There's a commotion in town. I squeeze the handle of Bluebell’s wagon tightly. People crowd in front of Blossom Water Tavern, and their voices, loud and angry, merge into an incoherent mess. I hesitate at the wooden gate, near the signs that read Welcome to Blossom Water and Don't Feed the Fox Spirit; someone's taken black paint and drawn a line through the second one.
They know.
Anxiety crawls up the side of my neck and I almost turn around, march right back up the hills, straight to the cottage where I can hide under my covers and never have to face this. Maybe I'll just run away. I could head north and live out my life as a squirrel or a bear; that could be nice. It'll be cold. I'd like the solitude. And there'd be nothing to do but forage for food and sleep in the snow.
Branches rustle overhead as the wind picks up, the dappled shadows dancing. I could just turn back. Who’d stop me? But the wagon’s with me. The wheels turn in the dirt, and I know the guilt of that would gnaw at me if I don’t get this back to Bluebell. But that means walking through town, walking past that crowd.
My heart pounds. A trickle of nervous sweat runs down my side; my armpits are drenched. But it's not so bad. With the green shirt and the pants, I feel somewhat put together. I got footwear this time. I feel presentable. The straw hat is great too, shielding me from direct sunlight and hiding my horrible hair. I'd washed thoroughly with the Saafa plant, and my skin tingles with pleasant cleanliness. And despite how much I'm sweating, there's a sweet leafy aroma emanating from my body; I wonder how long that'll last. I wonder if it’ll disguise the curious scent people keep finding on me. Alright, enough delaying the inevitable.
Shallow breaths slip through my nose. My throat’s gone dry. My chest tightens even as I try to reconcile my anxious thoughts with the beautiful day. I feel like I weigh hundreds of pounds all of a sudden. My arms might as well be stone. My feet are so heavy; I can barely lift them as I force myself through the threshold of the wooden gate, the wagon gliding smoothly behind me as I pull it along.
As soon as my foot touches the ground on the other side, a vicious shiver climbs up my heel. Something sizzles in my core before shooting up my spine; light erupts in my brain like a fireworks display.
[Mayoral Quest: To Earn the Right of Representation]
[Progress: 0%]
But beyond those words, there’s something else. Some feeling, like ice melting across my chest, inside my ribs. It splashes inside my head, against my eyes and ears. Everything is flowing, moving and spreading, and I blink as blue light shimmers over the entire town like a thin blanket.
It pulses, brightening and dimming softly, as though mimicking a heartbeat. The town is alive. I walk slowly toward the crowd, pulling the wagon along, curiosity overwhelming my anxiety. When I glance at the nearest structure, the ruined building with only two walls and a roof, it brightens significantly, and a blue circle hovers over it like a halo.
There's a sense that I can push, that I can access more things by concentrating on the halo, but something resists, and it makes my head hurt. My eyes drift over to the crowd in front of the tavern. All the people are blue as well, shimmering as they move about. As they drink from large mugs. As they talk and shout. Men and women, some with antlers, some in overalls or dresses, but all of them shimmering blue. As blue as the sky. More people are inside, but I walk on the other side of the road, trying to keep as much distance as possible.
If I blink and think about turning it off, the light flickers away. I can just as easily pull it back up, but it takes focus to maintain, a small but steady drain on my stamina, like squinting at something in the distance and feeling your eyes get tired.
A group of kaballus wait by the side of the tavern, tied to several posts. Blue light glosses over their scales and saddles, and I hold my breath as I near everyone else. Maybe they won't notice me. Maybe I can slip by and get to Bluebell's Workshop, but now that I'm closer, I can understand what they're shouting about.
"It's going to be too damn much," says someone I can't see.
Another voice adds, "I ain't paying it. No taxes. No. We can’t afford it. Not with these elves around."
Taxes? They’re shouting about taxes? Do they think now that I’m mayor, I’m going to be demanding taxes?
Is that my job now? But back home, I wasn’t very happy with taxes either. I hated seeing how much they took off my weekly wages, and I hated that nobody really had any say in how the tax money was used.
Another group discusses elves in loud voices, and that piques my interest. Apparently, a caravan that set south from town was attacked last night.
Was that the caravan from yesterday? The one the pink woman arrived on? It had been carrying women and children... were they alright?
"Nasty business," says a large white-haired man in dirty overalls and a stained t-shirt. Probably a farmer. He's drinking ale with two more similarly burly, bearded men. "It's that bitch's fault, mark my words. She shows up out of nowhere and now look at the trouble."
Me? My blood runs cold, and I bite my lip. The wagon's silent, and I'm so thankful for these perfect wheels. They don't make a sound. Only a bit more and I’ll be home free. I wonder if Bluebell would let me hang out until the crowd was gone.
But a woman snorts and spits to the side. "Nothing good comes from those pink sluts. Always trouble."
