“Search within yourself for the untapped well of power,” Marilyn said in a soft voice.
If my eyes hadn’t been closed, I would’ve rolled them at her. “The only thing I feel ‘within myself’ is the ball of hard shit that’s stuck in my intestines. You couldn’t have bought some beans in Middleton?”
Marilyn sighed. “Your bowel movements are not the focus of this lesson, Lance. Try another five deep breaths.”
I did so grudgingly, shifting my legs, as they were beginning to fall asleep.
We were seated beneath a tree, having just finished our midday meal of gut-clogging proteins. She’d instructed me to sit cross-legged, close my eyes, and turn inward.
As if I had any idea how to do that.
I took those five deep breaths despite my growing certainty that teaching me to use magic would be like teaching a cow swordplay. Marilyn had said all people possessed the ability to channel magic; most just didn’t know it. Apparently it took great intention and focus to learn how to tap into one’s inner source.
Intention and focus sounded like empty words to me. What was intention? Of course I wanted to try to learn to use magic; who wouldn’t? The ability to light fires with my mind, to conjure water missiles from nothing? My head spun with all the potential magic could unlock for my farming. No more hauling buckets, no more fussing with flint to light oven fires…
“Lance? Why are you smiling?” Marilyn’s voice cut through my daydream.
After nearly an hour of spouting vague motivators, such as ‘visualize the result you desire’ and ‘unlock the vast river of power within yourself’, Marilyn finally grew frustrated and gave up on the lesson for the day.
“Your pessimistic attitude is getting in your way,” Marilyn scolded as she loaded our saddlebags back onto our horse. “You can’t go into it thinking you’ll never be able to do it. You’re just defeating yourself.”
“I don’t know how you can look at me and think, ‘Oh, that guy has the makings of a great sorcerer’,” I mocked. “I’m unremarkable in every way imaginable. Except,” I added, “For my uncanny ability to grow the best potatoes in the Empire.”
“You keep saying that,” Marilyn said as she mounted the horse, “But have you ever even tried someone else’s potatoes?”
She lent me a hand as I hefted my bulk up and onto the wretched animal. I swore I could feel its spine crackling as it took on my added weight.
“Why in blazes would I do that, when I know my potatoes are the best?”
**
As we set up our pathetic camp that night, Marilyn requested I gather the wood this time, even though I could still barely walk from saddle soreness. I grumbled at her, but I had to admit to myself that it did ease the aches a bit to get up and move about.
I gathered a clutch of sticks and twigs in my left arm, rooting about for more in a half-bent position. I wasn’t looking too far ahead of me, just at the ground in my immediate eyeline, so I nearly cried out with joy when I stumbled across the telltale tiny white petals signature to a wild onion plant.
I knelt down. The greenery was smooth under the touch of my fingers, the plant’s aroma tickling my nose with delight. I’d grown a few onions from time to time, just to spice up my routine a bit, and while they never spoke to me quite like potatoes, I still felt a familiar and nostalgic connection to the plant. It felt like a piece of my lost life had been preserved and placed in my path specifically to ease my suffering, if only for a moment.
I forgot entirely about Marilyn and my task. I let my stick bundle drop beside the plant, coming to sit more comfortably beside the old friend. I inhaled that smell again, closing my eyes.
Suddenly I was sitting in my rocker by the back door, watching the babies grow at their imperceptible but steady pace. I could almost feel the sun warming my freckled skin, the sturdy wood of the rocker beneath me, the scent of onions drifting toward me on a light wind. I could see myself rising slowly, pulling water from the well and giving it to the plants with great love and care, wishing I could bottle the scent of freshly watered soil.
My eyes stung as a wave of pure bliss ran through me. That was the life I needed, the life I was meant to live. No complications, no wizards or murders or homicidal horses. Just me, a rocker, and my babies growing slowly in the soil’s fertile womb.
“Lance! Hurry up!”
I exhaled as Marilyn’s shout came through the trees, my shoulders sagging. Coming back to reality and my present hopeless situation felt ever more painful, having let the daydream take me away.
I looked down at the wild onion plant as I started to rise to my feet.
“…what?” I mumbled, confused.
The dirt beneath the grass surrounding the onion plant was dark, as if the plant had just been watered. Had that been there the whole time? If it had, why was only that plant’s spot wet, and not all the dirt in the area? It couldn’t have rained just in one very specific place.
Too saddlesore and hungry to contemplate the mystery much further, I left the plant and began to gather sticks before Marilyn could decide to melt my eyeballs.
**
Halfway through the next day, signs of civilization rose up on the horizon.
“Bricksford,” Marilyn supplied. “We’ll purchase a few supplies—”
“Beans,” I cut in.
“—and keep going toward Saradedal.”
She couldn’t see me, given that I was riding behind her on the sentient death-trap, but I still gaped.
“What? We’ve found civilization for the first time in over two days and you want to keep going?”
Marilyn sighed. “The more time we spend in towns, the more likely we’ll be recognized. I’m sure they’ve got sketches of us hanging in every little hamlet in the Empire by now.”
“Sketches?” I repeated. “Of me?” I thought about the idea. “I… wouldn’t mind seeing that.”
“Lance, by the Emperor’s taint,” Marilyn began to protest, but I cut her off.
“Two nights of sleeping on nothing but the forest floor and a tattered quilt are doing an absolute number on my back,” I said, “And I want a drink. I’ve been through quite a bit, need I remind you, and I want some rest and recuperation. Especially if we’re nearing these friends of yours. Put my best foot forward, and whatnot.”
Marilyn was quiet for several seconds.
She sighed. “Fine. We’ll stop for the night. But if we get recognized, you can’t get pissed at me if I have to kill a few people to allow for our escape.”
I rolled my eyes for no audience at all. “Sure. Because I’ve got such a handsome and notable face.”
“Don’t worry. If the sketches don’t include your forest of chest hair, you’re probably safe.”
**
The sketch did include my chest hair. I couldn’t decide whether I was offended that the artist had thought it necessary to include it as an identifying feature of mine.
Marilyn’s sketch, pinned right beside mine on Bricksford’s notice board, featured her stupid pointy hat. Turns out it was a good thing I’d knocked the thing into the dirt, after all. I was certain it would be the only thing folk would be looking out for.
I self-consciously buttoned my shirt up to my neck. A few stubborn wisps stuck out the top, but it was better than leaving it all hanging out.
Marilyn counted out some money from her stash and pointed me toward the large building in the center of the town. “You get our beds. I’ll buy the supplies.”
“Beans,” I reminded her.
“Shut the hell up about beans,” she snapped, then stalked off in the direction of the open-air market across the main road.
Nobody gave me a second look inside the inn. I paid for the room, two beds this time, and didn’t wait for Marilyn before going up and taking a long, luxurious nap on the straw mattress.
I woke groggy and disoriented. Something had plopped onto my chest.
I blinked, my eyes clearing, and saw a canvas sack tied with string. Just past it, Marilyn glowered at me.
I sat up and opened the sack, peeking inside.
Beautiful, shiny red beans!
“Oh, thank the gods,” I said.
“More like thank me,” Marilyn quipped as she arranged our bags at the foot of her bed.
“I can almost feel the regular bowel movements coming back,” I said dreamily.
“Maybe don’t do that here in our room.”
We turned in early, both eager to get the most out of the mattresses beneath our backs. The light had barely even gone from the sky outside the window before I was drifting away, visions of dancing onion plants playing out behind my eyelids.
It was the middle of the night when I was jolted awake by a vicious pounding on the door.
Next chapter drops July 31st, 2026
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