Chapter 28
An all-expenses-paid craft-shoppe visit is foreplay; there is no other explanation.
Our trip into town was the most charming day of my life. Could it have been due to the fact that my lifelong struggle with magic was finally over, and now I had a whole new part of myself to learn? Perhaps.
It was like receiving a new seed catalogue and memorizing all of the details: sowing times, growing seasons, how much shade, how much sun.
I knew the journey ahead would be long, but that was future Clara’s problem. Today, I could celebrate.
The town bustled—as much as it could with only a few shoppes open. Children darted in and out of the streets, a few folk stood on ladders trying to repair signs, smoke rose out of the coffeepot spout, the smell of sugar cookies filled the air, and even the closed shoppes had their doors wide open.
Why all the hustle and bustle? It almost looked like the town was prepping for something.
As if hearing my thoughts, two pixies flew right in front of my face.
Their pink skin shone radiantly in the sunny beams of the day, and their green hair matched the trees beyond them.
With all the summer sun, the forest seemed much less gray than it had before. The whole town even.
“You’re here!” they said in unison.
“I am,” I replied with a warm smile.
“I’m Annie!” said the one on the left.
“I’m Andie!” said the one on the right.
Well, that was something I was never going to remember.
“Uh, hi, Annie and Andie. Why is everyone out and about?”
They shared a quick look at each other and then smiled widely at me.
“The sun!” they chirped together and then swirled in the air in celebration.
The sun? Of course the sun was out; it was the middle of the summer. Why would it not be? Before I could question them further, they flew off together, still dancing and laughing.
Extremely poor singing replaced the pixies’ titters of delight. Just up the road, a green door was open, and dust poured out of it in thick clouds. The shoppe sign above, a giant ball of yarn with two knitting needles sticking out of it, read: You Have Me in Stitches.
“A craft store,” I said lovingly. My poor knitting needles had gone up in flames on Irk Road, along with my coin to boot. “I wish I had—”
Hesper placed a jangling pouch in my hand.
“I know you lost almost everything in the fire.”
“Hesper, this is very kind, but you don’t need to—”
“Don’t fight it,” she said playfully. “Can you please just accept that I want you to have a fun day, and I’d like to give that to you?”
I can think of another fun thing you could give to me. My heart perked up.
Do not even think about it, I scolded.
She’s paying for crafting supplies. That’s foreplay.
No, it’s not. It’s the least she could do after being a terror this morning, I replied haughtily. All was silent for a moment.
Until.
Nah, I think it’s foreplay.
Talking to my heart might have opened up my magic, but it was also creating a nuisance for me right about now.
Whatever the day did or did not mean, I didn’t have time to think about it. There was a shoppe ahead, and I—as a visitor to Dwindle—considered it my civic duty to bolster the local economy. Hesper opted to visit Charles the Blacksmith’s shoppe as I perused all things fiber art.
I knocked on the inside of the door, sputtering as a cloud of dust plumed into my face.
“Hello?” I called through the murky cloud.
“Hello?” a boisterous voice called back. “Oh dear, you walked right into all the muck! Come in, come in.” An arm reached through the mist and pulled me inside. Beyond all that dust swirling about was a Haven.
Yarns of all colors poured from the ceilings, shelves, and overturned baskets on the ground.
Layers of disuse coated everything, but even that couldn’t halt the cacophony of brightness emanating from all corners of this place.
It was a feast for my eyes, and the panic that had been holding me in a viselike grip for the last few days lessened ever so slightly.
“Oh, my Goddess,” I managed. “This is amazing.”
A plump older woman appeared in front of me.
She wore a long purple sweater that had baubles, charms, puffs of yarn, and loose threads of all colors sprouting out of it like a new crop.
Sweat plastered her short black hair to her round face, but some kinky curls stood straight out despite the wetness.
She was smiling broadly, and I couldn’t help but match the smile right back.
“Why, hello there,” she said, resting on her broom. “You must be our new Town Gardener. Clara, is it?”
“Yes and yes,” I replied happily. There was still a part of me that forgot I didn’t have to feel guilty or worried that I might not be able to give them everything they needed. But then there was the part of me that knew there were sprouts and magic and hope.
“We are so glad you’re here,” she said, falling back into singing and sweeping. “The name is Babette, by the way. Enjoy the shoppe, and enjoy the sun, too! Hasn’t been out in nearly a century.”
“What?” I asked, shocked. I knew that Dwindle had fought in their own way against withering magic, ensuring that their village remained out of the Prince’s notice. Their town had certainly taken a hit; that’s why I was here in the first place. But the sun, entirely gone?