Relief courses through me. Ugly, terrible relief that they're not talking about me, followed by a twisted mixture of disgust and despair. Seems like racism is alive and well here; I thought maybe it wasn't so bad since nobody had been racist to me, and it looked like skin color wasn't that big of a deal. People with antlers seemed to be doing fine.
No wonder that pink woman had seemed so afraid. My heart aches again wondering how desperate she must've been to come all the way out here with her young kids. Was that how my mom felt raising Jia and me?
"We'll have to sort them elves out before they get into our farms," says another woman, emerging from the tavern with a large pint. Like the men, she was grimy too, with brown hair tied back in a bun and overalls smeared with dirt. She had a red and white plaid shirt underneath, sleeves rolled up. "Gotta hunt them down and put them down." That was met with a chorus of agreement.
None of them mention the travelers in the caravan. I'm dying to ask, but I don't want to stick around. I lower my head and march further up the road, wondering if maybe Bluebell heard anything or if I could stop by the market and ask Kivuli's mother, but a familiar shrill voice cuts through the chatter.
"It's them! They're the new mayor!"
Everyone goes quiet. My heart pounds so loudly. Everything blurs. Someone grabs my arm. The
She's not all boobs today. She looks strained, like she hasn't slept. She's wearing a new hat, a dark cowboy hat. And instead of overalls, it's a white shirt with the bottom tied around her chest to reveal her taut navel and her hip bones. Tight-fitting jeans cover her legs, and dark, mud-stained work boots go up to her knees. She's glaring at me, then at my hat, and then recognition flickers across her green eyes, and her rage falters before coming back anew.
"You?" she practically spits the word. Her face contorts in shock as she lets me go, my arm burning from where her fingers dug into me. "You're the mayor?"
My breath catches. The uproar around Mia slows, as though time itself were slowing down. Sunlight shines on the rugged farmers. I can see the drops of sweat glistening on their foreheads; I can see the arteries on their necks, bulging. Surprise stretches across their faces, eyes widening like car windows slowly being rolled up. The
When I blink, time returns to normal. Everything zooms forward. The sneer settles on Mia's face. She looks utterly revolted, and it breaks my heart. Someone rushes up to me, a shout of disbelief, "You caught the fox?"
It's taking my thoughts a second to catch up. But then the others crowd around, everyone blue except for Mia, everyone's lips a flurry of questions, demanding to know why I'd do such a thing. Where are you from? What's your name? How old are you? Their words and voices blend into a mess. All I can keep track of is their sweat, the dirt on their clothes, the spittle, and the stench of their drinks. Panic strikes my lungs like twin drums; they're going to burst. It's so hot underneath my skin. I’m going to burst!
I can't even step back. They're like a tide that's coming in too quickly, a wave too big to run from, all their questions and voices swelling like a storm. I do the only thing I can think to do. I bow my head and shout, "I'm sorry, everyone! I can't hear anything you're saying like this."
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Somehow that works, and they quiet, but I'm sweating so much under my hat. The wind traces shivers across my overheated skin. But now that they're not shouting at me, I slowly raise my head, heart beating like I'm the Arctic Squirrel again, and I glance from face to inquisitive face. They look bewildered, like they're not sure what to think. I wonder if bowing my head was the wrong thing to do. Did I confuse them?
[To Earn the Right of Representation: 6%]
"Give the boy some space!" comes a shout from behind the crowd. A man's voice. He weaves through them quickly with ease, and like Mia, he's orange. His head is clean-shaven. He doesn't have any eyebrows or facial hair. So, maybe not clean-shaven. He might not have any hair. And he's holding a mug of what must be ale, judging by the smell.
"That's a girl," says Mia in an annoyed tone, as though my being a girl was an affront. It also sounded like she wanted to call me a much nastier word.
"Oh?" says the man. He offers the mug "My apologies, madam. I'm called Sal. I keep the tavern wet. It's an honor to make your acquaintance." He has alarmingly expressive eyes, dark and full of warmth and what I hope is kindness. I can't tell if it's genuine yet.
But I accept the mug, figuring it would be seriously rude not to in front of all these staring people. I’m still holding the wagon’s handle in my other hand, almost defensively at this point.
"Thank you," I whisper. Then I clear my throat. "It's lovely to meet you as well."
Sal smiles encouragingly. "I'm sure everyone will welcome you too. It's been quite some time since we've had a mayor, so you can imagine we're all very shocked. Especially seeing one so young."
"I'm not even sure how it happened," I tell them truthfully. A murmur goes through the crowd. I look down at my shoes, the wagon's handle sliding in my sweaty palm. How do I untangle myself from this situation? What do they want from me?
"Did you catch the fox?" barks a man to my right.
"No way, look how scrawny she is," says a woman.
"Maybe she's quick!"
