Chapter 3
Chapter
Three
A seagull squawked in surprise, diving out of the way in the nick of time. “Sorry!” Braiden called out, wondering why he was apologizing for the wizard. The seagull glared at him accusingly before flapping off to find breadcrumbs again. Now why was this Braiden’s fault, all of a sudden?
He remembered flying for the very first time, down in the Weathervale dungeon as Augustin scooped him up and off the ground to save them both from a messy death under the foot of a giant ice elemental. That had been exhilarating enough on its own.
But this? Gods, but Braiden never could have dreamed of such a sight, a literal bird’s-eye view of the only home he’d ever know.
Weathervale spread out in all directions beneath him, the great roads splitting the town into its eight districts more prominent than ever.
The ocean — gods, the ocean! How it sparkled like rippling sapphires, how the boats bobbed so peacefully.
This far up, he could still see people going about their day — merchants driving their carts through the streets, the locals milling about — only he couldn’t really see their faces.
Yet of those who turned their heads to the sky and waved their arms widely at Augustin’s billowing cape, Braiden could clearly see them smiling.
Augustin waved back, beaming hugely as he boomed his heroic greetings.
Braiden waved meekly along with him, understanding that this was Augustin’s small way of defying his grandmother’s will.
He wasn’t allowed to scatter flyers all about town, was he?
Very well. Nobody said anything about actually becoming a flyer himself.
“Smile and wave back, Braiden,” Augustin whispered, his happiness coloring his voice with music.
“I’m trying my best,” Braiden answered, his laughter tumbling into the wind.
“It’s a hot day in Weathervale,” Augustin announced, addressing his adoring public. “Come and try my artisanal handcrafted elixirs! Slake your thirst, citizens of Weathervale. For free!”
Braiden winced at that last part, though he certainly understood the power of a free sample.
He’d been tempted enough times at the night market with small bites of something, nearly always giving in to buy a full serving of something delicious.
It was how he’d become such a regular at Izzy’s stall, in fact, from a free taste of one of her juiciest meatball recipes.
But it hardly mattered that the wizard had turned to brewing and small business.
Braiden could clearly see how much joy the spectacle and public adoration brought to Augustin’s heart.
He remembered a time when he would have judged the wizard for being so bigheaded, might have even shamed him for craving so much attention all the time.
Braiden knew better now. Augustin Arcosa was the wind itself, needing plenty of space and open sky to rush and howl and blow.
Braiden made fun of his enormous head when he should have embraced the fact that the wizard had an enormous heart.
It brought him joy to bring joy, safety, and security to others.
Despite the exhaustion of all the adventuring and dungeoneering, Augustin would always be a hero at heart.
Braiden held him harder, squeezing as if to hold tight for their flight, pretending it wasn’t his own quiet display of crushing fondness. Was that why they called it a crush? He couldn’t let go, even if he wanted to.
And then the sudden stab of insecurity, the realization that this very public display of advertising — and affection — would only draw even more attention to his sudden closeness to the wizard. He remembered the looks in the Lighthouse lobby.
There would be many more such looks around Weathervale, especially now that Augustin had attracted a flock of townsfolk to follow them down the street back to the shop. What would the people think, really?
“There goes the Wizard of Weathervale and that strange, awkward boy who’s always hanging around him.The one with the craft shop. What was his name again — Brandon Beagle?”
But was that such a bad thing, really? What did it really matter?
Being known as the boy who ran the craft shop didn’t sound that awful.
And it wasn’t so bad to be thought of as the man stuck like glue to Augustin Arcosa’s side, either.
Granny Bethilda, who was never shy about detailing her amorous encounters behind her recipe cards, would be very proud.
“Hold on tight,” Augustin said, whispering so close that his lips brushed against Braiden’s ear. Braiden melted at the contact, tempted to tell the wizard that he would have to pry them apart with a crowbar.
Augustin stuck the landing as always, his boots clicking gently against the cobblestones as his flying magic dispelled.
His strong hands helped to settle Braiden back on the ground.
Braiden pushed his hair out of his face, steadying himself, still a little too flustered, but there was no time for shyness.
