Chapter 9
Nine
People of Mossley’s Rest, hear me! There are traitors among you!
Oaklin’s body and mind were a mess of conflicting reactions and pumping adrenaline. Run away! No, freeze! Hide! And all the while, the Inquisitor ranted.
“The Enchantrix’s cultists have been set free by weak, misguided leaders and flooded through the towns and villages surrounding Riverdeep in the months since their defeat.
They may still be among you,” the Inquisitor said, sweeping their sword in a circle to make eye contact with each and every gathered citizen.
Oaklin sidestepped behind a wooden beam and studied the weather-worn grain with intense focus as the words flowed, a rushing river of vitriol that swept around all objects in their path.
“I will find these rogue cultists. And when I do, I will parade them through this square that you may all know their faces. Then, they will meet first my sword, then my gods,” she said, sheathing her sword with a sharp, dramatic flourish.
“If you have any information, please report it to the temple. I will spread the word to the surrounding villages. Be vigilant! The cultists must not be allowed to walk free!”
And with that, the Inquisitor urged their horse onward, leaving the village square in a clatter of hooves and a cloud of kicked-up dust, nearly running over a frantic chicken in the process.
After a moment of stunned silence, the villagers exploded into chatter as Oaklin willed themself to disappear between the cobblestones like a melting late spring snowflake.
“Well, that was…a lot,” Lior said, eyes still fixed down the road on the Inquisitor’s diminishing form.
It was a lot. Oaklin stared at the sagging green tops of their radish crop, already beginning to flop sadly over the edge of their basket, and foraged in their brain for a solution.
Run and hide both still seemed like valid options, but not doable with Lior standing in front of them.
That left option three: Pretend everything is completely fine!
Oaklin forced a nervous laugh and went back to fluffing piles of baby greens with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking.
“Yes, quite dramatic,” they said, voice sounding almost normal. “Hopefully they won’t make a habit of showing up every week. That can’t be good for business.”
Oaklin turned to unload their final bundle of greens—as if they weren’t planning to bolt at the earliest opportunity—and took a few calming breaths…only to find themself face-to-face with Ryn and Jules.
“Oaklin! How’s that for a kickoff to your first farmer’s market?” Jules said with a jovial strum of his mandolin.
Ryn grimaced, eyeing the gossiping crowds. “Bit intense, right?”
Oaklin forced a wobbly smile and found their voice again, pushing the words out through a tight throat. “Superintense. Do you think people will still be in a mushroom-buying mood? Will all the customers be scared away?”
Ryn, Jules, and Lior all looked at each other and laughed.
“Please, lovely, this place adores nothing more than a little drama,” Jules said. “For better or for worse.”
Ryn nodded his agreement. “If anything, sales will be better than ever. Word will get around and everyone will be down here by next bell to stare at the spot where it happened and brew conspiracy theories.”
“PALADIN LIOR!”
Sister Talla’s voice cut clear across the square, slicing right through the conversation.
Lior grit her teeth in a grimace, then gave a helpless shrug.
“I’m sure there’s about to be a terribly boring meeting with a lot of hand-wringing over what just happened,” she said, suddenly looking smaller and immensely more tired.
“Have a drink for me this afternoon if I don’t make it? ”
Jules gave a salute. “Will do!”
“Not you, hooligan,” Ryn said with a glare. “You don’t need any extra encouragement.”
“Hey, I resent that!”
Lior held up her hands and left Ryn and Jules to it, trudging away as if facing execution. Ryn was quickly called away by impatient customers and glanced over to the Bread Mage booth, where a long line was forming.
“Agh, I’ve got to go. But hey, Oaklin,” Ryn said, leaning in and lowering his voice. “You save half those mushrooms for me, okay? And I’ll pay ten percent over your asking price if you give me first dibs every time. I make a mushroom galette like you wouldn’t believe, and I need the best. Deal?”
Oaklin blinked at the intensity. “Yeah, you got it. All the mushrooms you want…if you send your customers over to my booth.”
“I can tell you have an eye for this. You’re gonna do great,” Ryn said with a wink, then turned to leave, taking the scent of cinnamon and freshly baked bread with him.
