Chapter 8
Eight
The morning of the farmer’s market dawned cool and clear—and surprisingly, with Oaklin out of bed and dressed before the first hint of gold appeared on the eastern horizon.
Nerves about the market had woken them multiple times throughout the night, and the last time, they’d finally given up and headed out to the barn to care for the animals.
Some fortifying Daffodil ear rubs were required.
The chickens still weren’t laying reliably post-winter, but Oaklin gathered what eggs were available and stress-cooked a hearty breakfast that would hopefully carry them through the whole market.
Bread toasted in the cast iron pan topped with poached eggs and peppery baby mustard greens, all of it seasoned liberally with salt and foraged wild garlic and washed down with strong, hot tea.
The egg yolks were perfectly runny and golden, so good Oaklin cut a second piece of bread to mop it all up.
They weren’t the praying kind, but growing up, their family had been followers of Eorna, goddess of hearth and grain.
A hearty meal before a major life event was practically required.
And this day was important. It was Oaklin’s first chance to make an impression at the market that would become the majority of their livelihood.
They needed to start off on the right foot.
Nothing could be done about the meager offerings, but Oaklin could at least make sure they were well-fueled, awake, and clearheaded.
Though the line between “awake” and “vibrating” was thin indeed, separated by a single cup of tea, and Oaklin was terribly afraid they were on the wrong side of it already.
Finally, there was no avoiding the truth—it was time to pack up and leave.
The air was crisp, filled with birdsong and the scent of hay and rays of golden light as the sun finally peeked fully over the ridge.
The chill was perfect for the harvested greens Oaklin had been desperately working to keep from wilting without cooling magic.
At Granny’s recommendation, they’d packed up the little cart behind the house, barely bigger than a wheelbarrow, with all they had: just two crates of goods, plus baskets for display.
That done, they hitched it to Grumpy Horse with great reluctance.
“You aren’t going to kick me, are you?” Oaklin asked, attempting to do up the harness at full arm’s length.
“Nonsense,” the ghost said. She stood to one side, supervising with almost as much judgmental energy as the horse. “He’s never kicked anyone in his life.”
“First time for everything,” they grumbled.
Oaklin hadn’t ridden a horse since childhood and Grumpy Horse didn’t exactly inspire confidence, so they chose to walk alongside instead, holding the horse on a loose lead.
They walked in something approaching companionable silence, the clop of hooves and rattle of the cart’s wheels a soothing rhythm that eased some of Oaklin’s premarket nerves.
Even Grumpy Horse seemed somewhat less grumpy now that he was doing something other than grazing and glaring.
Oaklin arrived at the village square in plenty of time to claim one of the permanent booths farthest from the side street that led to the temple.
Several other farmers were already there, unloading crates with beautiful full heads of greenhouse lettuce, full braids of last year’s cured onions and garlic, and potatoes left over from the fall.
Other vendors were there too, selling cloth goods, tools, spices, and more—the market clearly drew in merchants from the surrounding villages too.
Everywhere, people shouted back and forth to each other, greetings and good-natured jibes, all familiar and friendly.
Oaklin caught a few curious stares, but that was all.
Down the row, they spotted Ryn carefully arranging a tray of sticky buns at a booth he’d cheerfully decorated with an intricately hand-painted sign that read:
The Bread Mage
Breads, Biscuits, and Bunsfor the Boost* you need!
*Please consume responsibly.
Jules was there too, “helping” by strumming a little tune and eyeing the cakes. He glanced over and caught Oaklin’s eye with a broad, dazzling grin, then poked Ryn in the shoulder to get his attention.
“Morning, newbie!” Jules called. “First market, eh?”
Ryn drove a sharp elbow into Jules’s side and shot Oaklin a reassuring smile. “We’ll come by and say hello in a bit,” he said. “You’ll do great!”
Well, at least Oaklin’s new friends had confidence in them.
Oaklin, on the other hand… The social exhaustion from their first day in the village was front of mind.