Augustin had delivered them right onto the craft shop’s doorstep, and gathered on the street right outside were nearly two dozen townsfolk.
Some of them were even clutching flyers.
“Welcome, everyone,” Augustin said, sweeping his arm toward the door. “Come right in and have a look around the shop. See all that Beadle’s Needles has to offer. I’ll be with you shortly with free, delicious samples of Augustin’s Effervescent Elixirs.”
Braiden held back a proud smile. The wizard was built for this, no question. He still couldn’t decide whether Augustin was a better salesman than a wizard. But couldn’t he be both, hawking his beverages while still performing magical acts of heroism on the side?
The crowd’s chatter rose to an excited peak as they filed into Beadle’s Needles, the shop bell emanating an enthusiastic tinkle every time.
Inside, Craghammer and Elyssandra fluttered about the shop floor, a bee and a butterfly.
Braiden nodded and smiled at every prospective customer, most of whom took the time to nod and smile back.
An older man, one of the last to enter, hovered by the door as he focused his eyes on Braiden’s face. He glanced up at the shop sign, then back into his face again. Braiden shifted from one foot to the other and cleared his throat.
“You’re Bethilda Beadle’s grandson, aren’t you?” he asked, adjusting his spectacles.
“Yes, sir. You knew her?”
“We spoke, here and there. A good woman. I’m sorry she passed. I didn’t catch your name, only I’m told that we’re supposed to call you the Weaver of Weathervale.”
Unexpected warmth flooded the inside of Braiden’s chest. “It’s Braiden Beadle, sir,” he said, wondering if Elyssandra was somehow responsible for this.
“News spreads slowly in Weathervale, but it spreads nonetheless. I heard a neighbor talking about how you and the wizard helped save the town.” He patted the back of Braiden’s hand. “Good on you. I retired here to get away from dreadful winters.”
He shuffled into the store before Braiden had a chance to deflect the compliment or to even ask his name.
Was it official now, somehow? He had a title, of sorts.
Huh. The Weaver and Wizard of Weathervale.
Or did Wizard and Weaver sound better? Thinking that he deserved top billing if it ever came down to it, Braiden beamed as he strode into Beadle’s Needles.
It was a pleasant surprise to find even more of his friends helping out in the shop.
Bones and Warren were finally awake. Wearing his spiky helmet, Warren had apparently put himself in charge of the till, counting out every customer’s change with intense, meditative precision, solemnly thanking them for patronizing Beadle’s Needles.
Bones bustled around the shop floor, tidying up the shelves as customers poked, prodded, and tried on the wares. He was wearing his new hooded jacket, an experimental garment that Braiden had designed himself, threaded with fine inclusions of moongrass filament, of course.
He’d enchanted it with a spell inspired by Elyssandra’s cottage, a mild kind of magic to make sure that no one looked at Bones too closely.
It was a sort of arcane camouflage, cloaking his skeletal features so as to avoid causing panic in those unaccustomed to the undead, which was unfortunately still the majority of Aidun’s living population.
It was a rush to watch the rush of customers sampling Augustin’s elixirs, smacking their lips appreciatively, shelling out coins for full-size cups to take away and enjoy.
The tinkling of the shop bell and the squeaking of the floorboards was music to Braiden’s ears.
Beadle’s Needles hadn’t been this alive in years, and he hardly even needed to lift a hand the whole while.
The hours sprinted by, morning melting into noon by the time business finally slowed down. Taking advantage of the lull, Braiden studied the shop with a breath of exhilaration.
Quiet a few of the moongrass items had sold, but even better, some of the supplies the shop had in stock forever had been bought up, too.
That skein of rainbow yarn that he thought was too garish to ever sell, for example, and that small jar of wooden beads.
Little by little, the shop was getting back on its feet.
They hadn’t sold out of either the elixirs or the moongrass accessories, but neither had Braiden expected them to.
This was still a far better outcome than anything he could have possibly imagined.
Stuff was actually coming off the shelves.
Customers were actually leaving the stores with goods that they’d purchased, not with empty pockets and disappointment.