Once more, dawn broke on the horizon. Leif stretched, working out the kinks of a long, restless night. Normally he slept the slumber only honest men could attain, but not that night. Quiet noises, sleep inducing crickets and owls making their nightly sounds outside his window failed to bring deep sleep. Instead he'd enjoyed dozing off periodically, jumping to alert wakefulness at stray noises. At one point, he'd been certain footsteps had passed his window; with the blind down and the only light source available just before the window, he'd chosen to softly walk to the next room over to get a good look at – nothing.
Yet metal tags on dog collars had jingled too often, making him wonder what kept the dogs awake; no farmer ignored obvious warnings with impunity.
Nonetheless, Leif made his preparations. Breakfast poured into the feed dishes, set outside for the dogs. His own breakfast, the last he'd have in the house for a few days, became somewhat more ornate. Potatoes, diced in melted butter and fried with garlic salt, framed an omelet made of bacon, eggs and cheese. Fruit juice made from concentrate filled a pitcher. Trips to town for resupply occurred once every month; less frequently in winter.
"Have to make another run," he acknowledged to thin air. "Top everything off before snow flies."
The grandfather clock clicked its understanding at him, the steady ratcheting sound as unending as long as he could remember. Next to it, an older radio recited a weather report, predicting heavy rain in the near future – for areas over thirty miles off. Leif nodded at the time, filing the weather report in the back of his mind. "Better make my rounds before Yidderman gets up."
Outside, the sun perched over the horizon. Sunbeams gave an almost spotlight appearance on his barn, highlighting slow-moving figures. Leif paused to enjoy the morning, letting the morning breeze brush his hair more thoroughly than any manmade comb, before settling into a long stride. First the water trough needed checking, then a few days' of grain needed to be measured into the hopper. A farmer on his own had more tricks than a good game of Rook. He had too: nothing less would be successful.
By the time the sun rose higher, basic necessities had been accomplished. Earl's impromptu rodeo had left the most difficult part of the job easily done; a few bales of hay lay ready for being dumped into the barnyard, where ravenous cattle could reach them. Mineral blocks sat near the water pump, itself primed to refill when the level dropped too far. One thirsty cow could drink over twenty gallons of water, adding a hundred pounds to her weight in the right conditions. A few buckets wouldn't satisfy their thirst.
Rumbling sounds from the gravel road caught Leif's attention. Few traveled that far out, except farmers on their way to town every few hours or so. The mailman had an irregular schedule, but came when roads permitted. This year he'd borrow hardware to make the road smoother, grading its surface in a wide plane. His was the only stopping point for over twenty miles, save for Earl's ranch, and that could change in the near future.
Dust raised by a large vehicle showed first, appearing through a screen of trees. From where the house sat, he could see almost fifteen miles down road to the South, the direction he took when going to town. It was a solid enough byway, officially a 'state road', but more of a private back way to the residents. Every winter a few city-folk would get it into their heads to brave the great outdoors, driving themselves far out of their comfort zone and into the howling wilderness.
He had to drag them out of his front yard every so often. Amused at their idiocy.
Leif raised an acknowledging hand as the large black SUV rolled into the drive. While the Zakapenko's had built along the side of a hill, the original Larsen had chosen a flat piece of ground, putting hills to the north. Granaries, two barns and a wide Quonset blocked wind from the west, while tree belts took care of open patches left behind. For a nervous moment, he glanced at the orchard, downhill and south of the house; thankfully, there were no screaming noises or uncertain memory gaps forthcoming. Whether good or bad, Leif was oddly uncertain.
Agent Wesson appeared at the side of the vehicle, walking in the short, clipped stride city folk used. "Mister Larsen! Good morning!"
"Mornin'," Leif tracked the sun's position. Technically, it was still morning, for perhaps another three or four hours. "Ready to ride?"
The agent gestured, his movement hidden from the SUV. Leif obligingly fell in, walking alongside the shorter man. Sounds behind the vehicle started to clank and jingle; Wesson seized Leif's arm, almost pulling him behind a corner of the house. "Mister Larsen, a moment of your time?"
Leif took a measuring glance at the agent's hand, still clenched on his sleeve. "Guess so."
"Good. I need to warn you, and secure a promise from you." Wesson released Leif's arm, starting to wring his hands. "First: do not, I repeat: do not attempt to ride a centaur, especially a centauride. EVER! It could be considered either a severe insult, or a social gesture you couldn't possibly begin to understand. Promise me you won't ever try to ride a centaur!"
