Chapter 1 #2
“Oaklin,” they managed, despite internally cringing so hard they could barely form words.
Jules held the door open and ushered Oaklin inside, where they were promptly enveloped by warmth and beautiful smells.
A figure hunched over a table behind the front counter, kneading bread with swift, powerful strokes.
He gave the dough one last pat and threw a towel over it, then turned to greet them.
“Hi, welcome in! What can I get for—oh, hey, Jules!”
The baker’s eyes lit up, a sweet dimple appearing on his flour-dusted cheek.
“Found another newbie drooling on your doorstep,” Jules said by way of greeting. “Your magic bread is out of control.”
“Oh! We don’t get many new faces around here,” the baker said, coming around the counter with a hand outstretched. “Welcome to Mossley’s Rest!”
“Thanks,” Oaklin managed, accepting the handshake, though their attention had been wholly captured by the rows of fresh breads and beautiful desserts displayed on the front counter in checkered-cloth baskets and on tiered serving trays.
They looked incredibly delicious, but that wasn’t what had Oaklin fixated.
Each baked good had a label detailing the item’s flavors… and properties.
Rose and lavender muffins: soothes hurt feelings and promotes harmony. An excellent apology!
Cinnamon raisin bread: feelings of childhood comfort.
Rosemary and basil buns: for protection and minor healing. Not an excuse to be reckless.
“Wait, your goods have actual magical effects?” Oaklin asked, managing to make their voice sound almost normal despite the dire importance of the question.
“Do they ever!” Jules said with a chuckle. “Trust me, you’ll wanna be first in line for the famous Hangover Biscuits after a long night at the tavern.”
Ryn clicked his tongue and leveled a frank look at Jules. “Yeah, I’ve considered taking those off the menu. I feel like they encourage excessive drinking.”
Jules gave a horrified gasp. “Don’t you dare!”
“Wow,” Oaklin said, completely casual and so unconcerned. “Is the scent of the baking magical too?”
At that, Ryn’s expression went serious, and he pushed his black-wire spectacles up his nose.
“No, I would never use any kind of mind-altering magic on someone without their consent, and all the baked goods with magical effects are clearly labeled.” He carded a hand through his coffee-brown hair with a sheepish grin, showing off a warm brown tattooed forearm, toned and strong from kneading bread.
“Not to be all up on myself or anything, but when you’re hungry, the bread really does just smell that good. ”
Ryn shifted, expression hesitant, then shrugged. “So, look, I know you’ve only just walked in for the first time—”
“Here we go,” Jules grumbled with an eye roll.
“—but, do you happen to have any magical ability?” Ryn asked with a silencing glare for Jules. “I’m desperate to hire an assistant baker and I’ve already asked everyone who lives here a dozen times over.”
“Magic?” Oaklin squeaked, heart leaping into a panicked gallop.
Could Ryn…sense the magic in them somehow?
As badly as Oaklin needed a job until the farm could start turning a profit, magic was nonnegotiable.
After the things their magic had been forced to do…
Well, it didn’t deserve to be in the world.
The threads of magic weaving through each loaf, bun, and tart hummed just at the edge of Oaklin’s awareness…
They shut it down. Hard.
It figured their first job offer would be something they absolutely could not do.
Would not do. Not worth it for bread, no matter how good it smelled.
As far as they were concerned, their magic was gone forever and would never be used again.
Never existed to begin with, actually. Yeah, that was better.
Ryn looked at Oaklin expectantly.
“Oh! Um…no, nope, no magic here. I mean, I’ve been told I have a magical personality!” they said with an extremely forced grin. “But as far as literal magic, no, I got nothing.”
Ryn heaved a put-upon sigh.
“Ah well, it was worth a try. I’ve tried hiring someone without magic before and nothing ever turns out quite right.”
“To your perfectionistic standards, that is,” Jules said with much side-eye.
“Quiet, you,” Ryn shot back, returning the side-eye with an extra helping. “Anyway, here I am offering you a job and we haven’t even been introduced. I’m Ryn, the village bread mage, and you’ve already met Jules, I assume.”
Embarrassment washed the panic right out of Oaklin’s veins. They were so unpracticed at the basics of being a normal human not actively engaged in bringing about world destruction.
