4. Waterpower #4
Weather lurked to the west and south. He could just glimpse hints of a distant cloud tower in the hazy white-blue sky.
They needed rain, had gotten a little, but the early spring had been dry.
Would it storm? He sniffed the wind. It hurried, then dropped still, then gusted past once again, full of dirt, drain, and earth smells.
The small birds stayed low. Their songs sounded muffled, or was it his imagination?
The grass at the base of the fence posts fluttered a little in the wind, then stood straight once again.
Bees hummed among wildflowers in the grass and on the clover in the corner field.
They'd need to mow soon, after this bloom ended.
And get the scythes out to trim along the fences, once the pigs finished farrowing.
The trail led into the woodlot. The shade hummed, busy with spring life.
Not far into the woods, a tiny shrine to St. Joseph the Carpenter sat back from the path, tucked between some trees and a rock.
"Great God, thank You for spring, new life, and the bounty of the land," Lukaz murmured, then crossed himself and bowed to the shrine.
His father had seen the like in Europe during the Darkness War, and had built this one in thanks for his safe return.
Lukaz thinned his shields as he studied the trees and some bushes.
His father would have preferred to get rid of the gooseberry bushes.
His mother and sister made gooseberry pie and preserves, and trimmed the bushes back every winter, so they remained.
"A wise Hunter does not start fights he cannot win," he whispered, smiling a little since his father was far away and distracted.
His lady mother was sweet, charming, soft on the edges, and as immobile as the mountains of the Old Land when she decided that something was or was not to be done.
His father grumbled that she'd caught it from the German neighbors, like a bad cold.
But only when she was away from the farm, so neither she nor any other lady could hear his comment.
Lukaz followed the little path to the western edge of the property, where the stream came onto the Padurar farm.
Then he cut north. The fence ... would benefit from repairs, or at least replacing a few posts.
The wire had begun to sag. Now that he had a few weeks without classes or research, he'd best add it to the list before someone's livestock strayed.
The owner of the neighboring farm had said that the new renter might keep a few beef cattle.
Glimpses of long grass on the far side of the trees suggested that the animals had not arrived yet.
Alas, the nettles seemed to be doing well.
There'd been a house and garden where part of the woodlot now stood, but that had gone away in the mid-1800s after a fire that claimed the house, part of the fence, and several outbuildings.
His grandfather had moved the house farther from the property line after the fire.
A county history claimed that the then-owner of the western land had relocated without notice following that fire and another on the farm to the south.
Some of the cousins and his oldest brother had suggested—quietly—that the man's spirit might indeed have departed, but without his body.
The sound of flowing water drew him out of family history.
The stream danced over a knickpoint of bedrock, dropping over a tiny waterfall into a pool before flowing east. "Other states have logical geology, Pennsylvania has rocks that break theories," or so his economic geology professor had averred.
Rock should not come so close to the surface here.
Rocks did not read textbooks. The stream flowed over the hard stone, then eroded a series of pools and riffles as it should.
Lukaz stopped, stretched a little, and began following the water. Wait, what?
He found a place where he could see one of the pools clearly and watched.
Where were the minnows and water striders?
Bright green, feathery water weeds should have bowed among the rocks and sand at the bottom of the pool.
A few plants clung to the edges of the stream, where runoff from rain on the rocks reached the creek.
"I like this not," he whispered, crouching.
He shifted his magic and touched the water with fingertips and power both.
Sourness, bitterness flowing in from upstream poisoned the waters, driving out the fish, frogs, and other things that could move away.
He lifted his hand and sniffed the water.
The faintest "not-right" sharpness touched his nose.
Did he dare? He touched one drop with his tongue, then spat onto bare rock. Yuck.
Lukaz stood from his crouch and turned, walking along the stream with steady steps. Not until he'd crossed almost half the farm and reached the place where a little spring joined the flowing waters did he find the first minnows. "Téinus blema," We have a problem, he told the small fish.
"Yesss, waterrrr worrrker," came a liquid, flowing voice. He went to one knee and shifted to magic sight. A water Elemental drifted into view. "Corrrruption flowssss off the land."
