Chapter Sixteen
The next day, Kiela checked the garden before she opened the front door to the shop. She fed the chicken, located the wandering cactus (it was busy chasing a bit of dandelion fluff), and picked a couple tomatoes for breakfast.
There were no tree spirits that she could see. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t there. “Good morning,” she called to the garden and to the forest beyond.
She waited for an answer. After a few seconds, she heard the whisper of a breeze that wasn’t a breeze. Smiling, she returned inside. While she ate a bit of Bryn’s bread (with jam) for breakfast, Kiela considered the bucket of blueberries. She’d make more jam today, she decided. And open the shop properly, without disappearing into the forest to frolic with a unicorn.
Did I really see one?
It felt like a dream today, but the blueberries were real, the remedy basket was empty (though they had a full supply of fresh ingredients, thanks to the cloud bears), and the chicken was in the backyard. She wondered if it would harm the garden to have a chicken wandering through it. How much could one hen eat? Did they eat tomatoes? What about raspberries? She thought they just ate worms and . . . She didn’t know. What had Larran said to feed them? Scraps from her food?
Thinking about Larran again, she rinsed the blueberries and then poured them into a bowl with a heap of sugar. She left them to macerate while she opened the window with the counter and flipped the sign on the front door to “Open.”
Had he ever seen a unicorn? She wondered what he’d say if she told him about what she and Caz had seen and what they’d done. She could picture him listening and smiling before talking about his merhorses. Or maybe not. More likely, he’d be appalled, she thought. What they’d done was indisputably spellwork—unicorn-approved but very, very illegal, unless the revolutionaries had changed the laws and decommissioned the imperial investigators already, which of course she had no way to find out without exposing herself and risking losing the books, the shop, the cottage, and even her life.
I can’t tell him.
But she could bring him some blueberry jam. And a jar for Bryn too. Kiela was eager to visit the bakery again, which was funny because she’d never sought out people to talk to before, but after a day that felt so dreamlike, she wanted to hear real voices and see real people. Am I becoming an extrovert? That seemed unlikely. It was more that her brush with so much enchantment made her want to reach out and touch something solid.
A trip into town, stopping at Larran’s on the way, she decided. It would be good for her. She could bring her new flavor to Bryn, buy a loaf of bread, and see actual people. Sitting at the table, she began sorting the ingredients to make more sticky pine cone remedies.
Caz waddled into the kitchen. “Morning, Kiela. So, yesterday . . .”
“Not a dream,” she confirmed. She waved at the piles of raw ingredients as proof. They had everything they needed for several dozen more tree remedies, and they hadn’t had to gather any of it themselves.
He pulled himself up onto the table by his tendrils and began sorting leaves with her. They’d just finished organizing everything when she heard a voice at the front window.
“Hellooo? Are you open, dear?”
Kiela wiped the excess sap from her fingers and scooted around the shelf-wall. “Eadie, hello, welcome. Nice to see you again.” She was surprised to discover she meant that.
Beaming at her, the centaur leaned against the counter. She was wearing a wide-brimmed purple hat on her human head and a white-with-purple-flowers dress draped over her horse torso and hindquarters. Her mane was braided with purple ribbon. “You took my advice.”
“It was good advice,” Kiela said. “Larran helped me build it.”
Eadie grinned at her. “Ahh, he did, did he?”
Kiela felt herself blush, though she wasn’t sure why. It was a perfectly neighborly thing for him to do, plus she’d paid him with a pine cone remedy. She wondered which tree he’d used it on, if it had worked for him, and what he had thought of it. And what he thought of her.
“Glad to hear he’s spending time with you,” Eadie said. “He’s had quite a lot of tragedy and loss in his life, that one has. Very bad, and none of it his fault. It would be good for him to find some happiness.”
She wasn’t certain that she was his happiness, and that wasn’t a conversation she wanted to have with Eadie. Not so subtly, she changed the subject. “How did your remedy work?”
Her grin transformed into a genuine smile. “Beautifully! That’s why I’m here. I came to pay you what it’s worth to me.” She pulled out a pouch and spilled a heap of silver on the counter.
Kiela’s eyes widened. It was as much as she was paid in a month at the Great Library. Vastly more than any outer islander was paid in a month. “It isn’t worth that much.”
