Chapter 26
Twenty-Six
Two days later, Ryn, Jules, Lior, and Dara came over as arranged, each bringing an offering to share with the group.
Fresh muffins and bread from Ryn, roasted chicken and potatoes from Jules via Sammy at the tavern, sweet mead from the temple apiary from Lior, and a line of freshly caught fish ready for the fire from Dara.
Oaklin nearly gave up on Sister Talla joining them, but at the last moment, just as they were about to lead the group out toward the creek, a single horse appeared on the lane with a golden-haired rider.
Talla arrived with an armful of Sibling Kell’s autumn blossoms and a storm cloud of a frown as she dismounted, clutching the bouquet to her chest. Everyone shifted in discomfort, though none more than Dara, who looked ready to bolt.
“These are for Emiline,” Talla said, turning half away as if Oaklin might try to take the flowers from her.
Oaklin only smiled. “Good. I bet she’d love them.”
With that, Oaklin grabbed a lantern, called Daffodil over, and guided the group across the fields, past rows of sprouting winter rye and crimson clover cover crops eagerly taking over where summer squash and cucumbers had once flourished.
They’d thought all last evening about the perfect spot for Emiline’s shrine and finally decided on this: a short, rocky hill on the edge of the forest, higher than the rest of the surroundings, where the clary sage grew wild intermixed with Oaklin’s namesake plant around the base.
The nearby trees dappled the sunlight at certain times of the day, matching the scattered filaments of intermittent magic reaching out from the forest, invisible to the eye but felt in the way that Granny had taught.
A person standing atop the small hill would be able to see the entire farm: the north and south fields, the chicken coop and barn, the orchard, and, of course, the cottage.
And so, in that spot, Oaklin had placed the shrine.
It was a shallow tray large enough to hold a pillar candle, a dish of honey, and a bundle of sage and lavender Oaklin had gathered and tied with twine.
It was anchored into the ground with two deep stakes, and a small roof protected the contents from the elements.
It reminded Oaklin of a tiny farm stand, which felt appropriate.
They grabbed a twig off the ground, stuck it into the lantern to light it, and then transferred the flame to the candle, lighting up the tiny shrine with a warm glow.
“I know it’s not much,” Oaklin said, turning back to their friends.
“But I’m hoping we can replace it with something more permanent in the spring, maybe something commissioned from the stone carver.
I had Runi the carpenter use the wood we removed from the cottage when we repaired the wall a few months back. It was Emiline’s home, and—”
Oaklin’s throat closed up, but a deep breath cleared the way, just like Granny had taught them.
“I didn’t live in Mossley’s Rest when Emiline Eire was alive,” Oaklin began. “And yet, I met her, once. I even came to know her well. I know how much she loved each of you, and that’s why I want to tell you the truth of how she died, and of what came after.”
So Oaklin did. Every detail about Emiline’s last moments of life, about the haunting, her forgiveness, her insistence that Oaklin not press for information about her identity…and about her immense love for her son. That, most of all.
The words were spoken largely to the tiny dancing candle flame, the only place Oaklin could bear to let their eyes rest until Daffodil came up and shoved her head under Oaklin’s hand, sitting down on their foot.
With a huff of a laugh at that small infusion of canine courage, Oaklin lifted their gaze to see Ryn, Jules, Dara, and even Talla, all with wet eyes and hearts on display, gazing back at them.
And so, they continued. “I want to honor Emiline and her son, Callum, with my work on this farm,” they said in closing.
“And so, I wanted you all to be the first to know the new name and see the sign that Ryn painted for it. I hope you’ll consider it a promise that Emiline will always be remembered, and that her wisdom will guide the farm for the rest of my days. ”
With that, Oaklin walked a few paces away to the side of the hill, where a long, wooden sign waited.
It had taken them all season to come up with a design idea for it.
In the end, an hour-long late lunch with Ryn had led to the sketched-out design, which he had then painted on Oaklin’s provided slab of wood.
Turned out Ryn’s creativity and eye for design were not limited only to cake decorating and bread scoring; he was quite the artist, and the Sagewood Farm sign was all the beautiful evidence anyone would need.
The name of the farm sat in the center in bold, even lettering, while the outside border was wreathed in clary sage and Oaklin Nettlewood’s namesake flower, the purple dead nettle.
Woven throughout were tiny tributes to Emiline: a hint of the pattern in her favorite quilt, the pale blue of the tiles in front of the hearth, Daffodil leaping through the fields, and if one looked very closely, a tiny silhouette tucked in among the sage, signature bobbed hair perfectly in place over crossed arms. It finally felt right, and Oaklin showed the sign to those assembled with a full heart knowing that most of them, at least, would understand and appreciate the gesture.
They set the sign aside and stood back so others could approach the altar.
“Would anyone else like to say anything?” they asked, and then held their breath. Sister Talla wasted no time, stepping up to lay her flowers in the shrine beside Oaklin’s hand-tied bouquet and bowing her head for a long moment. When she finally turned, her eyes were wet.
“Emiline was far wiser than any of us will ever be,” she said. “I miss her. I always will.”
And with that, she lifted her chin and marched back to her place in the rear of the group, tears streaming down her face.
“Hear, hear,” Lior said. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Oaklin, Ryn, Jules, and even Dara all turned to look at Lior like she’d just spelled herself green.
Lior shrugged and said nothing more. But after Ryn and Dara each said a few words and Jules played a mourning song for Emiline, Lior drew her sword and placed it before the shrine, carefully balanced on the rocks.
“I’ll come back for it later,” she said.
