We weren’t rich.

I knew we weren’t rich, but Alicia did confirm my suspicions: we had just made in a week what a labourer would expect to earn in six months. That was a pretty good bit of business — although a greedy portion of me did wonder if I could have pressed the barber for a little more.

The gold we’d earned is known colloquially as “baron’s boon”. Each one is worth thirty-six silvers, or “weekenders”, which themselves are equal to twelve coppers — still called a “tipple”, even though most places nowadays will charge you two to three times that.

We’d covered the basics of currency when I was growing up, but I didn’t have much real-world experience with it beyond placing the occasional order with someone heading into Gadra. Suffice to say, my perception of what things in Magalat were worth was a little skewed. That I’d have to fix fast.

Between Iffan’s ledgers, Alicia’s local knowledge, and a whole bunch of window shopping, I started to get an idea of the value of things. I didn’t touch the gold boons until I was sure I had a good grasp of what I could get for them.

When it did come time to spend, I found I had a new, dark, guilty pleasure: bargain hunting.

I got Mirra a bed; I got carrot seeds for the vegetable patch; I got a dining table and some chairs — thanks goodness; most importantly, I finally got the flipping door fixed! There was even enough money left to get us each a couple of outfits that didn’t look like they’d been camped in. I think it’s fair to say I have a bit of a talent for this.

With the addition of some sensible furniture, Iffan’s place was starting to feel a bit more homely. I no longer resented being there, and even settled in a bit. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I wanted to stay, but it was fun being under one roof with Alicia and Mirra. Our relationship was becoming sisterly, even with the age gap. Maybe we’d all just lightened up a bit; sharing dinner around the table was a lot more fun than it had been around a campfire.

I spent much of my time in those few weeks going over Iffan’s accounts — with Alicia’s guidance, of course. I had a lot to learn about upkeep, taxes, balancing books, etc. Domestic effluent? You must be kidding. I’m still livid that I’m expected to pay someone once a month for the privilege of having excrement swept past my door. Alicia was a patient teacher, and I was eager to learn.

I guess focusing on how the shop used to run was my way of coming to terms with the fact that I would eventually have to go back out there, or else give up on Iffan’s Herb and Tonic Emporium entirely. It was still difficult to say which of those ideas I hated the most.

Eventually, I told Mirra and Alicia about the forest. I told them what I’d heard, how I felt, and how I wasn’t sure I could go back. I’d expected them to be dismissive, or shrug it off, but they just listened intently, let me feel like crap, and told me they loved me. They really have been good to me.

With the story shared, I felt more capable of putting it behind me. Not sure about the logic of that, but something about it being out in the world convinced me that I wouldn’t hide from it forever. I needed time, though, and that I felt I could take.

We still had plenty of money and food left before I even thought about herbs and alchemy again. The barber had come knocking for more vials, but he could wait — he was buying them for a weekender, two tipples a piece, and selling them for double; I’m pretty sure he wasn’t struggling. What this meant was, I had plenty of time to ease back into the idea of following in Iffan’s footsteps, or decide it wasn’t for me at all.

Like it or not, though, I am a druid. That will never change. So, I decided to have one last stab at being the right kind of druid. I had recipes for hair tonic to hand, yes, but I also had healing balms, burn creams, flu medicine, and the like. Perhaps if I made something really, genuinely helpful, I’d feel better about being so afraid. Perhaps that was the big druidic secret.

First, though, I had to see if I could stomach being back in nature. Luckily, I had a convenient way of testing that from the comfort of my own home.

“Okay, now you listen to me” —I brandished my trowel— “this spot gets just the right amount of sun for this here luxenbraid. It can’t stay by the door forever, or it will shrivel. You don’t want it to shrivel now, do you?” No response.

Alicia was watching from the other side of the counter. She mouthed, “Go on.”

I gulped. “Now, I want to see this herb grow. I want to see all these herbs grow. I’ll bring the whole place back to life, if I can. For that to happen, though, you’re going to need to move. Do you understand me?”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Mopla said nothing. Really, why would she say anything? She’s a plant.

I was starting to feel a bit silly, but the longer I talked, the longer I delayed messing with the mother plant and risking another episode. “I’m going to take this trowel now, and move you. I’m not going to cut anything. I’m just going to move your vines out the way. No cutting! Okay? You have my word.”

Again, or still, there was no response.

“Okay then. Here I go,” I said.

As delicately as I could, I tucked my trowel underneath Mopla’s vine. As soon as the metal made contact, the vine began to writhe.

I stepped back instantly, dropping the trowel with a noisy clatter.

The vine, though, just slithered gently off the planter, and tucked itself on the terracotta lip at the back. There it rested.

“Did you see that?” I asked Alicia.

“I did! Are you okay?”

