Johann dug at the hard-packed soil with the dull edge of his hoe. Sweat, beading on his forehead, dribbled down into his eye. As he dabbed his face with his rough sleeve, he surveyed the field. Birds fluttered overhead, and far beyond them, scuddy clouds drifted lazily through the azure sky.

The world is harrowed by all manner of evil, the wandering friar had said. From cracks and shadows come the Devil’s spawn, eager to torment the sinful. Repent! Johann’s gaze dwelt on the lush green trees that lined the field’s edge.

We, at least, are at peace, Johann had argued. Let us return to our labors, and leave us be.

What ye sow, ye shall reap, the friar said in disgust, and left them.

By day’s end, all the seed had been planted and all the chores finished. All that remained for Johann was to settle into his comfortable seat by the hearth. His wife sat vigil over the empty cradle and silently wept, as ever she had since the Bargain.

He could not deny that the price of their peace had been small.