"Right, no riding the guests …." Leif wondered how his life had come to the point where such a statement could be made with a straight face.
"Good." Wesson shuffled, raising and lowering his feet in an impromptu dance – if standing in place and looking uneasy counted. "Now the warning. Everyone in the Exchange is going to be watching this operation. I had to out-maneuver the entire American Centaur Division to get this, and they're going to be looking for any excuse, any reason at all to shut us down. Be polite, be friendly, treat them as people. If they want something, if at all possible, give it to them – the United States Government will reimburse the costs. If they want something you can't provide, tell me and I'll see to it you get it. If you need more land, I'll make it happen. Hardware? It will be here within twenty-four hours."
The government man sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "I know you don't like me. What you've gone through over the past week is illegal in every country in the world – but it's important for me, and for the centaurs themselves. This is the most delicate stage; if anything goes wrong, the project has a strong risk of failure."
For a moment, Leif seriously considered belting the agent over the head. His thoughts turned, briefly, to the theory on how city life dulled one's common sense. "How many folks could want this, anyway? Can't imagine getting your land taken over is real high on anyone's list."
A vague steam seemed to emanate from Wesson's ears; his hands rose and descended in an ambiguously bird-like flapping motion. "Shhh! Liminals have hearing as keen as a bat's! Do you know exactly how many women grew up wanting horses? Does 'My Little Pony' ring a bell?"
Leif blinked. "Sounds like a low chance contender at the tracks."
"Nghhhh!" Wesson's frustrated expression resembled that of a stunned penguin, what with his sports coat and button-front shirt. "I received this assignment after more work than you can imagine. If this goes wrong, they'll hand it off to some bimbo just because of liminal gender ratios! I worked my butt off for years to get to this point. You. Will. Not. Ruin. This."
Mild wind, unseasonably warm, ruffled the grass in Leif's peripheral. He raised an eyebrow at the agent. "My father, and his father before him, passed down a saying."
Wesson straightened his coat. "And?"
Leif backed away, watching the agent's hands. "If it works, it works. If it don't, try something else."
He turned his back on the government man, not looking at his expression. Leaving the shade, Leif returned to the sunlight, welcoming its heat on his shadow-cooled skin. The sky shone clear and blue, faint ripples of white cirro-stratus cloud formations forming in the western horizon. He stopped, checking its progress; fast-moving banks of that type indicated storms approaching. But a moment's study soon granted relief: it moved like an amiable moose across the sky. Nothing bothered it, but nothing would stop it either.
"Lord Larsen." Caleb's voice broke into his thoughts. "I am pleased to see you once more. Are you prepared for your journey?"
Leif turned his smile on the tall centaur. "Mister Larsen, if you don't mind. We're ready, I reckon. Soon as your man shows up, I'll do a quick check and we can be on our way."
Something about the centaur's smile bothered Leif; it reminded him of a mountain lion a few years earlier, all cunning and hungry. Forcing the comparison out of his mind, he gestured at the barn. "Did you want to see a map first? Might want to know the route before we go. Safety first, of course."
The massive centaur chuckled, a rumbling sound from deep within his chest. "That would be welcome, Lord Larsen. But my representative will be ready in a few moments, I believe I hear her now."
Jingling, the sound of panniers loosely tied came from the far side of the SUV. A moment later, the dark-haired female centaur appeared. Unlike the last time he'd seen her, she wore a long denim overshirt, covering a form-fitting article of clothing good upbringing prevented Leif from examining closely. Panniers, the larger bags normally carried by pack animals, rested across her lower back, straps so loose as to let the metal bits bounce off each other. Shin guards covered her lower limbs, looking uncommonly like leg warmers. Topping of the entire ensemble, a broad cowboy hat rested on her head, just high enough for her ears to extend to the sides.
She smiled at him, brilliant white teeth gleaming. "I am ready, milord. When may we go?"
"Ah." Leif grunted, taken aback. "I assume you have a … chaperone?"
Both ears whipped forward, then back. "Would I need one?"
Was she blushing? Quickly, Leif's eyes turned to the female centaur's – the centauride's – father. A raised eyebrow conveyed his confusion.
The elder returned his look with a graceful nod. "Indeed, this is my chosen representative. Roanette is courageous, as befitting any partner in life whether it be a days journey or a lifelong commitment. She has vowed to stay at your side for the duration of this quest, and will support and protect you in your efforts." Caleb's smile dimmed. "In turn will you, Leif Larsen, promise to guide my daughter Roanette in her efforts? To protect her as well as you may in the unfamiliar trials ahead?"