“Just made me jump, is all.”

I dared to pick up the trowel and scratch the soil on the surface of the planter. Mopla did not react.

“I think—” It felt too silly to say. “I think it heard me.”

Great. First chickens, now I can talk to plants.

“Maybe it can tell you don’t mean it any harm,” Alicia said.

“Maybe. To be honest, I didn’t expect it to share.”

“It is a mother plant. It must want to see other plants grow.” She shrugged.

“Okay, now we are definitely ascribing far too much willpower to this fancy asparagus.”

But, I managed to plant the luxenbraid. I managed to plant the carbleweed as well. Inkberry bushes attach themselves to trees, I couldn’t do anything about those, but I did set down two rows of cooking herbs I’d picked up from the market. Before the day was done, the nursery was on its way to a slow revival.

From the first luxenbraid I planted, to the last basil, I didn’t dare take both eyes from Mopla. The plant didn’t move except to allow me access to the pots, but I still didn’t dare trust it. Even though it sat patiently while I churned the soil, and made no attempt to drink the water I fed its new neighbours, I questioned its intent. The more it played the innocent, the more I was certain it was capable of some terrible things.

When the task was complete, I felt much like I do after cleaning my room: half satisfied, half disgusted.

“Well, that went well,” Alicia said.

“It definitely went.”

“Just take your time, Mel. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Thanks, Alicia.”

I did take my time. I didn’t feel bad about it either.

Despite my mistrust of Mopla — who I didn’t dare try and remove, no matter how often I fantasised about it — I took pleasure in visiting the nursery and watching the herbs grow. There was no practical difference, but it was more satisfying tending to my own plants than to my parents’ vegetable patches back home. I felt like I was nurturing these, whereas farming back home felt like a production line. Well, I suppose that is the creed of the Plough and the Hammer.

Perhaps Alicia was right; I’m not that religious. That was something I needed to be mindful of.

I resolved to visit a shrine soon. Nobody needs to demonstrate their faith to the Anvil more than a druid. I put it on my to do list, but admittedly pretty low down.

Before long I had a problem. I had a nice batch on luxenbraid and carbleweed, but no inkberries to make a fresh batch of hair tonic. The barber was starting to make a fuss, and funds were dwindling, but I’d be lying if I said my main concern wasn’t seeing all those beautiful plants go to waste.

My first instinct was to look for a supplier, but Iffan had died with three of his main ones, and erased any record of the others. It made sense that he didn’t want the people who came for him to find a reason to hang anyone else. This left me with only one option: the last resort.

When I went back to the forest, I took a few extra precautions. Namely, I took Alicia and Mirra with me. I also brought Hinny, so we could load up on so many inkberries that I wouldn’t have to go for another moon, if I didn’t want to.

We went in the morning, to make sure it was full light while foraging. We also stuck as close to the forest’s edge — in as much as there is one — as we possibly could.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, everything went off without a hitch.

I didn’t hear the voice again. The bugs and creatures kept their peace. Everything was calm. Dare I say it, it was almost nice. At least, it would have been, if I hadn’t been so tense.

A few weeks later we went again, and again there were no issues.

Then we went again, and again, and again.

Perhaps the nighttime was the real danger. So far as I could recall, it’d been dark every time my abilities have gone out of control, or backfired in some way. I wouldn’t call myself a morning person, but if that’s the case then by Anvil I will learn to become one!

Going to the forest stopped becoming something I dreaded and started becoming work. I couldn’t relax while I was there, but I felt relatively sure I would make it home again.

Soon I was producing so much hair tonic that the barber couldn’t keep up. He reduced his sales, and our income dropped off a little. It was fine, though, we were living comfortably, and apparently everyone in Magalat now had hair.

We’d resolved to make this next trip to the forest our last for a while.

I was crunching through some dried up leaves — they’d fallen early, to get ahead of the competition — when I spotted something.

Alicia sensed my hesitation. “What’s the matter, Mel?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

“Go on, out with it.”

“It’s just…” I went over to confirm my suspicions. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure this keskit.” I stroked the grey-green, spearhead shaped leaves and wondered what function the small hairs on its surface had.

“And what’s that got to do with anything?” I could tell by the amusement in her voice that she knew full well.

“You can make a tea out of it. It’s a headache cure. Nothing drastic, but it’s supposed to ease the pain a bit. No other ingredients required. You just take it, boil it, and you’re away.”

“So?”

Don’t make me say it. “So I was thinking I might pick some. You know, since we’re here.”

“Since we’re here?”

“Yeah. We won’t be back for a while, and all that.”

Mirra startled chuckling in her low throaty way. “Will we not?”

“Well,” Alicia said, “I suppose we’d best pick some, then.

And that was my gateway drug to alchemy: tea.