Chapter Two

As our air-conditioner started spinning outside, I took a look in the fridge and found a jar of pickles. I fished a lovely specimen out and took a bite. Highest, I loved pickles.

Of all the ancient Magicks the Oldton folks left behind, air-conditioning was the greatest and most vital. With the world as hot as it had become thanks to the ancients’ folly, we’d have been miserable without it. My uncle John distilled all our village’s ammonia from the manure our farmers donated, and his wife Naomi kept all our fans spinning year-round. Aunt Naomi had explained how it all worked to me a long time ago, but it flew over my head. As far as I understood, the box by our back door pulled heat from inside and dumped it outside—apparently. And the fridge did the same thing, but it didn’t need a big, outdoor box for some reason. Magick was confusing like that. I still couldn’t wrap my head around how all those waterwheels on the river helped all those wires turn all the hot into cold—but it worked, and the Archivists seemed to understand it, so I suppose it made sense.

I’d kept watch until 2:00 in the morning, then headed home to find my wife fast asleep on the bed upstairs, having herded the chickens back downstairs by herself. I felt bad about missing so many dinners, but all work is good work, and it had to be done.

“Could you get me some jam?” Lynn said, slicing some bread on the counter.

Surprisingly, Lynn hadn’t gone to work today, and I didn’t have to go for another six hours, so we got to spend the afternoon together. Smiling, I handed her the jar and downed another pickle. “So,” I said. “How’s the spinning going?”

Lynn rolled her eyes. “The last vote halved our wool supply, so Melliana had the bright idea to find some wild flax, and somehow, I got roped into threshing it yesterday. My wrists hurt so bad.”

She pouted, taking one finger and tracing it from her eye to her cheek, mimicking a tear.

“Flax—that one’s for linen, right?”

“Right on.”

I almost asked if I could help, but I stopped myself. I’d be the only lad at the spin-house, surrounded by thirty-some lasses. They’d probably mock me the whole time. Call me a “sad lad” like everyone else did. I didn’t ask to seem so mopey all the time, I just liked being alone. When I was alone, nobody had to see my weird, thick jawline, my stupidly broad shoulders, my ugly, misshapen feet. At least my hands weren’t so big and bulky—I’d gotten lucky, given how hairy my dad’s gorilla paws were.

“See anything fun up on the tower last night?” Lynn asked me, finally succeeding in opening the jam jar.

“Uh—I think I saw the witch, actually.”

“I thought she lived way back in the woods,” Lynn said.

“Yeah, but I saw some lady foraging off by the edge of the woods at a quarter past midnight. Picking mushrooms or something. Gotta be the witch.”

Lynn shrugged, then paused, halfway through spreading the jam on her bread.

“Do you think we should go see her?” Lynn asked.

“What? Why?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. “You aren’t sick, are you? Or—pregnant?”

“No, no!” Lynn said. “I’d’ve noticed if I was, and plus, we haven’t been—active—in what, two months?”

“Yeah,” I said, blushing. “Sorry about that.”

“No, no! I knew what I was signing up for, Ronny. I love you, and I don’t need much to be satisfied, same as you. No, hon, I’m just—well, the Mind Healer and I have been talking…”

“Oh, Highest,” I said. “You’re not gonna tell me to go hunting, are you?”

“What? No, you hate hunting. No offense, but if you had to wring a squirrel’s neck, you’d outright faint, Ronny.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said, silently agreeing with her.

“Look, I’m just a bit worried about you.”

“Why is everyone so worried about me?” I said, pulling another pickle out of the jar. “I’m just a normal g—person, you know? Living my life, helping the community.”

Lynn looked hurt, and I set the jar down, then set myself down by the dining room table. “Look, Lynn, I—I get that I’m not as happy-go-lucky as I used to be, but it isn’t that bad, is it?”

For a moment, Lynn just shook her head. “Hon, you haven’t been the same since you took up the watch. It’s just—you know me and the girls would love to have you at the spin-house, right?”

I flushed. “W-well, I don’t think—I mean, why would you assume that—”

“Highest—look, Ronny, you’ve gone to the Archive five times this month, and every single time, you’ve checked out books on textiles. Who reads about textiles?”

“T-the concepts are interesting, is all…”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure.”

“Okay! Okay, I like fabrics. What does that have to do with the witch?”

“I mean, as much as I think it might help to change the scenery, I—I think there’s something a bit… deeper there, you know? I talked to the Mind-Healer the other day, and she said—”

“Yes, yes, mental sickness. I’m not depressed, Lynn.”

She just stared at me.

“Okay, so I’m a little depressed, but no more than everyone else is!”

Lynn went back to her jam, raising her brow and letting out a long, high-pitched sigh.

“How would the witch help?” I asked. “I mean, what would you want her to even do for me?”

Lynn bit into her slice of bread and grinned.

Witches? Magicks? AIR CONDITIONING? What more could this strange, wacky world offer poor Rondren and Lynn? And could it have anything to do with the Gender Bender tag I listed this story under??? Probably not. 

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