Chapter 1
Thanks to clograbby and sugarbowl for editing tips.
Chapter 2
“Okay, you're lucky. You got me. And I'm gonna let you in on a little secret.” Mark said, while walking out to the closest field on the left, his protegé hanging on his every word. “Field three is mine. You will not find a cleaner field on this farm. I get it at least every other day, and I go through it with a fine-toothed comb.” He paused to look back at the new Timas, staggering behind, not used to Mark's pace. “Keep up now, time is important. As I was saying, if you get field three, you can thank me for the freebie.”
They made it to their destination and it was immediately obvious that Mark was true to his word. Field three was lined with rows of cabbage and rhubarb, the soil between was almost black as a result of being so clean and well-maintained.
“We'll just lift the leaves and grab the few weeds from under the plants. Easy right?”
“Okay.” The new guy finally spoke up. “Where do I start?”
“You head over to the far corner and work your way up and down the rows. I'll start here and meet you in the middle.”
Mark was taking full command of Timas, with more interest in teaching him than in frightening him. Even so, Tim' was so nervous about screwing up that he took every order Mark dished out with no arguments.
Mark was impressed with Timas' performance. He had nearly met him at the center of the field, meaning they had kept almost the same pace, which was promising to say the least.
“Not bad kid.” He said, as they met at a rhubarb plant. Mark lifted the large leaves off of the ground and grabbed a few scattered weeds, throwing them in his bucket.
Mark motioned for Timas to follow him to field four. They arrived at a fence and with a fluid hop Mark was over and into the next field. Timas awkwardly lifted himself over the crude wooden planks, one leg at a time.
“Okay, same routine. You head for the far end and meet me in the middle.”
A sharp, cold feeling snapped against Mark's neck. After rubbing it quickly he examined his palm to find the remains of a single drop of rain.
“Ah, great. Well, we're gonna have to be quick on this one, the heavens are opening. Let's get a move on.”
With that, Timas ran for the far end of field four, which was filled with stalks of corn. It was late summer, so the stalks were shoulder height, but still tall enough that Mark wouldn't know where Tim' was until they met up later.
Mark gazed upward. The sky was still a bright blue, evenly spaced clouds garnished the air, with a few slightly darker than the others. In the distance the clouds grew thicker and darker, but Mark was certain it would not interfere with their work, so he dropped to one knee and began brushing the soil with his palms in search of more weeds.
Mark's thoughts began to wander. Small thoughts of everyday events and menial aspirations. He was a bit disappointed that he would be docked pay today, he was hoping to finally get his door lock fixed. On that note, he was probably going to need to buy some new sandals in the next few days. Typically if you lost something on the farm, someone else had found it and claimed it as their own. Many of the residents with whom Mark didn't interact had no scruples when it came to property. 'Finders keepers' applied heavily at the farm for a lot of them and was a reality that everyone, including Mark, had accepted.
There were ten rows of corn in field number four. Each with twenty or so stalks. Mark was nearing the end of the second row on his half so he stood up to stretch his back, and to see if he could catch a glimpse of Timas' progress.
When he was fully upright, he noticed the tops of the corn stalks moving about lightly. The wind had picked up a little since they had started. Even with the breeze, it was still a hot summer day so it was kind of refreshing to have the wind blow the heat off of his shoulders.
Through the rows of dancing plants Mark could see a bit of color. Tim' was keeping good time, and Mark was putting faith in his abilities. If it turned out that he had missed a bunch of weeds, it was on Mark's neck, but it didn't phase him too much. He was sure Luke would understand.
A few minutes later Mark was on his knees, brushing the ground of the fourth row, snatching up any traces of green that revealed themselves to him. Judging by the rustling Mark could hear just few feet away from him, Tim' would likely meet him dead center once again.
Mark's bucket was starting to hold a reasonable amount of weight. He found himself having to jerk it from the ground if he wanted to move it. This field, it seems, had been neglected lately, the rain seemed to be bulking it up a bit as well.
Mark had been finding more than his fair share of weeds which had had time to grow roots miles long. They gave him some challenges, some cuts and a quarter or two to add to the swear jar that evening, but in no time at all he found himself on the end of the sixth row, with Tim' working furiously at the opposite end. Minutes later they met at the middle, with a slight advantage by Mark.
“Nicely done Kid, you've got a good handle on this. You should be out on your own in a couple days.”
“Thanks.” said Tim, slightly out of breath. “It's gonna take a while for my hands to get used to this.” He lifted his arms and showed Mark his hands, palms forward. They were red and scratched from spiny and barbed weeds.
“Yeah, don't worry about that, you'll get calloused up quicker than you can imagine.” Mark replied. As the words left his mouth he felt two cold droplets explode on his head, followed by one more after a slight delay, then another, and another until he and Timas were both running for the tool sheds under a downpour of rain.
When they made it down Mark threw open a big wooden bin, tossed the contents of his weed-bucket inside and motioned for Tim' to do the same.
“Alright bud. We're going to have to skip on number five today. Put your tools and bucket over on the wall there,” he pointed to the main tool shed “and you can take off. I have to stop at my place and then I'm heading for the lodge if you need me. See you later.”
“Okay, bye, thanks.” Tim' said, trying to get a word in.
Tim ran off to wherever he was going, and Mark, after hanging up his bucket, ran in the direction of his house, slipping and nearly falling in the rapidly forming mud as he went.