“It is to me,” Eadie said firmly. “My grandfather planted that tree when our family first arrived here. He’d fled his home island with my pregnant grandmother—there had been an uprising, a whole mess. It was a harrowing journey, according to the family stories. Half their boat was eaten by a sea serpent, and they capsized twice in storms, yet they still managed to drift their way to the shores of Caltrey. He’d brought the pit of a cherry from his home and planted it in the finest patch of soil he could find, his way of claiming Caltrey as our new home. By the time I was born, it was a fine tree, producing fistfuls of fruit every summer, and he babied it like it was one of the family. He’d convince every traveling sorcerer to come and cast strength spells on it so it would survive the winters. He passed away before the sorcerers quit coming to Caltrey, and so he didn’t have to see his beloved cherry tree fall prey to the new string of magic storms. It would have broken his heart. It broke mine seeing the tree dying. It felt like losing him all over again. But you . . . you gave the tree back to me. You gave me back my grandfather’s soul, and that’s worth all the silver in the world.”
Kiela felt tears pricking her eyes. “I’ll take three pieces of silver. You have to keep the rest.”
“Five pieces. You shouldn’t argue with a woman with hooves.”
Below, Caz bumped against Kiela’s ankle. “Say yes.”
“Five, okay,” Kiela said.
“And I’d also like to buy more.”
She thought of the merbaby she’d seen—he had brought them luck. This shop is going to work. We’re making a life for us. “We’re currently out, but we’ll be making more. If you’d like to stop by tomorrow, I should have them ready. Or I could bring a few to you in town after I finish the next batch of jam. I’m planning to stop by the bakery later this afternoon. Will you be there?”
“That would be perfect. I’ll prepay, and you can bring me five more this afternoon.” Leaving a smaller but still impressive stack of silver on the counter, the centaur trotted away from the shop and back into the greenery.
“I love it here,” Caz said fervently.
In high spirits, Kiela headed out after she’d finished a batch of blueberry jam and she and Caz had made a dozen more pine cones. She took two jars of jam (one for Bryn and one for Larran), as well as the five remedies for Eadie.
Kiela sang as she walked down the trail through the greenery. She knew she wasn’t quite in tune, but the birds didn’t seem to mind. One of them she recognized: a bird with red feathers and a tail of white apple blossoms. It flew above her, singing joyfully. She wondered what would happen if the blossom-bird decided to follow her into town. Would anyone guess he was supposed to be an apple tree? Would they suspect she was responsible?
She decided not to worry about that. It was a beautiful afternoon, the bird seemed happy, and she was in a wonderful mood. As she stepped out of the greenery, Kiela inhaled the sea breeze. Ahead of her the sky was a lovely quilt of purple-and-blue clouds, and the sea was dancing with white waves, quite lively.
She gripped the railing firmly as she made her way down the stairs—she was happy, but not giddy enough to be careless, and falling down the cliff would put an end to her excellent day quite rapidly, especially since the wind seemed extra-enthusiastic today. It danced around her as if it wanted her to waltz with it, never mind gravity. Holding on tight, she made it to the bottom safely enough.
Glancing toward Larran’s house, Kiela scanned the beach and the jetty for the herder. She spotted him out on the waves, riding one of his merhorses. Oddly, there were no boats out on the water beyond him—perhaps the herd had already finished helping the fisherfolk for the day? It seemed early for that to be done. Bakery first, then Larran’s house, she decided. Maybe he’d be back to shore by then.
She turned toward the village and walked into town. It looked . . . She couldn’t put her finger on what was different at first, but then she began to notice details: there were no carts or wheelbarrows or anything in the streets, the flower boxes were empty of pots, and shutters were pulled closed over the windows. Additionally, she heard a steady bell ringing in the harbor. It wasn’t marking out the time, and it didn’t cease.
Seagulls circled overhead, far more of them than she’d seen before—an uncomfortable number of them, in fact. Perhaps the fishing boats had docked, and the gulls wanted a share of the catch? Craning her neck, Kiela looked to see the docks between the streets and glimpsed fishermen and women spilling a net onto the street. A few crabs skittered out, and then her view was obscured by a woman hauling a crate cross the street.
