15

 

GRANNY WAS MAKING her way toward the patch of lemon-weed grass where she and Sara had encountered the Muckles. She tried to keep from imagining all the perils her granddaughter might meet, especially having set out at night, especially when it had been obvious that Sara’s vision of the swamp night-glow had been diminishing. Yet, even when Granny could keep her fretful imagination under control, she couldn’t stop replaying her memories.

Granny recalled a similar flight so many years ago. She had set off in the same direction she now traveled, but then she had been spurred on by the disappearance of her husband, Cal. She had been sure the Muckles had something to do with Cal’s fate. She still didn’t know precisely what that was, but she’d learned to trust her instincts when it came to matters concerning those closest to her heart.

She still felt fatigued, which told her the Source remained unbalanced. Thinking of Cal added a deep ache. Thinking that she might lose Sara as well was unbearable. Unnoticed, a slow tear inched down her weathered cheek.

They took my Cal. I’m sure of it. I can’t let them take my Sara-Jean. She pushed on through the marshy terrain.

Hours later, she reached the lemon-weed patch. The sun had warmed the grasses enough to release their bright, citrus fragrance. Granny took a seat by the same gnarled, old oak that had sheltered them yesterday. She plucked a stem of the bright yellow grass and chewed it absently, begrudging herself even this short rest.

The juices of the lemon-weed were therapeutic. She felt a little better, a trifle less dejected. But as she rose to continue her journey, she stopped short. Holding very still, she closed her eyes to shut out any visual distraction, wondering if what she was feeling was real or just the effect of lemon-weed and wishful, hopeful thinking.

No. It’s definite. I know this too well to be fooled at my age.

A slow smile crept over her face as she opened her eyes. No doubt about it. There was a change in how she felt; a soul-deep shifting that she had known many times before when her attempts to re-balance the Source had been successful. Whatever had happened, something was working toward restoring the status quo.

The girl could still be in danger, but she must’ve done somethin’ right, Granny decided. She shook her head and marveled at the impulse she suddenly felt to send a loud, joyful cheer echoing through the swamp. Sara had surpassed her hopes and expectations already. If she had managed to correct an imbalance, particularly one as grievous as the Muckles had imposed, there was no telling what powers the girl might achieve in time.

Land sakes. This here’s no time for lolly-gaggin’, Granny scolded herself. Only an old fool would take it for granted that things couldn’t swing back to wickeder than worse. Get movin’, old woman.

With a lighter heart and a sprier step, Granny clambered across the old oak’s roots and continued on toward Saylish and Malora’s home.

With a hurried plea to Granddad Cal’s spirit to watch over the granddaughter he’d never met, Granny plunged on through the wilderness of twisting vines and dripping mosses.