While oddly phrased, the centaur's words struck a chord with Leif. It reminded him of the old works he'd once read. Almost instinctively, he gave a low nod in return – the closest he could bring himself to a bow. "Roanette will be safe with me. A day out, a day back. Maybe two days there."
A gleam in the elder's eye convinced Leif he'd made a mistake. Exactly what kind, he had no clue, but the rocking motions made by the three-ton SUV suggested it being more important than a little backpacking trip.
"Very good!" Caleb's smile dialed up so bright, it was almost blinding. "Then I grant my blessing for the trail ahead. May the road be smooth, and the way clear."
Roanette gave a low bow – confusing Leif still further – and straightened her light jacket. "Thank you, Father. I will make you proud."
A paternal smile crossed the large being's face. "I know you will, daughter of the wind."
Confused, Leif backed slowly, each movement steady yet sure. The sheer relief in the centauride's voice seemed a bit excessive for a bit of a trail ride. Liminals were far too complicated. The sooner he could get on the trail, the better. Riding made sense; people didn't.
An hour and a half later, Leif found himself urging Patches through a tough, spindly stand of bushes. She followed his guidance willingly, traversing the cattle path in sure, even strides. Dry earth thudded beneath her hooves, rain-exposed stone clicking against the metal protections on her feet.
Leif inhaled the scent of open prairie, breathing it in as deeply as he could. Grass, tall and free, rippled in rolling waves from the trail's edge to the horizon, unbroken by roads or man-made structures. Preconceptions about a prairie's apparent flatness was a lie; the path wound up and down swells in the land, rounded bulges of the earth lumping themselves together in static tides, immobile since the beginning of time.
"That's thirty thousand acres," he eased his horse to a stop near the crest of the latest hill. Below its height, a relatively flat section spread itself across the next few miles. "Roughly eighteen by twenty-three miles, give or take. That's the limits."
Roanette trotted up to his side, coming to a full stop. "It is a great holding, milord. Your ancestors must have fought like demons to win it."
A small grin played around the edges of Leif's mouth. "Nevermind the 'lord' business. Haven't been any 'lords' in America for over two hundred years." One heel tapped his horse's side, prompting it to rotate against the wind. "See the big hill over there? The one with the trees along the side?"
The centauride matched his position. "Aye milord, 'tis clear."
"Those trees are the old orchard. Ten or twenty acres of fruit trees. Great-grandpa planted it, part of a tree belt. Figured he might as well have something edible as well as useful. Pine along the west and north sides, then nothing but apples, pears and some plum trees. Used to raise berries down there too, but those died in a bad frost 'bout fifteen years ago."
"Apples?" The dark-haired woman's long ears pricked forwards, staring at the dark grove. Her pupils grew noticeably larger, and her flanks quivered. "Perhaps – if it is not too far out of our way of course, but – could we journey there on our way to your goal?"
Leif pretended to study the sun's upward path. It hung just near the midday point; every autumn day bringing the glorious zenith ever-lower. In less than three months, he'd be looking for things to do while the blizzards howled outside. Early harvests were done, the peak season was nearly upon him. Besides, the display Roanette and her sisters had made at the small orchard had been somewhat of a clue ….
"A little out of our way," he conceded reluctantly. A little twitch freed several large, collapsible bags that rested in the top layer. Thick, durable fabric spilled open in multi-bushel quantities. "But, we're almost there. And I just happen to have a few sacks. If you don't mind helping carry, maybe we could gather a bit?"
This time he almost saw her approach. Patches shied away from the sudden movement, but moved too slowly for Leif to avoid another bone-crushing experience. Roanette's hair lashed at exposed skin, and the familiar, firm pressure pushed against his upper chest this time. For a moment, he inhaled a wild scent, like cinnamon and some spice he couldn't identify. Darkness grew over his vision, pressure against his rib cage growing. A brief burst of happy terror sparked the full length of his spine.
The next moment Leif found himself staring aimlessly at the horizon, admiring the skyline. Tiny clouds, scales of vapor, scudded in gleeful abandon. Joyous trails of white traced meandering paths, crisscrossing at odd intervals.
Leif shook his head, and winced. Pain, polite but insistent, made its presence known, originating from his ribs. "Gotta remember to watch out for that." he muttered.
Beneath his legs, Patches rumbled as if in agreement. All three Border collies, scattered across the landscape, were looking at him, heads tilted quizzically.
He gave the same look back. "What?"
They looked away, acting as if nothing had happened.