Kiela continued on past the dry fountain to the bakery, expecting to see the usual crowd of customers at the tables and by the counter, but instead it was empty. No tables. No chairs. And the window with the counter was shut. Huh, where is everyone? At least the bakery door was open so she knew that Bryn at least hadn’t—
A man strode out of the bakery with a stubby loaf of bread clutched in his hands. I know him. He was Fenerer, the man with scales who’d come to her shop, grumped at her, and failed to buy any jam. Seeing her, he halted. “You, citygirl.”
She couldn’t help glancing behind her, even though it was obvious he was talking to her. One of the winged cats, gray-furred with maroon wings, eyed them from a nearby roof. All the cats seemed on edge. Maybe because of all the seagulls? Or maybe they didn’t like Fenerer either? She wished she’d arrived just a few minutes later. And she wished the harbor bell would quit tolling.
“You can’t come here and cause trouble,” he barked at her. “This is a peaceful island. You need to go back to where you came from.”
“I’m from Caltrey,” Kiela said in a small voice.
He snorted. “You left. You came back with all sorts of unnatural ideas. Bringing trouble to our island. We don’t need that. We have enough troubles on our own, without strangers coming in and making things worse.”
She glanced right and left. There was no one nearby to interrupt this unpleasant conversation, and he was blocking her way to the bakery. She didn’t want to just turn around. “I’m not causing trouble.”
“You think I don’t know about the orchard?” Fenerer barked. “All the oddness. One of the trees . . . It won’t stop singing. Singing! An apple tree. Unnatural.”
She felt herself grow cold. Had he seen her and Caz working magic? What could she say to convince him he’d imagined it? Pretend it wasn’t her? Say it was just a game?
He wagged his finger at her. “You’re the only new arrival we’ve had, the only thing that’s changed on this island in weeks. It had to be you.”
He didn’t see me, she thought, relief flooding through her. He’s guessing. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t been near any orchards. I live in my family’s cottage in the forest beyond the cliff. You’ve been there, remember? My shop?” She heard her voice squeak, and she wondered if he could hear that she was lying. She’d never been a good liar. It was part of what had gotten her assigned to the third floor of the library with the less-flashy books on nature spells, instead of a section more popular with scholars, such as palace construction or canal construction or fire magic. When directly asked what she thought of their research, she often answered honestly before realizing they’d merely wanted her to praise their brilliance.
“You can’t fool me. I know—”
Behind her, Kiela heard the clop of hooves on cobblestones. Eadie’s voice rang out, “Kiela, is this old snot bothering you? Don’t you mind him. He hasn’t been the same since the day he drove his precious boat into a rock.”
Fenerer’s scowl depended. “There was an unexpectedly strong storm.”
“Yours was the only ship foolish enough to be out after the harbor alarm sounded,” Eadie countered. “But enough about that, what are you doing in town today?” She directed the question at Kiela.
Why shouldn’t I be? And what was a harbor alarm? There had never been such a thing when she was a child, or had she simply not known about it? “I tried a new flavor of jam, and I thought you might like to try it—a gift. Blueberry.” She drew the jam she’d intended for Larran out of her basket and held it out to Eadie. Please don’t mention the remedies. She didn’t want to hand Eadie the pine cones in front of Fenerer. That would only give him more fuel to suspect her.
Eadie accepted the jar and held it up to the light. The deep blue-purple glowed like a jewel in the bit of sunlight that slipped between the clouds. “Ah, lovely. I’ll enjoy this. You know”—she addressed Fenerer—“your disposition might sweeten if you tried some jam with that bread.”
He grunted, “Humph,” before stalking off down the street.
Kiela felt her chest loosen, and she could breathe again. “Thanks.”
“Don’t let that old grump get to you,” Eadie said quietly. “Not all of us think the way he does. Most of us don’t. Now, is this really what you came to give me?”
She glanced down the street, waiting until Fenerer turned out of sight, before she drew out the five pine cones, wrapped in cloth. “Maybe don’t bury them when anyone is looking? Just to avoid misunderstandings.”
“Of course,” Eadie agreed. “We don’t want any misunderstandings. Now you’d better go on and finish your business with Bryn. Not a day for dallying.” She gestured toward the sky, and Kiela noticed that the wind had picked up. Overhead, one of the gulls was flying into the wind and making no progress—it looked as if it were hovering stationary above the roofs. Most of the cats had cleared off. The roofs looked bereft without them.