And she left it there as the group walked back to the house, wrung out, tear-soaked, and ready to share a meal in Emiline’s memory.
***
By the time Oaklin realized Dara and Talla hadn’t followed the rest of the group inside, the two women had already exchanged some hurried words that had left Dara looking stunned and Talla unreadable. Talla was already up in her saddle when Oaklin came jogging out, waving to them both.
“You’re welcome to stay, you know,” Oaklin said. Talla pursed her lips, then shook her head.
“No, I shouldn’t,” she said. “But thank you.”
“Are you sure?” Dara asked. Oaklin blinked; what exactly had they missed?
Talla straightened her robes and huffed a breath.
“I’m sure. But before I go, I thought you both should know that I sent a rather strongly worded letter signed by the entire village council to the High Temple regarding the Inquisitor.
I let them know in no uncertain terms that the people of Mossley’s Rest do not support her mission and that she is not welcome. ”
After a beat, Talla’s lips curled ever so slightly at one corner.
“If they ever wish to send the Inquisitor back to these parts, it’ll require weeks of meetings, multiple correspondences, and a hearing with members of our local temple in attendance.
No one is going to bother with all that. So, you know. That’s that.”
Talla took up the reins and kicked her horse into a gallop before either Dara or Oaklin could manage to say a word of thanks.
“Well, that’s…something. Are you okay?” Oaklin asked, turning to Dara. “Did she say anything…?”
“She apologized,” Dara said, still stunned.
Miracle of miracles. Perhaps there was hope for Sister Talla after all.
Back inside, the five friends ate and drank long into the evening, with many toasts to Emiline’s memory.
But once it came time for dessert, Ryn pulled Oaklin aside and opened his bag to reveal a tiny, boxed cake, smaller than his usuals, with white frosting swirled through with blueberry jam.
The beautifully piped icing flowers glittered with pink clary sage petals and sugar crystals dyed berry blue.
The scent that wafted from the box was subtle to match—fruity, sweet, and a bit herbal. The included label read:
Blueberry sage balm cake: helps heal old wounds and strengthen good memories. Not a replacement for therapy.
“This is a new one I’ve been working on,” Ryn said, making quick, nervous adjustments to his glasses.
“I’ve been thinking about your awful visions, and the holes in your memory of your family.
I tried it on myself and it does work, though I think the effects are still pretty subtle.
Nothing dramatic. Just a little support. ”
Oaklin gripped Ryn’s hand and squeezed, touched by the effort.
They hadn’t had one of their horrible visions since confronting what they’d done to—what had happened to Emiline.
But then, they’d never been that frequent, so who knew if they were truly gone?
Regardless, they felt more equipped to deal with them and more supported than ever.
“I want to be clear: You don’t have to eat this,” Ryn said. “It was a fun project to spend time on, and I’ve already worked with the village healer to get it to some folks who need it. But since you were the inspiration for it, I thought I should bring some to you and…”
He gestured at the cake, seemingly lost for further words. Oaklin smiled.
“This is incredibly thoughtful, Ryn,” they said, squeezing his hand again. “I’m glad the whole village will get to benefit. I’ve pretty much accepted that my memories are permanently gone, but I can definitely use a little extra support right now.”
Beaming, Ryn dug a fork out of his bag and handed it to them, gesturing at the cake. “All yours. No need to be neat on my account. Just dig right in.”
Oaklin happily obliged. The first bite was at least half frosting, creamy and sweet, with a crumb so tender it was impossible to tell where icing ended and cake began.
The flavor of the clary sage was light, a barely there floral accent that lifted and bolstered the delicate blueberry flavor, helping it compete with the sugar.
The magical effects were just as subtle, so gradual to take effect that Oaklin hardly noticed the slight ascent of their mood, the slow drift into memory.
As they took bite after bite, they floated into another time, smaller hands gripping a whisk, farm fresh eggs in a bowl, their mother’s soft voice humming an Eornan hymn in the background.
It was a tiny memory, unimportant in its place in Oaklin’s life, but running over with specificity and vivid detail, the scent of butter sizzling in a pan and the clamor of siblings just out of view.
When Oaklin came back to the present, their eyes were wet. So were Ryn’s.
“Thank you, friend,” Oaklin said.
Ryn pressed a kiss to the side of Oaklin’s head and drifted back to Jules’s side, leaving them to eat as much or as little as they wanted.
Eventually, Oaklin rejoined the party, and by the time anyone managed to think of the long walk home, it was far too late to be venturing out onto either roads or woodland paths.
Instead, the party continued until everyone fell asleep in a pile before the blue-tiled hearth, slightly drunk and completely content.
As Oaklin drifted off, they marveled at the small miracles that were Lior’s arm heavy over their waist, Ryn’s soft snores, Jules’s face pressed into Ryn’s shoulder, and Dara’s mere existence—a person who fully understood what Oaklin had experienced.
There were just a few more weeks before the first killing frost of the year, and a handful of weeks beyond that for the second planting of frost-hardy greens and root crops to finish.
The year was nearly done. The Autumn Harvest Festival would be arriving in six weeks, and with it the bestowing of autumn leaf crowns and all they entailed.
A vision unfurled, of a crowned Lior and some permanent company for the long, cold winter ahead.
The house felt empty most days without Lior or Emiline around, too quiet by far.
But it felt a little less like a prison of their own guilt now.
It wasn’t the house of the woman they’d killed, a constant shameful reminder.
It was their home. It was the home Emiline wanted them to have.
The best thing they could do to honor her was to fill this house with joy.