"You better believe it." Leif reached for the sacks, and felt nothing. Double checking, he discovered all four bags missing. "Where did …?"
Far below, a jubilant cry caught his attention. Matching direction with wind deflection took several seconds, but Leif identified a small dark blur just entering the orchard, among the Goodland variety. As soon as the figure entered the trees, it began darting from tree to tree, white arms blurring as it seized the fruit.
His smile fell. "Oh no. Lady, what are you doing?"
Urging Patches into motion, they cantered downhill towards the orchard. Eugene barked happily, leaping over the tall grass, gaining a higher view every dozen feet. This region grew taller than the more heavily grazed pastures, with good reason. Stalks of grass, ranging from the deep greens of sloughgrass and wildrye to the brighter hues of oatgrass, could touch his elbows, even on horseback. His mare couldn't resist snatching an occasional mouthful, not breaking stride. He kept her on task, but didn't begrudge her the snack. After all, part of the journey's goal was to relax.
"Oy!" he shouted, standing in the stirrups. Far ahead, the figure paused, then swiveled towards him.
Waiting until he was closer, Leif started again. "Lady, don't you know how to pick apples? You don't just tear them off the tree and throw them in the bag."
Roanette's ears lowered. "I'm – sorry?"
He ignored the juice stains around her mouth. "Look, there's more than one way to pick apples. But fruit is alive, it gets hurt. Bump 'em around, and they bruise. One bad apple spoils the entire barrel; ya gotta be careful. Here, let me show you."
Sliding off Patches, he gave the faithful horse an approving pat. The reins he lopped around the saddle horn, to keep off the ground. She would come when he called. There were more than enough windfall apples to keep her entertained.
"Now," Leif walked over to the nearest tree, ripe fruit peeking out from behind leaves. "Grab the apple by the main body, but twist it off. Breaks the stem, leaves the branch intact." The woody stem snapped free with a crack. "Then put it in the bag, all the way down to the bottom; wait until your fingers touch bottom, and then let go."
Roanette hesitantly reached up, rotating her arm as she seized another. Its stem cracked free, but the branch shuddered upwards, shedding more apples to hit the ground in a tiny shower of pale orange fruit. "Oh, I'm sorry!" She stepped carefully, trying to avoid the dropped fruit.
"No worries miss, we can still pick up a few. Put 'em in the eating bag." Leif gathered some of the fallen apples, checking them carefully for blemishes. Taste did not rely on appearance, but worm-ridden apples always held a rotting flavor. "Over twenty acres here, a few hundred trees all told. McIntosh, Lodi, Goodland, a few varieties I don't know what all. Even got a couple family specials." He winked, apparently stunning the centauride for a moment.
Before she could react he returned to the tree, selecting another target. "I haven't been able to give this orchard the care it needs though. Not for almost a decade."
Her coal-black lower half moved into view, denim overshirt brushing back slightly in the breeze. "Why so milord?"
"I'm no lord," he corrected automatically. "That was when we started running low on workers. But that's a story for another time. Right now, we have apples to pick, and another couple miles before too long. Maybe after we fill this bag, we'll head over to get some Carroll's. Pity the McIntosh's won't get ripe for a week or so – might be some early ones though. Can't hurt to check."
Once more the centauride flashed a brilliant smile his way. Leif gave an involuntary smile back, but snagged another branch. Apples might make friends with horses and centaurs, but there was work to be done.
Laden with over five bushels of apples, the two continued despite Roanette's longing glances back over her shoulder. Leif for his part kept his eyes forward, watching everything. The dogs would scent any threat long before he could see it, but they depended on his knowing how to look; a true partnership meant equal work, if not of the same type.
"There, you can see The Place from here."
Roanette faced forwards, almost tripping over a badger hole. "Whoa, where? Oh that? It is – cute!"
Leif nodded happily. "One of the original Sears models. Time was the Sears-Roebuck company sold catalog houses. Order one, and they'd ship it out to you on the nearest railroad. Take it home, set it up, and there you go."
"Truly?" her ears pricked forwards. "They do not do so now?"
"Nah," Leif twisted, spitting in the tall grass. "Blech. Bug. No, they quit doing that in the fifties. Built 'em to last though."
They remained silent on the approach, she seeming deep in her thoughts while Leif kept an eye out. No vehicles skulked in the old driveway, but that didn't mean squatters weren't present. His rifle rested in the scabbard, but only the signs indicating an utter lack of inhabitation kept it there. A quick whistle sent the dogs careering ahead, bounding across the waving grass, leaping like dolphins over waves of vegetation. They circled, hunting for activity before slowing down to look back.
