Chapter 29
The pumpkins waged war against the struggling gardener, who buckled under the threat of a thousand spindly stems pointed her way.
Rise and shine.” A voice woke me from the depths of dreaming.
“Huh?” I peeled my face away from the feather pillow, my eyes adjusting to the onslaught of sensations. It was still dark outside, there was a hulking figure over my chair bed, and a mug of something warm was being shoved into my hands.
“Time to work,” the voice said. My sleep-confused brain eventually caught up.
“Hesper, it’s the middle of the night.” I pointed out the window, the bright moon outside still shining happily. She was the one who told me that rest was the best thing for magic. Yet here she was, interrupting the best sleep I’d gotten since before the Celebration.
“You fell asleep at 8:00 p.m. It is now near 4:00 a.m. That’s plenty of rest. Besides, do you want to learn how to use your magic or not?” She leaned against the doorframe. Her sleeping tunic drifted open, showing her chest. Her sleeves were rolled up… again.
It was either beg her to join me in this bed or get out of said bed.
I bolted upright, taking care not to spill my coffee and repeat the other day’s kitchen-sink embarrassment.
“Let’s get to work!” I said, my voice far too high.
I hurriedly made my way down the stairs, but then Hesper cleared her throat loudly, stopping me in my tracks.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“You—uh—forgot something.” She looked everywhere but at me.
“What are you talking about—”
Oh my Goddess.
I was naked.
Completely bare ass. I was giving the moon outside a run for its money.
I had forgotten! I usually didn’t sleep naked, but my room was warm, and I was hot from all the soup and the meat sweats and… maybe I had to take care of things as I thought about Hesper before I fell asleep and maybe I forgot to put clothes back on. Maybe.
With all the dignity I could muster, I marched back up the stairs, past Hesper, and said, “Just give me a moment, will you?”
“Of course,” she said hoarsely and turned to leave, but not before she stubbed her toe on the staircase.
I couldn’t stop smiling to myself as I dressed.
She’s perfect, my heart sighed.
She’s not ours, I bit back, tightening my grip around my wayward, yearning heart.
I feared I would perish in the pumpkin patch.
We had been at it all day with no breaks. As soon as we’d entered the garden this morning, Hesper began her training.
“Simple access, that’s our task for the day,” she stated like a teacher. Easy enough. I had just made thorns burst out of the earth and grown sprouts. Surely the magic churning in my chest to the point of acidic heartburn wouldn’t need too much coaxing.
I’d never been more wrong.
Confidently, I strode to one of the empty beds. In this one, I sensed pumpkins. The seeds were long past their time, but there were forgotten roots that had the faintest whisper of life left in them.
So, I sang. I did what I’d performed yesterday with the radish seeds. I reached for my magic, envisioned that power filtering into the seeds below, and…
Nothing.
The magic, though, hummed happily. It was there; I could feel it now, I just couldn’t access it.
“Keep trying,” Hesper said. Begrudgingly, I listened.
For hours on end, I sang and sang to the empty garden bed until my throat went dry and my songs started to sound more like a flailing cat.
Warty bumbled out to check on me. Based on his squeaks, he thought I had been injured. Or was already dead.
Wonderful.
I went to another garden bed. Here, there were leftover marigold roots that outlined the entire patch of earth. These flowers were notoriously easy to grow and could thrive in most conditions. An ideal companion plant to protect more vulnerable crops. It shouldn’t take much magic to coax them.
I sang, I did all my old tricks.
And still…
Nothing.
The day wore on, the sun beat down on me, Hesper loomed over me like a menacing shadow, and I was at my wit’s end.
“Maybe it’s just not working today.” I pouted, plopped down on the ground, and rolled onto my back, looking toward the sky. Even though I hadn’t managed to expend magic, the constant reach for it had still tired my muscles, whittled me down to my very soul.
“Maybe you need to let go…” Hesper offered, lying down next to me.
“I have let go!” I said defensively.
“No,” Hesper said with a small laugh. “You have accepted that you have magic. But you’re still trying to grasp at it. Force it. Just let it flow.”
“I don’t know how,” I said, covering my face with my hands. I thought I had let go.
Let go of the idea I didn’t have magic.
Let go of Hesper, too.
“Remember, heart magic is the practice of weaving, of beginnings.”
“What does that even mean? That sounds cryptic and ethereal. Can you put it in a metaphor or something?” I begged just a bit.
“Hmm,” Hesper mused. “Look at it like this: heart magic is the same type of magic that’s in a basket of yarn.”
Where in the world was she going with this?
“There’s an entire world in that basket. You could make it into anything, you just have to pick up your tools and have an idea. Or like your writing. The greatest stories of our time were once just blank pieces of paper.
“Heart magic taps into the inherent alchemy present in anything. Because that’s what love does, too.
Two people passing each other is a daily occurrence.
Until the comets and stars and time align, and then two people pass each other and fall in love.
Out of all of the people in the realm? Just think of how many billions of small, nothing moments led to that? That’s real magic.”
My heart melted into a puddle; the grip I’d had on it earlier this morning loosened just a bit.
“Yes, it is magic,” I said softly, looking at Hesper. She turned toward me, her amber eyes shining.
Knitting magic was something I could understand. Just like seeds—all potential. It wasn’t about holding on to the magic, it was redirecting the flow, reformulating the plan. Working from a place of abundance rather than scarcity.
Without another word, I got up, strode back over to the pumpkin patch and tried.
I didn’t sing, I didn’t coax. Instead, I closed my eyes, and I listened.
The world outside shut out. All I could hear was a gentle whirring inside of me, like a babbling brook.
Grow, I encouraged.
Visions of plump pumpkins toppling over the side of the garden bed filled my heart.
Grow, I said again, leaning into the flow of magic. I didn’t grasp hold, I just let it go.
My heart was opening up ever so slightly, the warmth flowing out of me, into my fingertips and beyond.
Distantly, I felt Hesper near me. Her presence was always a tether in the storms. I leaned into that, too. How my heart sang when she was near, how coming home to her felt like a warm fire on a cold night.
Suddenly, magic began pouring out of me. A gentle release at first, then a torrent.
“Easy,” Hesper warned gently, and I could feel her hands on my shoulders even though my eyes were closed and my senses were muted. “Rein it in.”
But the magic was tumbling out, the babbling brook turning into a tide.
Stop it, I told my heart.
I can’t.
Enough. But the magic wouldn’t listen.
“Clara,” Hesper shook me. “That’s enough.” Worry was in her voice.
“I’m trying,” I managed to say.
The magic flowing out of me didn’t hurt, but I was losing energy. A disruption sounded from behind me, and Hesper momentarily let me go.
All at once, the magic stopped, the torrent returning to my chest. My knees went wobbly, but I was able to stay upright. I opened my eyes, and the mayhem surrounding me was astonishing.
Towering pumpkin vines spiraled up toward the sky. The strangest part, though? No pumpkins. Not a hint. Not even a bloom.
Hesper, meanwhile, had let me go because the vines had burst through the kitchen window. She had to continue lopping the vine off bit by bit lest it take over the whole cottage.
“Well, at least you let go,” she said cheerfully, albeit a little shaky.
“This isn’t going to help the farmers market!” I said woefully.
“It’ll work itself out, Clara. We have plenty of time.”
Famous last words.