Chapter 18
Eighteen
Oaklin was starting to think they weren’t too bad at the whole farmer’s market thing.
“Thanks for your business! See you next week!” they said, handing their bundle of carefully wrapped mushrooms across the counter.
“Hrmph. We’ll see,” the old man said. He accepted the package primly, but with the air of someone who wanted to snatch it and run.
Oaklin smiled to themself as the pushy customer from their first market—now a weekly regular—stalked away through the crowd, having once again cleaned them out of their entire mushroom stock.
Jules stuck his tongue out as soon as the man’s back was turned, leaning in his usual place against the side of Oaklin’s booth, absently strumming a bright tune. “That old bat. He’s always stomping about like the world owes him something. Don’t take it personally.”
“Oh, I don’t anymore,” Oaklin said, chuckling to themself. “I’m making quite a bit of coin from him, after all. I’ll have another batch of those mushrooms ready by next week, and Mr. Oren will be first in line for them.”
“Not to mention more of those enchanted beets! I thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head,” Jules added, miming the man’s comical double take.
The old instinctual panic surged in Oaklin’s chest…but only for a moment.
They weren’t hiding anymore. They may not have been shouting about their magic from the rooftops, but they were openly selling magical products at market, so the metaphorical cat was out of the bag.
Besides, once they’d semi-handled the sawbug problem at Grer’s farm, there was no hope of lying low anyway.
The Farmer’s Union gossip mill got hold of it and that was that.
And so, here they were: Oaklin Nettlewood, village farm witch, who everyone apparently wanted to know—in more ways than one.
Whatever Ryn, Jules, and Lior had done to hold the lions at bay for Oaklin’s first few markets had fully worn off.
“Thanks, Oaklin,” Isabelle the clothier said, leaning so far over the counter to accept her bag of rainbow chard that her breasts nearly spilled from her top.
“You free tonight?” Jamyn the blacksmith’s journeyman asked, his eyes squinting in a way that he probably thought looked smoldering and instead just looked confused.
“So, I heard you were single,” Sibling Kell said with an attempt at casual that bordered on painfully awkward.
Help! Oaklin mouthed at Ryn across the market. Ryn, the traitor, only laughed, but he followed it up with a special delivery handed over by one of the village kids. The note with it read:
Scone of socializing +1: for the introverts. The people of Moss may not be great in number, but we’re a lot anyway.
Oaklin spent the better part of the market in a state of utterly mortified full-body blushing, but the scone did help.
Ryn’s magic always felt like a warm hug or a cup of tea on a frigid day.
Aside from its magical effects, the scone was delicious—crumbly and soft, studded with dried blueberries and bursting with bright lemon, just the top off Oaklin needed to face the crowds.
Some folks were clearly out to ingratiate themselves to the new power in town, but others seemed to genuinely open up a bit, now that they’d proven themself a good neighbor.
The girl with the bow from the first market was among them; she’d been a regular since then, but always with few words and a careful distance.
No one else seemed to know who she was, and rumor was that she lived in the woods outside of the village.
But word of recent events must have reached even her, because she finally offered up a hesitant smile.
“My name is Dara, by the way,” she said as she accepted her bundle of veggies and eggs.
Oaklin smiled, touched at the tiny bit of trust from the wary ranger.
“I’m Oaklin. It’s nice to meet you,” they replied.
Beyond the new social regard, though, what really made the market different were the requests for magical aid.
The first few times, Oaklin had barely made it through the interactions without hyperventilation.
By the end of the market, they’d adjusted enough that their body had stopped flying into full panic mode at every single ask.
Toward the end of the market, the husband of a woman Oaklin knew from the Farmer’s Union was the next to approach the booth, leaning in conspiratorially as he pushed a jar of mysterious purple contents across the counter.
“Maddy sent me with her best regards,” he said with a charming smile.
Oaklin glanced over the man’s shoulder and caught Maddy’s eye from across the row of booths, blushing as the woman gave a cheeky wink and blew a kiss, then raised her eyebrows in question.
In another world, Oaklin might have gladly taken the night of fun that was clearly on offer from her.
As it was, they were too exhausted from field work and drained from constant casting to be of much good to anyone.