"Maybe she's a witch!"
"She's wearing shoes!"
"Alright now!" Says an even stronger voice. A familiar voice. I look up to see Kivuli's mom shoving her way through the crowd, her sleeves rolled up to show off her beefy arms, a red cloth tied around her sweaty forehead. "That's enough of this."
My heart swells with relief. She's orange too, and I think orange means they're important to the town somehow. Sal is the barkeeper. Kivuli's mom runs the market. What does Mia do?
And how does Mia get away with dressing the way she does? All the other women are wearing dresses or shirts and overalls. The more well-dressed women remain inside the tavern, away from the sun and watching the commotion from comfortable seats. I’m assuming they’re from the farmlands or somewhere else since they’re wearing poofier dresses.
Kivuli’s mom reaches me, muttering. “You alright?”
I nod. “Yeah.”
She shakes her head and pulls the cloth off her hair to wipe her wrinkled brow. Her gray hair is tied back in a tightly held bun. She turns to the others. “Shame on you all. Crowding up on a girl like this.”
“We didn't mean no harm, Granny,” says Sal. He raises his hands defensively, his posture suggesting that he was taking care of it, everything is fine. “Folks are just curious. Strangers in town, a new mayor. Can you blame them?”
They’re still staring at me. Mia scowls, but she steps back, surrounded by a group of men insulating her from the rest of the crowd. They don’t look like the same group as the other day, but I’m still wondering why she’s orange. Granny stares down the others, and people back off, giving us space.
“Let’s go,” says Granny, dabbing sweat and motioning down the road toward her store. “This is no place for an unescorted young woman to be, mayor be damned.”
“Wait,” I tell her, surprising myself. As badly as I want to leave, as desperately as I want to get out of here, there’s an itch in my thoughts. “I have to address their concerns, don’t I? I can’t just leave.” I phrased that almost like a question. Like I needed her permission first, so I try again. “I’m the mayor, so I have to say something.”
Granny presses her lips tightly, her wrinkled face betraying nothing. My face reddens, but I try to straighten my back. Once again, I’m grateful for the straw hat on my head. Maybe they can’t see exactly how much I’m sweating or how embarrassed and flustered I am. If the sun had been shining on me directly, I’d be all icky and visible and pathetic.
I have to project strength. Confidence. Just like Kivuli does. And I’d done good yesterday. I helped someone. I defeated an Evil Spirit.
Taking a breath and figuring honesty is the best policy, I address everyone. “I’m not sure what to do about the elves yet," I tell them, speaking as loudly as I can. “Or this whole thing with taxes or anything. There’s a lot I have to learn.”
Immediately, I feel like that was stupid to say. Admitting that I don’t know anything. Murmurs run through them. People exchange concerned looks. I hear whispers of, “What does she know of our land? Our needs?”
“Why is she mayor?”
“That’s what I want to know!”
“But it’s not like I wanted to be mayor,” I continue. “I didn’t come here with that intention. I didn't come here with any intention at all.” I take another deep breath; my voice is wavering. Sweat runs down the back of my shirt. The mug of ale feels so heavy in my hand, and I'm still clutching the wagon's handle. I want to be steady.
I have to be steady. This isn't so bad. Rory's father was worse. Those Gilded Church soldiers were worse. The Wraith is much worse. I force myself to look them in the eyes. Granny is the easiest. The men, not so much. Sal crosses his arms over his apron, but he seems friendly enough. Mia's lips are twisted to the side.
"I'll have to lean on your knowledge, everyone. If there's anything you want to discuss, please come find me. I think the best way to do things is to make sure everyone has a voice."
Sal smiles. Granny sighs heavily, and a few people nod like I’d said the right thing.
[To Earn the Right of Representation: 10%]
I suppress the shudder of relief, happy that this thing in my head will let me know when I’ve said or done the right thing.
"What about the pink bitch?" someone calls out. He gets elbowed, makes a grunt of pain, and corrects himself when Granny shoots him a dirty look. "The foreign woman," he says, rubbing his side. "She'll bring us nothing but trouble. She has no business here."
His words are met with a chorus of agreement. I clench my teeth, trying to think up a response. From what I can gather, the people of Blossom Water and the Farmlands are mostly the descendants of immigrants who'd settled here long ago. They drove out the native nymphs and probably others as well. I need to learn more about this land's history. The wind rustles things, and they're all staring, waiting for my response.
"She wanted help," I say. My lips have gone dry. I lick them. "When someone needs help and we can help, isn't it our duty to help them as best we can?" God, that sounds so corny, but they all exchange looks, shoulders lowering, and even Mia glances away like she's ashamed.
"What if she's a witch?" asks someone else.
Granny snaps at him. "Keep your lid on or I'll-"
"I don't think she's a witch," I blurt out quickly.
