As I drove up the long drive to the Olsen farm, I noticed how the house sat high on a hill above the surrounding countryside. When I got out of my car, I turned to admire the view. Fields of hay, corn, and fenced grassy pastureland spread out north as far as the outskirts of the village and south to a neighboring, smaller farm. I’d always thought of Brock and Ike as small businessmen, running the Valhalla nursery and doing odd jobs in town for extra money. I hadn’t realized that they came from such a prosperous farming family. The Olsen farm must be one of the largest in the valley. It felt, standing here, as if it commanded the whole valley – not just the fields and pastures that belonged to it, but the other small farms dotting the valley, the village to the north, and the dense woods that lay to the east.

I blinked and looked harder at the view. At the golden hay waving in the breeze and the deep emerald pastures. At the neat white fences and bright red barn. All glowing in the summer sunshine. But it wasn’t the sun that made them glow. Everything, from each blade of grass in the meadows to the red paint on the barn, was glowing with golden light. And when I looked even harder I saw rays of light coming from the fields and fences – delicate gold lines that formed an intricate pattern over the Olsen farm like a foil overlay on a book cover. A pattern that extended over all the farms in the valley, crossed Trask Road, but stopped at the edge of the woods.

“We can spin wards of protection across the farms and village, but not into the woods.”

I turned around. Ike stood behind me, in jeans and ubiquitous flannel shirt.

“How did you know I wasn’t just admiring your farming techniques?”

“You’ve got so much Aelvesgold in you you’re disrupting the patterns. Look …”

I turned back, raising my hand to shield my eyes … and saw the net of golden threads ripple over the fields.

“You couldn’t have that much Aelvesgold in you and not see the wards,” he said.

“Am I hurting your … wards?”

“They’re pretty resilient. The Norns reinforce them once a year, always the week leading up to the solstice. That’s when all magic is at its strongest.”

I looked again at the acres of intricate patterns. “It must be a lot of work.”

“It is, but it’s necessary. If not for the wards, the farms and the village would be open to the woods. Anything could come out of them.”

Or get lost in them, I thought, thinking of the fishermen who had gone missing in the woods. “How’s Brock?” I asked.