Chapter 16 #2
Grer nodded, expression serious, and gestured for Oaklin to lead the way around back. “Weaving in replacement shingles is a bit of an art, honestly. The overlapping pattern is really important from a waterproofing standpoint.”
Oaklin got him set up with the ladder (not in a mud puddle this time) and stood back to let him work, hovering nearby in case he needed any help.
“So, how are things going on your farm?” Oaklin called up, finally realizing that it would be polite to actually get to know the man who rode all the way out to fix their roof for free.
Gods and grains, they were an infant when it came to being a social human.
“Do you specialize in any particular crops?”
Grer gave a noncommittal grunt, banging a nail in before replying. “We do a lot of squash, unfortunately, so we’re in for a bad year, if Bram’s right.”
“Is Bram usually right?” Oaklin asked.
“Almost always,” Grer replied, his mouth set in a grim line. “Bit scary, actually. Man’s a genius. Doesn’t even need divination magic, just a pile of books and a few hours of being left alone. One of my little girls has a mind like that; she’s already practically apprenticed to him at age six.”
He paused to place another shingle with precise care, then went on.
“We’d already started our seedlings before Bram’s warning, so it is what it is at this point.
We’ve started some extras of other crops to hopefully make up for any loss.
Every farmer has years of crop failure. We’re actually lucky to have gone so long without. ”
Oaklin’s gut twisted with guilt. They had finally gotten a handle on the sawbug spell earlier, but it had taken all day and sapped them dry to handle a single row.
It would probably be months before they could manage it at scale, and by then it would be too late.
Grer was going to lose an entire crop, all because Oaklin had refused to get started earlier.
Self-recrimination ate up the remainder of the short hour it took Grer to finish up the patch job, and Oaklin was startled out of their mental spiral by the sound of Grer climbing back down the ladder, tools jangling.
“All done,” he said. “You should be fine for a couple of years. Let me know if it starts leaking again.”
But instead of heading out front to his horse, Grer paused, then sauntered over to a nearby row of lettuce, studying it for a long moment. Oaklin held their breath until he spoke.
“Look, Oaklin. One farmer to another. How does your lettuce still look so good in this heat?” he asked, crouching to get a closer look.
“Mine bolted like a scared rabbit after the first two hot days. I’ve started my more heat-resistant summer greens, but they won’t be ready to go for a while yet. What’s your secret?”
What’s your secret?
It would be so easy to lie. It didn’t even have to be a good lie.
But everything Lior had told them about the village echoed in Oaklin’s head.
We take care of each other in Mossley’s Rest.
Oaklin would need to take care of these people, one day. Using magic.
They’d already told Lior. Ryn and Jules too; it was only fair, once Lior knew.
Ryn had gotten a brief, hopeful look in his eye when he heard, but Jules had elbowed him in the side before he could ask—yet again—if Oaklin had a few hours a week to work as a bakery assistant.
He still hadn’t posted that job elsewhere, and Oaklin didn’t feel it was their place to push.
He’d get there eventually. So would Oaklin.
Maybe it was time to widen the circle a tiny bit.
They took a breath. Another. Then, Oaklin knelt down beside one of the lettuce plants and pulled their arcane focus from their pocket.
After a moment of careful concentration and several attempts, they managed to tap into the spell they’d woven earlier that day, making the lettuce leaves shimmer with faint threads of magic.
“Plenty of mine did bolt. I’m still new at this. I don’t really know what I’m doing. But today I learned that I can sort of…delay the plant’s sense of when it’s time to go to seed? I guess? I don’t understand it fully, but…”
Oaklin trailed off, squeezing their eyes shut at the rush of shame. They’d lied, and they’d hidden, and now Grer knew it.
(Oaklin had magic, and now Grer knew it.)
Their breath began to speed, that telltale wash of cold prickles racing over their body—run, hide, fight, freeze, disappear forever—
“Huh,” Grer said, head tilted like a quizzical dog.
And that was it.
Oaklin opened their mouth and closed it again several times before more words came. “Where I came from, the Enchantrix sought out people with magic and…and they…”
Their brain refused to serve up an adequate cover story fast enough, but luckily, it wasn’t needed. Grer held up a hand and stood with cracking knees, shaking his head.
“Say no more. I understand. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters. If you’re able to help us out with what magic you can manage, then great. If not, we’ll get by. We always do. Mossley’s Rest can handle anything.”
Oaklin wrung their hands, shifting restlessly from foot to foot. “I’m trying to learn as fast as I can manage. I’ll do what I can to help. But could you…can you not…”
Grer nodded. “Your magic is your business to tell. You roll it out on your own terms. Can I call on you if the bugs and rot show up, though? Happy for you to use my fields for practice.”
Oaklin nodded, relieved. “Of course. I can’t promise results, but I’ll do my best.”
“That’s all anyone can ask of you,” he said, lifting a hand in farewell. He ambled back around to the front of the house and stowed his tools in a saddlebag, then untied his horse and heaved himself up into the saddle. It wasn’t until he turned toward the road that Oaklin remembered to call out.
“Thank you for fixing the roof! I really appreciate it.”
“Happy to help,” Grer called back. “Stay dry tonight.”
“You too.”
And then it was just Oaklin and the still-ebbing panic in their veins.
Someone saw their magic. The world did not end.
Maybe they would be able to fill in for Granny after all, one day.
It would take time. Oaklin would need practice, and probably several months to slowly roll out knowledge of their magic to a select few people before offering help to the Farmer’s Union.
It would certainly be at least a year before they could start offering services to the whole village.
But they could see a path, now, a way forward where magic could be part of their life in Mossley’s Rest. A part of their strength instead of their greatest, most terrible weakness.
Time would tell.