Page 311 of Ripe

The root sinks into his skin. He doesn't bleed.

Rhett's does the same.

Ezra's.

Three men. Three seeds. Three marks.

My wrist burns. KEEPER.

I scream.

Then the word changes.

No. Not changes—grows.

Roots form around the letters. A symbol appears beneath it. The same symbol carved into Ward Farm's corn emblem.

Mercy drops to her knees. “Oh God.”

I look at her. “What?”

She stares at me not in fear but in awe. That scares me more.

“The McBrides weren't Brides.”

My heart stops.

“What?”

Her eyes fill. “That came later.”

She looks at my wrist. “The old word.”

“What old word?”

Her voice shakes. “Keeper.”

I look down as the mark continues to burn. “What does it mean?”

She smiles through tears. “The one who decides what grows.”

Silence.

The field erupts. Not violently. Alive.

Corn shoots upward. Pumpkins swell. Apple trees blossom. Flowers cover the dirt. Every plant on Ward Farm ripens at once. Beautiful. Impossible. Terrifying.

The Witnesses fall to their knees. Not toward the Harvest.

Toward me.

Mariah stares.

Ali covers her mouth.

Rhett looks around. “Sage.”

“I know.”