"My thanks for the warning. From whence comes the ill?"
"From power ssicknesss," sighed the answer. "Rrrrepair the brrreach, waterrrr workerrr."
Lukaz stifled a dozen questions. "I will do my best. I cannot promise." The transparent, shimmering shape waved a languid, liquid hand, then drifted upstream.
How did they do that? Magic, he reminded himself as he stood.
He glanced at the sky. The western clouds seemed darker, perhaps.
If it stormed, it might dilute whatever ailed the stream.
"Or wash all of it into the flow and poison everything, because this day is Thursday, and university graduation comes on Saturday, outdoors, and we may Hunt this night," he sighed to the air and waters.
The Lady of Night and Her Defender watched after Hunters in their time of need, but Murphy loitered always.
This seemed to be the day for things in water that did not belong.
How could the red rag and additional water have gotten into the house line?
No one would have flushed the rag or put it in the kitchen sink.
The rags were washed by hand, not in the house machine.
And what was in the stream? Sour taste and scent, but clear when diluted, so that implied an acid, or at least something acidic.
How bad was it on the rent land to the west?
Lukaz scowled at the ground as he walked beside the fence.
"Est tri," he groaned. The lowest rail lay across the way instead of remaining in the fence.
One end had rotted and fallen loose from the mortise, then the other end worked free.
He pulled out his work knife and scraped the rotten material out of the opening in the post. At least the post appeared sound.
The rail he considered. The pigs had not yet returned to this pasture, so missing the bottom rail and unsupported pig panel would not lead to porcine pursuit.
He hefted the rail, balanced it on his shoulder, and toted it to the workshop/barn.
His older brother might have a replacement roughed out.
Lukaz left the wood outside, then opened the sliding door and turned on a light, enough that he could see into the important corners.
He brought the rail in and laid it beside the big worktable.
Where did An'stache keep roughed out pieces?
Oh, the old tack racks, that was it. He went to where the horse harnesses once hung and peered among the templates and other pieces.
If he were a fence rail where would he be?
"Wa' sukst?" An'stache asked from the other door.
"Saepa suba," fence piece. "The end of the lowest rail rotted out."
"Ugh. I don't think ..." His second older brother joined him on the search.
"Let's see, maybe," he squatted down and shone a dim red light into the depths.
"Hmm. Let me get a hook." He stood, fetched a metal rod with a hook on the end, and pulled some lengths of wood out from under the others.
"Bun fortuni," good luck. Out came three fence rails and a post.
"Can it wait for tomorrow?" An'stache asked once they moved one of the rails to the big worktable and lifted the bad one to use for measuring.
"Anno. I have no class work until after May 25. There are no pigs in that pasture yet."
"Benes." Good. "Father said the last sow farrowed today?"
"Yes. She was delivering as I went to help Mother, then tend the stream. A red shop rag blocked the house drain, almost at the first clean out."
Blue eyes opened wide, then narrowed and An'stache wrinkled his nose. "Not one of mine, because they are either clean or in the metal can."
They both shrugged. "It is Thursday," Lukaz said.
"Anno, and that is sufficient trouble all on its own. Constanche cannot Hunt for at least two more days. The Healers are not happy with him."
He studied the rafters. "A lesson for all."
"Indeed." They measured and marked the fence-rail-to-be, then put the tools away and closed the doors. The air felt cooler, and clouds hid the sun. The brothers shared a resigned look. "Thursday." An'stache walked toward the house.
Lukaz checked on the electric pump once again. It sounded different. He held his hand near the case. Warm. He turned it off, fetched the handle, and pumped the tank full, then adjusted the mechanical outflow gauge.
His phone buzzed just after eleven that night. "Anno?" The sound of rain on the roof sounded fainter than before, perhaps.
"Hunt." Voice taut, Ladislu said, "Constructs, perhaps, or summonings from Elsewhere, meet at the old Hezekiah Yoder place on the Weissbruck Road. You, Hiram, Petru, Florian and Leopold, Matias the Younger, and who else I can find. A second Hunt is underway, planar breach north of Schaumberg."