Chapter 6 #2
When the ghost spoke again, her voice was much softer. “My apologies. A poor question.”
Oaklin bent down over the young plants while they got their feelings in order. Without conscious direction, their fingers reached out to pluck a single leaf of baby spinach from one of the young plants. They brushed the soil from the leaf, then bit into the deep green flesh.
The flavor that burst on Oaklin’s tongue was vivid. Earthy, refreshing, and crisp…but with an unexpected note of sweetness.
An actual, fully formed memory flooded to the surface: crouching in a field with a man—their father—who laughed as he flung a whole uprooted spinach plant at Oaklin. He took a mighty bite from his own crinkly spinach leaf and let his eyes fall shut in delight.
“Now that’s the real deal, kid.”
Oaklin opened their eyes, locking them onto the ghost.
“They’re sweeter when they’re exposed to frost,” they said, feeling the knowledge click back into place, a small but fully recovered gem of their past.
“Ah, so you aren’t completely clueless after all,” the ghost said, her tone warm.
A huff of laughter broke free along with some of the tension in Oaklin’s gut.
The memory of their childhood fields, of their father, sat warm and glowing in the center of their chest, like a coal from their hearth or a freshly baked bun from Ryn’s shop.
So much of what they remembered was terrible.
Shame. Neglect. The way they’d left, and the violence that followed.
But this one perfectly clear memory was a small treasure to be hoarded.
They would take it out again later, polish it, look it over from every angle and weep for the loss.
But for the moment, they tucked it safely away, letting the glow fill them instead.
You can do this. You’ll get there.
Oaklin nodded, filled with fresh determination and a (perhaps unreasonable) newfound confidence. “Okay, so what should I take to the market this weekend?”
“Why don’t you tell me?” the ghost suggested, gesturing to the fields. “Look at what you have and think it through.”
Oaklin studied the field in front of them.
The little plants poking out of the soil were almost…
cute. The greens were small and tender, only just starting to form heads and bunches.
They could pick individual outer leaves from the lettuces and spinach, and the plants would keep growing to provide future profit, and if they picked the radishes the day before market, they’d probably be the perfect size by then.
The carrots still needed a while, though, and all the asparagus was far too small this early in the year.
So, yes to baby greens and radishes, no to everything else. Oaklin relayed their plan to the ghost, who merely nodded.
“We’ll see how your decision plays out at the market, then,” she said.
Oaklin huffed in disbelief. “Wait, you aren’t going to tell me if I made the right choice?”
Granny shrugged. “Your customers will do that for you. Now, get to work and we’ll…ah, perfect timing.”
Oaklin’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean, perfect…”
The crunch of gravel under boots came from behind them.
“Perfect what?” Lior asked.
“AHH!” Oaklin shouted, nearly throwing the pruning shears over their shoulder.
“AHH!” Lior replied, stumbling back when Oaklin whirled around, brandishing the shears.
The ghost sighed her fake sigh. “It’s like the day we met all over again.”
Lior didn’t appear to hear her. She clutched at the strap of the bag she wore across her chest, with a distraught expression. “I’m so sorry, Oaklin. I didn’t mean to startle you!”
Oaklin clutched their chest, getting their breath back under control. “It’s okay, I’m sure I’ll live. My heart will stop racing in a minute.”
Lior grinned. “Well, if you do happen to collapse, don’t worry. I’ve got a revive spell!”
“Oh, well, by all means, then, scare me to death!” Oaklin said with a weak chuckle.
Lior flipped her braid over her shoulder with an air of nonchalance. “I prefer to save it for true emergencies. High reagent cost, you know.”
Oaklin shook their head, chuckling. “Right, right. So, what brings you out to the farm?”
“Two things, really,” she said. “First, I wanted to check in and make sure you were feeling okay after yesterday.”
Oh. Well, that was actually…really kind.
“Your healing spell helped a lot,” Oaklin said. “Only thing I’m feeling this morning is embarrassed. Does the whole village think I’m a giant weirdo?”
Lior shrugged. “Of course they do! But all the best people are. Do you often talk to yourself while you work?”
Oaklin was spared from having to answer that, thankfully, as Lior swung her bag around to the front and threw back the flap, digging through the contents.
“Anyway, I got a note this morning saying I should bring these two books out here. I assume this is what you came to the library for yesterday before everything went awry?”
She handed over a small stack of books: Arrington’s Magical Herbs and Forage and Hearthcraft for Land Stewardship: A Guide to the Mystical Artes. The two books Oaklin had failed to get yesterday.
Both books were emblazoned with arcane sigils. Oaklin could feel the magic gently humming between the covers… And if they could feel it, then as a spell-casting paladin, Lior could too.
Lior watched them curiously, head cocked, clearly feeling the sudden tension.
Oaklin had to explain it somehow, had to say something before Lior got suspicious. There had to be a reasonable explanation for a non-magical person to want these books. Right?
Oaklin couldn’t let anyone know about their magic.
They couldn’t—because then someone would want them to use it, and that was the one thing they’d promised themself they would never do again.
But as their breath came faster and faster, burning in their chest, they couldn’t help but feel that it was too little, too late.
Lior already knew.