The idea of meeting new customers, hawking their wares, trying to win people over, sounded like a lot.
Their stomach was twisted into anxious knots, but they took their time setting up and breathing through the anxiety.
I can do this. The first market is just a learning experience. It will be what it will be. I’ve done my best to prepare. All I can do now is make a good impression.
The words felt exactly like the script they were, but they did help. A little.
They unloaded their two small crates of goods and arranged them to best possible effect in the baskets they’d brought, moving the baskets around four times before deciding on the optimal configuration.
Their stall looked sparse and sad compared to the other farmers’, but they did their best to fluff up the baby greens to make them look more…
well, just more. They carefully situated the mushrooms, making sure the bright blue caps faced out to catch the eye, then piled the radishes globe side out so the rainbow of colors and shapes was visible.
Some of the other stalls had chalk slates with prices and the name of the farm or shop, which gave Oaklin a brief panic; should they have brought a slate?
There’d been one sitting inside the barn door, but the thought of naming the farm right now felt…
wrong. They didn’t know each other well enough yet.
Instead, Oaklin ran through the prices in their head, rearranging the radishes a dozen times until a shadow fell over the booth.
“Good morning!” Lior said, smile bright as the dawning sun. She’d ditched the cape and wore a simpler tunic of deepest blue over light brown breeches. The weekend Lior look, maybe?
“Good morning!” Oaklin said, forcing cheer through the bundle of nerves writhing in their chest. “Can I interest you in some baby spinach priced low enough to hopefully get me some repeat customers?”
Oaklin picked up a single spinach leaf and held it out, but it promptly flopped over in their fingers. Lior let out a hearty laugh that drew indulgent smiles from several passersby.
“Why, I’d love to try something from a new farm!” Lior said, overly loud, then dropped her voice into a whisper. “Little advertising for you there.”
She popped the spinach leaf in her mouth and chewed, then nodded her head with a surprised expression.
“That’s actually really good. Sweet. And I’m not just saying that. Everything really does look great here. You’ve done a lot in a short time,” she said. “I came to wish you luck, but it looks like you won’t be needing it.”
Oaklin eyed a sad clump of wilting lettuce and raised a skeptical eyebrow.
“Please, that’s kind of you to say, but we both know—”
A sudden clatter of hooves on cobblestone startled Oaklin into silence as a rider and horse charged straight into the square.
The market erupted with murmurs as everyone turned to eye the new arrival, powerful and majestic astride a beautiful roan horse, and with a massive sword to boot.
The mysterious rider threw back her hood and held her sword aloft, her voice projecting across the square.
“People of Mossley’s Rest, hear me! There are traitors among you!”
Oh, fuck.
Oaklin had a sinking feeling they knew exactly why the stranger was there. They took a single step back into the shadows as the rider shouted to the gathering crowd.
“I am Inquisitor Zayen, the sword arm of Gael of the Daytime Sky and the Three Above. I am empowered to bring justice where it escapes our ranks of paladins, and today that quest brings me here.”
The Inquisitor circled their horse around the statue of Old Mossley in the center of the square, letting their gaze rake across each face in the crowd.
“The Enchantrix is dead, yet many of their followers live on in freedom. Their sins will not go unpunished! I, the righteous fury of my god, will personally ensure that the wicked—”
Lior turned away from the spectacle and grumbled. “Yeah, yeah, we get it, you’re very important, who cares,” she said under her breath, shooting Oaklin a significant eye roll.
But Oaklin cared.
Oaklin cared very much.
They hadn’t even gotten to sell a single radish or have a single drink at the tavern with their friends. And now, they had to run.
As their eyes scanned the market for an escape route, heart racing and muscles coiled to make a break for it, Oaklin’s mind stuck on one painful thought: They’d really been starting to like this place.
The goodbye was going to hurt. But they blinked back the hot pressure behind their eyes, forcing themself to focus.
They couldn’t run away if their vision was too blurry.
There’d be time enough for tears later.