“Gods and grains, I’m so sorry. I’m Oaklin Nettlewood. I just moved into the farm north of the village.”
At that, Ryn and Jules both went very still, sharing a furtive glance for just the briefest second. Oaklin looked between the two, brow furrowed at the sudden awkwardness.
“What? What’s wrong?” they asked, running back through their words for anything that might have caused offense.
Ryn paled. “No, nothing! It’s just…”
“We were starting to think no one would ever buy that farm,” Jules finished. “It’s been empty for two years. That’s all.”
“It’s great to hear that the land’s going to be worked again. If you decide to grow any wheat or spell reagents, I hope you’ll consider selling to me,” Ryn added.
A business prospect! One that didn’t involve magic!
But Oaklin wouldn’t be distracted. There was something Ryn and Jules weren’t saying.
“I’ll definitely be planting wheat and would love to sell to you. But seriously, what’s the deal with my farm? It was suspiciously cheap…”
The two men looked at each other again, and Ryn sighed.
“The woman who used to live there was important to this village. We all miss her very much. No one around here would buy the place because it was so much…hers.”
Jules only nodded to back up Ryn’s statement. It wasn’t the whole truth, but it was clearly all Oaklin was going to get for now.
“Okay, well, I…hope I do her justice, I suppose. I don’t mean to step in where I’m not welcome.”
“Oh, no, lovely, we don’t mean that,” Jules said. “It’s nice to see someone taking it on. Really. I think people will be happy to see that place up and running again. You are absolutely welcome in Mossley’s Rest.”
He’d probably retract that statement if he had any idea of the things Oaklin had done, but for now…they’d take it.
“Thanks, Jules. I appreciate it. Ryn, I don’t have a lot of coin right now, but I need food to get me through until I can start turning a profit from the farm.
Can I buy your cheapest non-magical bread?
However much—” Oaklin checked their coin purse and winced.
“Well, can I get anything for ten copper?”
“Oh, of course! Let me put something together for you,” Ryn said, a smile sliding easily back onto his face now that they’d returned to comfortable territory.
He took out an empty flour sack and began packing it, first with a hefty herb loaf, then a couple of muffins, then some dinner rolls, and a few scones… and still more.
“Oh, I can’t afford all that, Ryn, please—”
“Shush and let me feed you,” he said. “I don’t want my new neighbor to waste away.
You’ll get up on your feet and settled in, and eventually the food you grow will feed the village.
We all look after each other around here.
Just give me those ten copper and we’ll call it square.
There’s plenty more assistance to be had from the council too, if you need it. Please don’t be shy about asking.”
Oaklin took the sack with a flush, embarrassed and grateful. “I really appreciate this, Ryn. I’ll return the favor when I’m able, promise.”
“You don’t need to, but I don’t doubt it for a second,” he said, waving the words away.
“If you come by first thing in the mornings, I usually have day-old bread that I sell for half price. Next time you come by, I’ll have a list of all the ingredients I’m often short of.
Anything you can produce, I’d be grateful! ”
“I’ll get right on it,” Oaklin said, lost for a greater way to express their gratitude.
Ryn shot Oaklin a wink, then bumped shoulders with Jules on his way back to the dough rising behind the counter.
“Welcome to Mossley’s Rest, Oaklin! I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”
Jules huffed. “What, no goodbye for me?”
“You’ll be in here sniffing around for dinner in an hour’s time, you nuisance,” Ryn said, the lightness of his tone softening the words. “I’ll see you then.”
“I mean, he’s not wrong,” Jules said as he escorted Oaklin out of the shop. “Ryn makes an incredible sandwich.”
Jules paused on the street corner, seeming to soak in the sunshine and noise. Small though it was, the little village bustled with activity, full of shouts and laughter and (probably) good-natured arguing. It was a lively place and, if Jules and Ryn were anything to go by, a friendly one too.
“You heading back home, or do you have more errands to run?” Jules asked, swinging his mandolin around to the front and plucking a few absent-minded chords.
Oaklin looked around, smiling at a pair of feral children who nearly ran over a man pushing a small wheelbarrow of red cabbages.
Further in, the road opened up into a square, where the village branched further into nooks and alleys full of wonders to be discovered.
