Chapter 2

2

Before dawn, Sienna hoisted a hoe and headed out to the fields.

Her land lay by the small river, two and a half acres that her father had spent three years of hard labor to earn while he was alive. In her past life, after Silas swallowed it up, she hadn't tasted a single grain from her own harvest. Now, though the land had been neglected for a year and the weeds were taller than a person, the plot was still hers.

The sky hadn't fully brightened yet, and the field ridge was empty. With a thought, Sienna slipped directly into her space.

The space was filled with warm sunlight, the air as crisp and sweet as if it had been washed. Two acres of rich, black soil were spread out neatly, and a spring bubbled nearby, its surface reflecting the light so clearly that the pebbles at the bottom were visible.

She stared for a long while before crouching down to grab a handful of soil.

It was the kind of rich earth that clumped in your palm and crumbled perfectly when released. Her father used to say that you didn't need much; two acres were enough to feed a whole family.

She rolled up her sleeves and got to work.

Time in the space flowed differently than in the outside world. She spent a full three days inside―tilling, sowing, and watering. Two rows of corn, two patches of cabbage, and a patch of radishes were planted, while the chicks were penned at the edge of the field, fed with spring water and brimming with energy.

When she stepped out of the space, the sky outside was just starting to turn grey. In the distance, the village loudspeaker began to broadcast the day’s work schedule.

Sienna was carrying her hoe home when she bumped into Aunt Martha. Martha was one of the few people who had ever been kind to Sienna; her husband had died in a mine accident years ago, and she had raised three kids on her own. Her life was tough, but her heart was warm.

“Sienna, out to the fields this early?” Martha looked her over. “Can you handle all that by yourself? Do you want me to have your uncle’s family help you?”

“No thanks, Auntie,” Sienna smiled. “I can manage.”

Martha stared at her smile, stunned for a moment.

This girl seemed different than before.

Sienna returned home and pulled some fresh cabbage and eggs from her space, washing them and starting a fire in the hearth. Her father’s old stove was crumbling, but she patched it with mud and made do. The pot was an old, chipped iron one, but once the cabbage hit the hot pan, the aroma drifted far into the village air.

Someone smelled the cooking immediately.

Tabitha appeared in the doorway, holding a bowl. “Well, look at that. Where did you get the vegetables? I thought you hadn't planted anything?”

Sienna didn't even lift her head. “I did.”

“You planted them a day ago and they’re already grown?” Tabitha’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull. “Who are you trying to fool? Besides, hasn't your land been sitting fallow?”

Sienna picked up a mouthful of vegetables, chewed slowly, and swallowed before looking up.

“Auntie,” she said, “what I grow on my own land is none of your business.”

Tabitha’s face flushed a deep, ugly purple. She slammed her bowl onto the ground, splashing vegetable broth everywhere. “Sienna! Just because your father is dead doesn't mean you’re above discipline! I’m going to teach you a lesson for your father today, you little brat―”

Sienna stood up.

She was half a head taller than Tabitha, and while lean, she stood as firmly as a steel spike.

“Auntie,” she said, “if you touch me, I will report you to the commune. Do you think no one knows you’ve been occupying my homestead?”

Tabitha’s hand hung frozen in mid-air.

“You―you’re lying! That homestead, your uncle was just helping you keep it―”

“Helping me keep it?” Sienna took a step forward. “By putting it under your family’s name? You helped me for seven years, and I didn't see a single grain of food. Is that what you call helping?”

Tabitha’s mouth hung open, snapping shut and open again, before she finally cursed viciously, “Just you wait!”

She turned and ran. Sienna sat back down at the hearth and continued eating. Her hand was steady, her bowl didn't shake, and the only thing flickering was a fire deep within her eyes―quiet, yet burning with an unquenchable intensity.