Chapter 23
The sun rose high over a little village shaped like boots, pots, and old hats.
I stared wide-eyed at the people of Dwindle, not speaking and certainly not breathing.
Too many stories rushed through my head—all the tales Rosie and I’d grown up hearing of this town and the people here.
Of the dangers of withering magic and what it would do to any who went near it.
Hells, it had resulted in Hesper going full evil mode.
Yet, here was Dwindle, a place so close to the Witherings, and these folk could not be further from those tales.
Were the stories just stories and nothing more?
How had they managed to survive, not succumbing to the magic that resided so close to them?
Or was this some ploy by the Prince and his magic?
I scrambled for words, but I had none to give to the gathering crowd.
“Are we scaring her, you think?” a voice tinkled quietly from somewhere in the crowd.
“Probably so,” the pixies above my head replied in unison.
I flinched at their nearness.
“Her eye twitched, she’s definitely scared,” one of the pixies whispered loudly to the other.
Hesper grasped my hand, giving it a firm squeeze. I held on tightly.
“I’m just so excited to see her!” the dwarf in the flowerpot said, the old roots of what I presumed once lived there now clinging to his head like a hat. He rested his bulbous head on his hands and sighed with admiration.
“She’s very pretty,” a female voice said, “and her shadow friend isn’t half bad either!”
A few laughs erupted from the crowd, then they all began speaking at once, some to me, some to Hesper, others at each other. I caught snatches of their words: She’ll save us, We’ll have a garden again, Maybe we can even have yuletide this year.
Bits and scraps of dreams I could not fulfill.
The crowd started pressing in, too many people in too many places. My heart jumped into my throat and my chest began to tighten. Hesper tugged at my hand, sensing my composure slowly slipping away.
“She needs space,” Hesper shouted, but no one heard her. My knees started to shake, my arms numbing.
When I experienced moments like this back in Moss, I’d see myself out of the situation and escape back to the cottage.
I’d sink to my knees as soon as I burst through the front gate.
No one was around to witness me at my weakest, while I desperately tried to gather the pieces of myself back together.
I was born needing to be sewn up somewhere deep inside, but no one ever taught me how.
So I just kept bursting at the seams when things became too much, when the world became too loud.
Neither reprieve nor escape could happen in this moment. Only the folk bustling around me, and Hesper right next to me. I tried, oh how I tried, to salvage myself.
But it was all far too much.
Fear of failing, fear of leaving, fear of being, fear of loving. It sent me to my knees right in the middle of a town that allegedly ate monsters and was warped by withering magic.
At first, nothing much changed save for me being on the ground, clutching at my chest, rubbing my knuckles into my sternum.
I distantly felt Hesper kneel down in front of me, checking me for any sign of harm.
But my body was elsewhere, in the middle distance between here and there.
The crowd’s once raucous voices sounded like they were all underwater.
I knew I should breathe, but I couldn’t manage to, not with my heart racing like this. Not with my mind completely on fire.
An unfamiliar large hand started rubbing circles on my back, just like Rosie used to do. Hesper said something to the kind stranger, but the words were muffled. The circles did their work, though, the warm touch reminding my body that I existed. This moment would not last forever.
“I do this sometimes to,” a kind voice said somewhere above me.
“What’s happening?” Hesper asked.
“We folk here call it the dreads,” the voice said. “Some folk call it overcome. Others undone.”
“Can we fix it? Is there some herb she can take? Anything at all?” Hesper asked frantically.
“Depends on what ails her,” the voice replied. “Sometimes you just get a case of the dreads that’s been a long time coming. There’s naught to be done. And we don’t have much by way of teas and tinctures here. Not since the land’s been dried up.”
My body started to come back together, my heart settling into a steadier rhythm. Hesper’s hand still grasped mine, and I gave it a squeeze. She responded immediately, brushing hair off my face.
“Clara, are you okay?”
“Yes, I am,” I said, breathing heavily. “Just—just a little—”
“You don’t have to explain,” Hesper said quickly, helping me up to my feet.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “And I’m sorry to you all. I’ve never—I don’t usually—”
“All is well Miss Clara,” the man named Angus said softly.
