Just a short while later, approaching the turnoff to Jack’s farm, I surveyed a changed scene. Several occupied vehicles, including a police car, were parked at the top of the long driveway to the house. Penny came to a stop, and I rolled down my passenger-side window and watched a policeman walk over.

After a brief call up to the house, we were given permission to turn into the driveway. Which meant the other cars were not. I noticed one guy aiming a large camera out his window.

Jack met us out front.

“So what’s going on?” I asked, accepting his assistance getting out of the car.

“Two geologists have been out today, as well as our insurance agent. No one is ready yet to speculate as to a definite cause. All they’ll say is that it’s very large, and we’re lucky it hadn’t been up here near the house or in a busy residential area, for that matter.” He pressed his eyes closed and squeezed my fingers. I appreciated the moment of solidarity and was grateful not to have to describe my own “lucky” escape.

“And the place has been crawling with reporters,” Jack continued. “My dad let a few down for photos earlier this morning, but our insurance agent got a little nervous about liability and public safety.”

“What about us?” pen-in-hand reporter Penny asked.

“Don’t worry. I have permission to take you guys out there,” Jack said, “but we’ll have to be careful.”

Jack and I got into the cab of his truck and the three of them climbed into the back for a winding and bumpy, off-road trek to the family’s back acreage. It was a warm early-September afternoon. Overhead, leafy branches, many already sporting this fall’s colors, flapped with the day’s light breeze, and birds chirped their approval of the blue sky and crisp air. For a moment, I forgot the nature of our outing.

It came rushing back the instant we arrived at the scene. In the daylight, I could clearly see the drop-off. It was as if the bottom had simply fallen out of the large circular area. And it was deeper than I remembered. The trees snapped and disfigured at the bottom took on eerily human shapes with their outstretched limbs.

“Whoa,” Penny said, joining me at a safe distance from the chasm.

“That’s a big hole,” Jinky said, already snapping photos.

“Both geologists have classified it as a karst or a tian keng,” Jack said. “A Chinese word that translates into ‘heavenly pit.’ China is famous for some of the largest sinks known.”

Someone had been doing his homework.

“So is it really dangerous around here? Could it open up further?” Penny asked.

“At the very edge, yes, some more soil could give way,” Jack said, “but it’s unlikely the hole will widen from within, if that’s what you’re asking. The real danger would, of course, be someone falling into it.”

I took a step back. Jack’s mention of a fall tripped my memory of the two times and places where a physical location had dropped from under my feet — the power places, or Álaga Blettur, as Hulda called them.

“How do I get to the other side for a photo?” Jinky asked. Indeed someone had been out with cones and tape roping off a good portion of the area.

Jack hesitated and then waved with his hand. “I’ll show you, but we have to be quick. My dad is really nervous about the liability of this thing.”

Newsgal Penny followed the two of them around the side of the pit.

Once I was sure we were out of earshot, I asked Marik, “Did you have anything to do with this?”

“What? No,” he said.

“When I say ‘you’ I mean the collective you, as in Vatnheim.”

“To what end?” he asked.

“As a warning.”

“As far as I know,” Marik said, keeping his voice to a whisper, “this has nothing to do with my assignment. And why would a warning be necessary? You’re cooperating, right?”

“Yes,” I said quickly.

“Moreover, this is an apple farm, correct?” Marik asked.

“Yes. Why?”

He looked around, his head stretching side to side. “I could feel it as we drew near.” He tapped his chest.

“Feel what?”

From the ground, Marik picked up a battered apple and held it at eye level with me. “Apples are the life-giving fruit of all the realms. This is, therefore, a place of great symbolism. To destroy such sacred land would be a very bad omen, especially given the plight of our queen.”

This particular apple hardly looked like anything special. Something had nibbled or pecked at it, leaving it exposed to its core on one side and bruised and scraped on the other. Still, there was something in his grotto-green eyes that pooled with sincerity. And he did seem to have some kind of reverential reaction to the place. Moreover, I didn’t want to discuss the topic of my cooperation.

“OK. Fine,” I said. “Because I’d hate to think —”

“Think what?” Jack asked, startling me from behind.

“That Marik and Jinky would sit around on a Saturday night. I’ve invited them to hang out with us.” Penny was the last to catch up. “Penny, too. It’ll be fun.”

From the looks on their faces, Jinky and Marik were free. Penny, I noticed, plumped with the prospect of a Saturday night in Marik’s company. Only Jack seemed to go a little hangdog with the news. We had talked about going on that real date.

Jack looked at the rotting apple in Marik’s hand. “Hungry?” he asked.

Marik glanced down at the specimen. “More like fascinated.” He dug with his thumbnail into its flesh, popping out the hard seedpod. “From one small seed, all this.” He swept his arms open.

“Actually, that’s one of the five carpels you’ve got there,” Jack said. “The seeds or pips are still inside.”

Marik nodded his head in appreciation before lobbing the apple back toward the woods; it landed with a soft thump. Back at the truck, science-guy Jack grabbed an apple — a perfect pink specimen — from a wooden crate, shined it on his jeans, and tossed it to Marik.

Marik’s eyes grew large, and he held the rosy orb upon both palms as if it were something rare and fragile. “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

While swinging into the driver’s seat, Jack shot me another of those crooked smiles. It had me wondering who was the true fool: Marik or the rest of us?