And besides, their thoughts had been rather occupied by someone else of late.
“And what can I do for the formidable Ms. Maddy today?” Oaklin asked, hoping their blush was purely internal. Damn their susceptibility to a little bold charisma. Wouldn’t want to send the wrong signal.
The man, whose name Oaklin couldn’t remember except that people called him “Straw” for some reason, leaned away with a rueful twist to his lips, taking the pressure off.
“She said her mama used to get some kind of potion from the old witch to help with hornworms. Wanted to know if you’d be having them in stock.
She sent over some of her famous sweet pickled cabbage as motivation. ”
Oaklin didn’t particularly care for cabbage, but they smiled anyway, taking the jar and admiring the way the light filtered through the purple strips. Maybe sweet cabbage would be different.
“I’ve never made a potion before, but I’m trying to learn,” they said. “In the meantime, I could come over tomorrow and do a little spellwork. Is that okay?”
Straw beamed. “That’s more than okay! I’d be happy to come lend a hand with weeding or whatever else needs doing to make up for your lost work time. Unless…” His face fell. “We don’t have much in the way of coin, but I’m sure we could—”
“Weeding sounds like a fair trade to me,” Oaklin assured him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Straw pushed away from the counter with a wave, making room for the next customers in line.
Before long, though, with a regretful shrug for the late arrivals, Oaklin had to close up shop, having sold out for the first time since they started coming to the farmer’s market.
The full-to-bursting coin purse just under the countertop felt like a tiny marvel, something they hadn’t even dared to hope for in their first year.
They’d been fully expecting a disaster. But then, they hadn’t expected a farm witch ghost granny to personally teach them a lifetime’s worth of wisdom.
They hadn’t expected to use their magic at all.
Because of it, the farm was actually making money.
If the full harvest came through, Oaklin might actually have a comfortable first winter in Mossley’s Rest.
Supposedly winters in this region could range wildly from “one good snow per year” to “hope you didn’t plan on opening your front door for the next three months.
” Oaklin fully intended to be prepared for either possibility.
Considering they’d never prepared for any kind of winter on their own, it might go poorly.
Hopefully Oaklin’s friends would bury their body if they froze to death.
Perhaps a will and some written last requests wouldn’t be a terrible idea.
“Oaklin! Sold out?” Ryn called from his booth as he loaded his empty displays onto a cart. “Nice job! Me too. I’m heading back to the shop to drop off my trays, then tavern? Yes?”
Oaklin hesitated for a beat. The familiar prickle of wariness was still there, even after all the socializing of the market.
Being out in public since revealing their magic had been extra…
weird. Unsettling. But no one seemed to care.
The Inquisitor had not returned. Sister Talla continued to be a donkey’s ass but for unrelated reasons—Oaklin’s association with Lior was all it took.
The fact that Oaklin was possessed of magical talent was a total non-issue.
Welcomed, even, considering it meant they could provide needed goods and services that Moss’s other farmers couldn’t.
Between Granny’s teachings and the hearty greetings they now got from all the other farmers each market day, Oaklin was feeling quite a bit more capable of shoving that wariness aside.
The bright smile Oaklin put on was nothing less than genuine. “Sure, I’d love to. I just need to hit the library, then I’ll be over.”
“Good, you can tell Lior to stop baiting Sister Talla and meet us there,” Ryn said.
Jules snorted. “The day Lior and Talla stop locking horns is the day we brace for the apocalypse.”
“Yeah, I’m full up on apocalypses for this lifetime, thanks,” Oaklin said with a grimace. “Their struggle will have to be eternal.”
With that, Ryn pushed his cart back to the bakery, Jules headed to the tavern to get set up, and Oaklin checked in with Grumpy Horse before heading down a side alley toward the library.
They would never exactly like walking straight up to a temple of the Three Above, but they had at least gotten used to it. Visiting Lior was worth it.
***
Lior spotted Oaklin the second they walked in and rushed out from behind the counter with a pleading expression, followed all the while by Sister Talla’s glare.
“Oaklin! You must be here to work on that long, involved research project, right?” she asked, voice desperate. “The one where you needed my help to find…twenty or so books?”