“I should get back,” Oaklin said with much reluctance. “The sun will be going down soon, and I don’t know the way home well enough yet to risk it in the dark.”
“Fair point!” Jules said with a little musical sting for punctuation.
“Well, make sure you talk to Mina at the village office if you need any help getting on your feet, and definitely come by the tavern for supper sometime. I play most afternoons and evenings. Would love a fresh audience, and I’d be happy to introduce you to the least annoying of the regulars. ”
The wink that followed pulled that too easy flush right back to Oaklin’s cheeks.
“I’d love to, once I’m confident that the coin in this purse isn’t the last I’ll ever see,” they said, patting their pocket. “It was nice to meet you, Jules. And thanks for the, uh, rescue.”
“See you around, Oaklin Nettlewood,” he said as he turned away. “Mossley’s Rest is glad to have you.”
So long as you never find out the truth, Oaklin thought, watching as Jules headed deeper into the heart of the village, singing and strumming as the villagers flocked to him. Oaklin turned the opposite way, following the road back into open fields toward their new home.
***
It was nearing dark by the time Oaklin caught sight of the house, having devoured half a loaf of bread on the way.
Maybe it was the sheer delirious hunger, but it had been the most delicious thing they’d ever tasted: pillowy soft inside with an outer crust that flaked and cracked, and fresh herbs brightening the rich buttery flavor.
It was perfect as is, no extra butter or jam needed.
Not that Oaklin had anything of the sort.
But soon. Soon they would.
The setting sun slid like liquid copper over the oak plank walls and cedar-shingled roof of the little farmhouse, turning the snowdrops and ivy into blossoms and tendrils of pure fire.
Grumpy Horse was visible atop a distant swell beyond the house, but no other animals were out and about.
Tomorrow, they would have to be priority number one.
Presumably whoever had been taking care of them wouldn’t be showing up anymore.
At the sight of their front door, painted a calming cobalt blue, something inside Oaklin’s chest unfurled.
A swell of something like pride brought the slightest curl of a smile to their lips as they stepped inside—coming home for the first time.
But despite all the wonderful things the day had brought—a house, delicious bread, a taste of true kindness—a bone-deep weariness hung heavy from every limb.
They’d only spoken to two people today—besides Haymon, of course—but that was more socializing than they’d done since…
Well, did being in a cult really count as socializing?
Oaklin supposed they’d need to work on their social stamina if they were going to do the whole life reinvention thing. But that was a project for another day. A cozy hearth was calling their name, and they intended to answer.
Oaklin got a fire going after a few false starts, deliberately avoiding the thing sitting atop the mantel: their arcane focus.
The tool they’d used to channel and direct their spell casting, back when that was a thing Oaklin did.
It was a murder weapon, plain and simple, sitting above their hearth fire, the heart of their new home.
They didn’t even want to look at it…but also couldn’t quite bear to be rid of it yet.
It had been part of them for so long, and not always used for evil.
The smooth, etched surface of the polished wooden rod caught flickers of firelight, arcane runes tempting their gaze, and Oaklin felt the pull toward the awful thing, their hand twitching at their side—
Oaklin forced themself to turn away, arms flung dramatically to the ceiling. There was only one thing that would help the situation.
“Why didn’t I buy tea while I was in the village? Why?”
Alas, earlier inspection had already proven the cupboards completely bare. Even two-year-old tea left over from a dead woman would have been welcome. But, with a flour sack full of treasures from Ryn the bread mage, it was hard to feel too despondent. Oaklin opened a cabinet to stash the goods…
… and found a single tin of tea.
What?
They’d checked every single nook and cranny of the kitchen before buying the house and it had been completely empty. Oaklin would swear on anything. Had Ryn slipped some tea in the bag? And…Oaklin had somehow put it in the cabinet without remembering?
Was their brain just that foggy and spell-damaged?
With their lips pressed in a grim, determined line, Oaklin grabbed the tin. Potential brain damage was yet another problem for yet another day. For now, they desperately needed tea. They snatched their single mug off the table and turned back to the hearth.
“So, how are you enjoying my house?” asked the ghost casually leaning against the mantel.
Oaklin shrieked.