Silas's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Silas walked the edge of the farm plots at dawn, counting what grew there. The rows were shorter than they should have been. Behind him, voices rose from the cabins — questions he could hear even without words. He needed to show them the land would give enough, or they would pack their things and return to the cities they'd left behind. He knelt in the nearest plot and pressed his fingers into the soil. It was cool and damp, full of life beneath the surface. The carrots were small but present. The greens had come up thin but green. He pulled a single beet from the earth and held it up where the first followers had gathered to watch. It fit in his palm, dark red and solid. He split it with his thumbs and ate half, then offered the other half to the woman closest to him. She took it. He returned to the soil and began harvesting what was there, laying each root and stem in a wooden crate between the rows. The others came forward and started filling crates of their own. By midday they had gathered everything the plots had given. Silas stood and touched the locket at his chest, the tree carved into its surface warm from his skin. The harvest was lean, but it was real. He could see the doubt still in their faces, the fear they'd carried from the cities. But their hands were dirty now. They had pulled food from the ground themselves. That was something the mind could deny but the body would remember. He picked up his crate and walked toward the clearing where they would prepare the meal together.