“Don’t apologize!” A dwarf sprang up from his place in the flowerpot. He dusted off his red pointed shoes and held out a chubby hand to me. “Murty Gobs! I’m ever so pleased to meet you, Clara. You can call me Murt. Or Gobs. Or Murty Gobs. Whatever suits you!”
“Hello, Murt,” I said, my voice shaky. I bent down to shake his hand, but Angus swatted it away.
“Please don’t fret about introductions at this very moment.” Angus gave Murt a serious glare. “We have guests, good sir. Guests who will be here for plenty of time. Let us do introductions later. Perhaps when Clara and Hesper are not freshly off the Irk?”
The crowd murmured their disapproval but quickly dispersed, some back into their sad cottages, others moving away to begin chatting in the street.
I could breathe a little lighter, and I searched for the kind stranger who had offered a bit of comfort, but everyone was already gone.
Only Hesper, Angus, and I remained in the spot.
“My deepest apologies, Clara.” Angus put a hand over his heart. “Dwindle is very—shall I say—eager. About most things.”
“No, it wasn’t their fault,” I said. Did I tell him the true culprit?
No, it isn’t their fault that I am having a panic attack about failing all of you. A Goddess sent me here to grow you a garden, but the truth is, I don’t have garden magic. I am the one who is sorry.
A few shoppe doors opened, and the smell of tea and baking bread filled the air. Sparse laughter rang through the air, not quite filling up the streets. This really did seem just like any other town, save for the poor growing conditions.
Where did these stories come from then?
I should have felt wary, at least. But I couldn’t muster up the fear that I’d walked into this town with. Perhaps it was “the dreads” dulling other emotions. Perhaps it was something else entirely.
“Let me show you to your living quarters, and then you’ll be free to do with the day what you please. I must say that Giddy’s pastries are a particular delight—especially when we have all the necessary ingredients. But she makes do with what she has…”
His sentence wandered off as he looked longingly at a shoppe up the road. The shoppe was almost pink, but the grayness seemed to drink the color out of things.
“Our quarters, please,” Hesper said. We had spent enough time together that I could hear the unease riddling her practiced, easy tone.
“Yes, yes! Right this way.” Angus ran his fingers through his gray hair, giving the shoppe a slight nod before turning to lead us through Dwindle’s streets. Whoever Giddy was, she had a clear hold on Angus.
And I needed that gossip and their pastries as soon as possible.
He led us through the cobbled main street, showing us all that Dwindle had to offer—or didn’t have to offer.
Many of the shoppes were vacant, but their previous owners apparently still saw to it that the shoppes never fell into disrepair.
The only operational shoppes were Giddy’s Pastries, Tuff’s, Bards & Brew, and Thandor’s Tavern & Inn—except there was no longer an inn portion, just a tavern.
As we meandered through the streets, I realized it seemed like a town rebuilding after a war. Some buildings were crumbling to dust while others were barely standing. But there were no great battles here. Only great, terrible magic.
When a town was this close to the Witherings and the only means of getting here was through the Shadow Woods or Irk Road, there could not be much hope for bolstering a community. Trade lines were shut off, and I couldn’t imagine visitors would willingly travel here for enjoyment.
One too many questions pressed on me, and before we went any farther, I needed to know what the true story was and how I needed to operate within it.
“Angus, may I ask you a question?” I said tentatively, slowing our stroll.
“Of course,” he said, concern flashing in his eyes.
“This town, it’s nothing like what I’ve—”
“I know, I know.” He looked down at the ground in dismay. “It is not to your liking? We are not to your liking?” He asked it as if this was his fear all along.
I still didn’t know how to help them, but I wouldn’t leave them high and dry.
“No, not at all,” I said reassuringly. “It’s just that, well, I’ve heard tales of Dwindle. Unbecoming tales. Even as we traveled here, everyone along the way told us to fear this place. And then we arrive here today, and none of that seems to be true.”
“Oh!” He seemed utterly relieved, which confused me even more. “That’s on purpose!”
“What?” Hesper and I both asked at the same time.
“Sometimes you do something for so long, you forget it’s even happening.” He laughed then, even though a hint of sadness crept into his eyes. Angus sat us on a nearby bench and began regaling us with the true tale of Dwindle.