"Clear," Leif said. Pursing his lips, he whistled once more, sending the dogs into a wild running pack, speeding across the open ground. "Let 'em run for a while. They've got a lot of energy."
At his side, Roanette remained silent. He paid her no mind.
The old house looked as good as he'd remembered, white paint gleaming in the afternoon sun. Gray tiles, beginning to show signs of water damage, held tightly to the roof. He'd need to replace a few before winter came, or put it off until the next summer. It depended on if there were any leaks; a little sealant could put off repairs for a few months. Valuable in harvest season.
"Milord, not that I am not grateful for this opportunity, but – why are you not out gathering your fields?" Roanette's voice snapped Leif out of his musings. "Or perhaps seeing to your herds? This must be an imposition on your time, you rarely come here, I would deem."
Leif gave the centauride a measuring look. He parsed his words carefully, before venturing an answer. "Fields are wet, likely will be for a week. And," he paused again, then looked away. "I reckon, sometimes there are things more important than fields."
Looking away as he was, Leif missed seeing Roanette vainly try to cover a happy blush.
"Right then," Leif swung himself out of the saddle. "I'll just set out Patches, then check the house. Turn on the water, start up the generator. Gustav put up some solar panels, better check if the batteries kept a charge."
The centauride's arm snaked out, intercepting Patches's reins. "Please milord, allow me to care for your steed. It would be no trouble."
It took only a moment for Leif to make a decision. "Reckon so. Paddock's over there," he jerked a thumb behind the house. "Saddle bags go on the fence, make sure she has plenty of water."
"As you say milord." Roanette gave a short bow, and began leading the horse away.
"I'm no lord!" Leif called after her. He gave a frustrated grunt when the centauride ignored him, flipping her long braid back over a shoulder.
He set foot on the timeworn steps, constructs of aged wood that had been old when his parents were young. Even now they held steady under his weight, solid as the oak from which they'd been originally hewn. The door squeaked, but the glass remained clean and unbroken. Inside, the scarred wooden flooring resonated underfoot, clean of the debris normally accumulated by an inhabited dwelling.
"Let's see where …?" Leif considered the bedrooms, two of them on opposite sides of a narrow, short hall. Both held twin-size mattresses on average bed frames; eliciting a frown from the taciturn rancher. "No, won't work. Living room?"
His thick boots stamped on the floorboards, crossing into the main central room. It occupied nearly half of the small building's ground floor, wide windows spreading across most of its length. Through its clear expanse he could see the property's eastern quarter, the flattest portion filled with rich fields and pastures. Grazing cattle were visible, wandering across the somewhat shorter grasslands he'd roamed a thousand times. Seeing it brought good memories, of roast beef and hot apple pies, sunset watches waiting for the nighthawks to start their calls, and star-filled nights.
Leif brought his focus back, scanning the room. A large sofa occupied one wall, the ancient television set squatting a few feet before it. Rugs, old constructs of rags too old for other service, lay rolled up in the corners. They, like the rest of the furniture, were wrapped in plastic. He grunted approval at the lack of rodent teeth marks.
Next, he checked the basement. An old fuse box creaked to life at his touch. The water pump, a major reason why his ancestors had chosen the land, hissed to life. Water flowed upwards, pipes rattling before settling down in a steady rhythm. Leif listened for a moment, then grinned as a startled shriek met his ears.
Moving faster now, he checked the batteries, flipping them on before keying in a diesel engine. Tanks of fuel rested to one side, secured from sparks behind a steel door. "Hot water won't be a problem. Shower might need cleaning, but should be good. At least the bathroom is open enough, maybe."
Returning to the outside, Leif pointedly ignored a soaked Roanette, wet hair dripping down a sodden shirt. If looks could kill, he was certain any impropriety on his part would cause the liminal's superior strength to be exercised in his direction – likely not to his benefit. Back turned, he headed further away, and called over his shoulder. "Everything's started up. I'll check the herd if you want to change. Be back in a couple hours."
Mutterings he couldn't decipher grumbled almost out of hearing, far behind his back. Leif smiled again. Perhaps this would be a good thing after all.
A/N: Chapter six, up and published! Have to say, I'm tickled pink by the enthusiastic reviews. If you want a response, just shoot me a PM, or log in and I'll send a reply to your review. Usually ... sometimes things get lost in the shuffle. Apologies for that in advance ... or belated if necessary.