Thanking Eadie again, Kiela scooted inside.
Once again, the scent of warm bread enveloped her like a hug. She stood for a moment and breathed it in before raising her voice to call, “Bryn? Hello?”
The baker bustled out of the back room. She wasn’t wearing her apron, but instead was in sturdy brown pants, a plain shirt, and waterproof boots. “Ahh, Kiela! Surprised to see you here on such a day. What are you doing in town?”
That distracted her from offering the blueberry jam. Eadie had said it wasn’t a day for dallying. Why not? And where had the winged cats gone? “What do you mean, ‘such a day’?” Kiela asked.
“Storm’s coming, about to blow in from the southwest. The fisherfolk have already pulled their boats in and are securing them—don’t you hear the harbor alarm bell?”
Oh. That was what that was. “I hadn’t realized . . .”
“When the sky starts looking blue and purple, the harbormaster rings the bell, and that’s the sign to stay home. It’ll blow in quick and blow out quick, but there’s no way to guess how badly it’ll pummel us in the meantime. I’m about to close up the shop, since there’s no point in being open when everyone’s just going to hole up in their homes, which you should be doing too.”
“Right. Okay. Yes, I will.” She pulled the jar of blueberry jam out of her basket and placed it on the counter beside a vase of daisies and a roll of ribbon. “I wanted to give you this, a new flavor for you to try.”
“I’m sure it’s delicious, but it’s not worth risking your safety.” Bryn frowned at her. “Why don’t you stay here? I’ve an extra bed upstairs—you can wait out the storm in town and head home afterward.”
She shook her head. How could she stay when Caz was by himself back at the cottage? If a storm hit hard, he’d worry himself sick. She knew the spider plant—he had an impressive imagination. He’d concoct all sorts of disasters that could have befallen her and convince himself that she’d washed out to sea. “I’ll hurry home,” Kiela promised.
“Take these,” Bryn said, scooping several cinnamon rolls into a bag and handing it to her. Kiela reached into her pocket for a coin, but Bryn stopped her. “A gift for a gift, and besides, they’ll just go stale if no one comes to buy them. You’re doing me a favor by taking them—I hate to see a baked good go to waste.”
“Thanks,” Kiela said.
Taking the rolls, she headed outside. Behind her, Bryn began to close up the shop, securing the door with a second, heavier door. As Kiela hurried through the street, she noticed that in addition to shutters, more than a few windows were boarded up with thick planks. Caz won’t know to do that, she thought. He doesn’t know a storm is coming. But he would notice the wind and stay inside. Hopefully, he’d coax the cactus and the hen in with him.
She didn’t see a single cat.
The wind was blowing harder now, whipping between the buildings. Her hair blew into her face, and she kept pushing it back so she could see, but the wind lifted it and twirled it until it danced on her head. She hugged the bag of rolls to her as she broke into a run.
How did I fail to realize the pretty blue-and-purple clouds were storm clouds? She’d been so cocooned within the library that she didn’t know the signs of an impending storm. Even if she hadn’t known what the bell signified, she should have been aware of the shape and color of the clouds.
She realized the bell had stopped ringing. Good? No, bad. Very bad.
The rain swept in as a sheet of water. It pelted the cobblestones, and Kiela broke into a run toward the shore. The waves were crashing harder than before, no longer dancing but fighting in spurts of froth that slammed down onto the pebbles and sand.
Rain soaked her clothes, and it obscured her view of the cliff. She couldn’t see up to the top. Climbing the stairs—she could barely make them out, and the wind was causing them to sway, pulling them away from the rocks.
I can’t climb that.
She’d be blown off the steps. Or washed off.
Back to the bakery? Kiela turned—
Fast and rising, water swept down the streets and spilled onto the beach to meet the crashing waves. Much more sensible to go to Larran’s house. It was closer. She had no more blueberry jam, and the cinnamon rolls had to be a soggy mess by now, but maybe he wouldn’t mind a visitor anyway. As the waves smashed down, she pushed against the wind, heading toward the warm glow of lanterns visible through the seams of his shuttered windows.