Jules sighed and leaned a hip against the side of Oaklin’s booth, watching Ryn go. “For what it’s worth, I swear I’m not the lush Ryn makes me out to be. Working in a tavern doesn’t mean I’m drunk all the time.”
Oaklin paused in the middle of scanning the crowd for suspicious gazes turned their way, giving Jules a concerned look. “Oh, I figured it was just a joke. Does Ryn get on your case a lot?”
Jules shrugged, looking across the square at a gaggle of kids rather than meeting Oaklin’s eyes. “A bit, but it’s out of friendship, and I know that. I went through a rough patch a while back. Leaned a bit too hard into the drunken jester bard stereotype.”
When he looked back again, his eyes were soft, and his smile sure. Something in Oaklin’s chest swelled in painful recognition: This was a person who had been through hard times and healed. Oaklin would get there too, one day.
Just not in Mossley’s Rest.
“But we all have tough times, and now I’m back and better than ever!” Jules continued. “As a person and as a bard, if I do say so myself. Say, would you like a bit of background music to help loosen people’s purse strings?”
Oaklin chewed their lip in thought. Were they even going to stay at the market, after the show the Inquisitor had put on?
Everything in them was screaming to pack up and head home.
Well, not home for much longer. There was packing to do, and the sooner they could leave, the better.
Oaklin itched all over with the gaze of others, looking at them and murmuring.
Because they were new at the market, or because they suspected?
They closed their eyes and took a breath, grasping for the fleeing threads of logic that hadn’t entirely vacated yet.
They’d spent all their money on the house.
If they were going to start over again, they would at minimum need enough money to support themself on the road.
And this time, they’d do a better job of changing their name, constructing a cover story, building a new persona.
Yes, they would need all the help they could get to make this one market—their first and last—truly count.
Oaklin forced themself to look up around the square, to see the folks chatting with the other farmers, clearly regulars who knew what they wanted and who to get it from. If they wanted to win some business, they would need to get their attention.
“That would be great, actually. Thanks, Jules,” Oaklin said. “But…just music, right? No magic in it? If I’m going to be any good at this, I need to know if I’m succeeding or failing on my own merits.”
Jules smiled. “Oh, absolutely! We don’t need magic for this. Let’s see if we can strum up some customers for you!”
With that, Jules plucked a light, lilting melody from the strings, and the first of the curious villagers turned their eyes toward Oaklin’s booth. Oaklin fought through the thrill of fear at being perceived, took a breath, and put on a big, inviting smile.
“Hello, I’m Oaklin! Nice to meet you all.”
Their first customer approached, and the market began in earnest.
Time to fund their new life. Again.
***
The market passed in an absolute blur of forced extroversion and nervous pit sweat.
There’d been one awkward moment where one of the potential suitors Lior had warned them about attempted a pass, but Jules shooed him off as promised, scolding all the way, for which Oaklin had been desperately grateful.
By the end of it all, Oaklin could hardly string two words together…
And yet, they’d done quite well for themself. Well, not bad. Decent? Ish?
The slim pickings from the spring garden sold okay.
All the other farmers had the same collection of baby greens, so Oaklin really only got business once the other, more familiar vendors ran out, being the newbie and all.
At least they could eat what was left. They did sell out of radishes, though, which was a nice surprise.
Apparently, most of the other booths either had only small ones or none at all, it being so early in the season, and most other growers didn’t bother devoting their precious greenhouse space to such a cheap crop.
There was one customer, a quiet girl about Oaklin’s age with a bow strapped to her back, who made a beeline straight for Oaklin’s booth.
She’d avoided eye contact the entire time, which was more than fine with Oaklin—perhaps that had even been the appeal—and conducted her negotiations in quick, reserved phrases and formal manners.
She was the first one to buy some of Oaklin’s baby lettuce mix, which seemed to have inspired other customers to give it a chance.
And then, there were the mushrooms, which had sat there untouched until the last few minutes of the market…
at which point the entire lot sold all at once when word suddenly spread.
Turned out, most of the other vendors didn’t carry magical reagents, and though the customer base for them wasn’t huge, they were willing to pay well when they found what they needed.
One customer got a little pushy about the mushrooms Oaklin had set aside for Ryn, going so far as to walk around behind the booth while Oaklin was beginning to pack up for the day.