"How would you know?" asks another. An old, bearded man in dirty overalls. "You only just got here. Said so yourself."
"Well, she's wearing shoes," I point out. The man makes a face and scratches his beard. But that seems to have messed with the logic in his head. "I think she's just trying to do her best for her children. Would a witch do that? If you needed help, if you needed to leave your home, and people called you a witch and blamed you for things beyond your control, how would you feel?" Anger gives me strength, and with each word, my voice feels stronger. More assured. "It's not fair to blame anything on her. The elves have been bothering you for ages, right? Maybe what we can do is organize ourselves into groups. Keep watch. And if we have to, we'll fight them off. But if we're fighting each other, if we keep blaming each other, then the problems win. Nothing gets solved."
I'm speaking out of my ass now, quoting movies I vaguely remember from back in the day, pretending I'm some kind of general. But then I realize none of these people have seen any of those movies, and a bunch of them look placated by my words. Even the old, bearded guy.
[To Earn the Right of Representation: 17%]
This time I can’t stop the shudder, and Granny squeezes my shoulder. "Well said." Then she turns to the others. "Now if there's no more pointless jabbering, don't you all have work to do?" She glares at them, chin jutting out, until the crowd breaks up.
Some of the men nod in my direction. Sal flashes me a thumbs up, and it surprises me that that symbol is the same here. At least, I hope it is. People veer off in several directions, a few untying their kaballus or turning the corner and vanishing from sight. Several wagons were waiting to be unloaded further down the street.
Mia stares at me, frowning. She's flanked by her men, and they seem ready to leave, but she looks at me like she can’t make up her mind. Does she want to say something? I don't think she’ll try anything like yesterday, not with Granny around.
[Integrating the Farmlands: 12%]
What? Farmlands? But I’m all the way over here in town... But then I remember Mia’s family; she must be from the Farmlands, and that must do with why she’s orange like Granny and Sal. She’s important to Blossom Water and I have to figure out why, but something about what I’d said had helped with the Farmlands progression. Her cheeks redden after a moment, a blossom of color across her freckles, and I realize we’d just been staring at each other, and I blush too. Mia turns away and they head into the tavern, and I can't not notice the sway of her curvy hips, and how voluminous her golden hair looks trailing down her back, and how nicely her white shirt and her jeans fit her form...
"She's a funny one, that one," says Granny under her breath. "Catches some boys and never lets go. Don't you get tangled with her."
Catches them? I swallow hard at the implication. "I don't like her," I say, half lying. She's a bully. She was gonna take the chair yesterday and I'd almost attacked her, but I couldn't help thinking of my dream. Where she'd picked me up as a slime and swallowed me whole, and I can't shake the image of her from my head. Something about how those dark brown boots come up to her knees... and God, even when she's glaring, those vicious green eyes make me want to...
Then I remember the
"You gonna drink that?"
"Huh?"
Granny points at my mug. When I shake my head, she takes it and downs the whole thing in one go. Then she leads me to the Grocery. There’s a halo over this building too, but again I can’t access it, whatever it is. I wonder if I unlock that by hitting 100%.
When Granny invites me inside, I tell her I came to see Bluebell. She says I should hurry back when I'm done, there's something she wants to give me now that I'm mayor. She doesn’t seem too surprised, and I wonder if Kivuli got word to her somehow.
"And Yura will want to see you."
"Yura?"
"The girl you sent to my shop," she says gruffly. "And thank you for that by the way, Madam Mayor. Don't got enough things to take care of."
I flush red but don't respond. She doesn’t seem actually mad.
"It was good you sent her to me," she adds, pausing with her hand on the door. "Folks haven’t treated the Lashfarnan people right, and she is in trouble enough." She raises a hand to shield her wrinkled face from the sun as she surveys the sky, squinting. "Hurry along now, girl. It's gonna rain again. Another nasty one."
I look up too, holding onto my hat. But no matter which way I turn, I don't see a single cloud. The sky is as blue as can be; there's not even a cloud or anything toward the ocean. But when I try to ask Granny, the door closes shut. A kaballus snorts and comes to a stop beside me, and the antlered man I saw unloading things yesterday hops off a wagon. Blue light flickers across his muscular form until I blink that away.
"Good day, Madam Mayor," he says with a warm smile. He must’ve been in the crowd back in the tavern.
I glance at the fur on his chest and shoulders, brown and thick, as I nod and say, "Good day."
I continue up the road and turn the corner. He reminds me of Roshan, but Roshan didn’t have any fur. Did he shave it off? Was he mixed-raced? Would it be rude to ask?
A breeze from the ocean catches my breath as I walk toward Bluebell's place, pulling the wagon behind me, my thoughts a mess, but I think I can taste something distinct in the wind. A concentration of saltiness, a heaviness, and I wonder if that’s how Granny knew it would rain.