

Matt broke into a half run. Now that he wasn’t carrying Sarah, his body began to work better. But carrying her had taken a toll on his legs. And although he might have been fine on flat ground, the fields were covered with huge dirt clods, holes, and clumps of grass. The weird angles and sudden movement of the dirt made his legs work harder. A step wrong would send him careening to the side or make him stumble as his foot and ankle twisted in different directions. He caught himself again and again, pushing himself as fast as he could.

He had to get there before the wind changed its mind.

As soon as he passed the barn, he could see the frisbee, hovering in midair on its personal whirlwind. Exactly where it’d been when they left. The red plastic that had once seemed so fun now reigned malevolently over the yellowing grass. The closer Matt got, the more tension started to eat away at his insides. What would the wind do now? He used to know what to expect. Not anymore.

By the time he staggered to a halt next to the frisbee, he was a little winded. His legs trembled. Fatigue or fear, he didn’t know.

He didn’t have time to figure it out. As soon as he got there, the frisbee shot up into the air, flipping and darting in its usual show. Matt braced himself and watched it like a cat waiting for a mouse to emerge from its hole. Everything depended on this. Despite his quivering leg muscles, he was ready when the frisbee whipped out straight away from him. As soon as it started to go, he took off running.

Pushing his tiring body, he raced across the field. Even as he ran, he imagined what the wind might do if he missed. Nothing he pictured was good. The tension built inside him like boiling water in a kettle, and his world narrowed to that red circle.

Closer, closer. There!

Somehow, he managed to catch it. When his hands closed around the rough plastic, tension warred with relief, and he stopped so abruptly, he swayed on his feet. He needed a moment to recover. But the stillness in the air told him that the wind was waiting. With a sinking feeling, he pulled in the frisbee and sent it flying back out into the air. The wind caught it, and the tension began to rise again.

What had he gotten himself into?

With each round, the trembling grew worse. By the eleventh, Matt’s breaths came in tearing gasps. He kept thinking that if he could only catch his breath, he’d be ok, but the wind was impatient. By the twenty-fourth, his legs were so shaky his run looked like a drunk at midnight. He barely made it to the frisbee in time. Like Sarah before him, he face-planted into the hard earth and sharp grasses. The impact blasted what little air he had out of his lungs, and he wheezed for a second, lying on the ground like road kill.

A restless breeze moved over his back. Slumping to the side, Matt lifted his head.

“Yeah, I know.” He pushed himself onto his knees. “I’m coming.”

In a surge of energy, he made it to his feet. The momentum made him sway and stumble. But he held on to the frisbee.

“That’s enough.”

It took a minute for the voice to register in Matt’s foggy brain. When it did, he turned so fast he almost knocked himself over.

“Mom!”

She was standing between him and the barn with her purse over her shoulder, looking more like she was going shopping than standing in a fallow field watching her son play frisbee with the wind. As Matt adjusted to the shock of seeing her there, he became aware that the wind had stilled again. Oh, no.

“Mom, I promised I would play, and-“
“I know, dear,” she interrupted him firmly, giving him a stern glance that made his mouth snap shut with a click. “But it’s dinner time. Play-time is over.”

That horrible pressure filled the air again, and Matt could hardly swallow against the panic. He opened his mouth to protest, but again, the look his mother gave him stunned him to silence.

“I know you want to keep playing,” her tone gentled, and Matt started when he realized that she wasn’t talking to him. “That’s why I brought you a present.”

Woodenly, Matt stared as her hand reached into her purse and pulled out… was that a pinwheel? Would that work? Even as he goggled, the wind began to move, rushing around them in a tone that Matt could only call excited. It swirled around her hand, lifting the gift up and spinning it through the air. Matt collapsed against his knees and stared in bewilderment.

He didn’t notice his mom striding toward him until her arms were around him in a fierce hug. The frisbee slid out of his numb hands and rattled on the ground as Matt wrapped his arms around her and held on. As she pressed her face to his hair, Matt thought he heard her breathe, “you idiot,” but it was so quiet he wasn’t sure. Before he could wrap his mind around the tension radiating off of her, she shifted so that she was half supporting him and started for home, practically pulling him along.

She almost had to. Matt’s feet might as well have been encased in concrete. Each step felt that heavy and awkward. He had to focus so hard on lifting and placing his feet that he had no choice but to trust her to guide him.

“Almost there,” his mom whispered.

Surprised, Matt raised his head and saw the porch only a little bit away. Although the walk had felt like an eternity, he’d been sure they hadn’t gone very far. Now, the sight of the house lit a fire in him. With renewed energy, he impelled his worn body across the yard, stumbled up the steps, and basically fell through the door. There, he simply slid down to the ground.

Safe. They were all safe.

Continue to Chapter 2