She sighed sadly. “Yes. No sun for one hundred years—ever since Fennings burned. Withering magic took the color and light right out of Dwindle. We did what we could to stave off the magic; we still do. But we mortals can’t break apart the clouds.”
The information hit me right in my heart. I shouldn’t have been surprised that the village nestled against the Witherings might never know the sun. How had they managed to stay hopeful through all the gray?
Maybe they made each other their lights.
“But!” she said cheerfully, wagging a finger in the air.
“That was then, and this is now. The sun is out, you are here, and you need a Babette sweater!” She bustled over to a rack of clothing that was so colorful and eclectic, it all looked like a haphazard paint palette.
She gave me an expectant smile, displaying her cozy wares before me.
I chose a sweater covered in crocheted leaves and berries.
If you lifted up some of the leaves, there were tiny creatures hidden here and there.
A bird under the mulberry bush. A sleeping mouse under a mushroom.
And even a hedgehog under a pile of autumn-colored blooms. I tried to pay her, but she shooed me out of her shoppe before I could.
Just as I entered the street, a huge sign was being strung up in the middle of the square.
DWINDLE’S FARMERS MARKET
RETURNS IN TWENTY DAYS
brING YOUR WARES, brING YOUR FAMILIES, brING YOURSELVES!!!!
Strangely, I didn’t balk, didn’t want to run away into the woods when I saw it. Because in twenty days, Dwindle would have the market of a lifetime.
Hesper emerged from a shoppe across the way and waved me over to her.
We mutually agreed that the next best course of action needed to involve as much food as possible: turkey legs, preferably.
The evening was fast coming on, and all we had managed to eat that day were minced words, magic, and a spot of pastry.
We followed our noses to a place called Thandor’s Tavern. An irresistible rosemary-and-sage scent emanated from the shoppe, which was shaped like an ale barrel on both the outside and the inside.
It was run by a lovely couple. Thandor, with his bald head and floor-length beard, looked like a confused wizard.
His husband, Bortie, with his floor-length head of hair and impressively droopy, bushy eyebrows more resembled a pirate who forgot to shave.
For a century or two. They bickered incessantly about who burned that morning’s bread and finished it off with a quick kiss before they disappeared into the kitchen.
After three large bowls of stew, two turkey legs, and four rosemary-buttered biscuits, I felt utterly satiated. I leaned back in my chair—all of which were also shaped like barrels—and relaxed. What a day this had been.
My heart purred as magic bubbled within me, all the potential in the world. I was eager to give it a try. How much could I grow in one night?
“So, this training,” I said to Hesper, who had been watching me the entire time with a soft smile on her face (which I ignored, I did).
“We will begin tomorrow.”
“But I could try tonight.”
“Tomorrow, Clara,” she gently corrected.
“We don’t have a lot of time left, though. If I tried tonight, those sprouts could be fully grown by tomorrow. Then, I could see if any other seeds lay dormant from previous crops, and then—”
Hesper patted my hand.
“Rest is part of training. A good night’s sleep does more for magic—especially newly realized magic—than any amount of force.” One eyebrow was lifted in slight accusation.
I wanted to argue. But my bones were spent, and the pounds of stew filling up my belly did nothing to help the drowsiness coming on.
“This is the best meal I’ve had in a long while,” Hesper changed the subject, swirling the last bit of her stew round and round.
“Do you not have good food with Eldrene’s Train?” I wondered aloud.
Hesper laughed woefully. “Uh, no. Lots of rabbit, very little seasoning, watery broth. Half the Forest Train won’t eat other animals, so I’m ridiculed any time I eat more than just lettuce and tree bark.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
“What do you think you’d want to do, if you weren’t bound to the Train any longer? Where would you want to be?” I asked. My heart seemed to still in my chest.
Foolishly, there was an answer I hoped she would say. Even though I knew that would be impossible.
Hesper placed her spoon onto the table and gazed at me, her eyes somber.
“I don’t think it’s helpful to dream about things I will never have.”
“You made me do it, though. You made me believe I had magic.”
“That is something you have, Clara. There are some things, though, I cannot ever have.”
“I see,” I whispered, my heart cracking a bit.
We weren’t talking about adventures. We were talking about that something-else that had scared me about her all along.
I reached for my walls, anything to guard my heart.
If I had heart magic, what would happen once Hesper left?
We still had more time together, we lived in the same space.
If I could even put guardrails around my heart, it would be better than the guaranteed pain of her leaving.
Right? If my heart shattered, would my magic go along with it?
I’ll have to be careful.
My heart tried to quip back, but I tamped it down. I may not be able to build any more walls, but I could at least focus on the job at hand. Distract myself. Do anything other than fall head over heels for the warrior with the scar above her lip.