Amanita Sporewell's Arc

Chapter 8 of 14

Amanita carried the satchel of loam home and spread it in a wide ring behind her cottage, past the wagon-wheel patch. She worked all morning. Grizak helped her mark the edges with stones. By noon, the new ground was ready, damp and glowing faintly under the sun. Amanita stood back and let herself smile. Then a squirrel dropped out of the elder tree and stared at the loam. It was not the only visitor. A pair of magpies landed on the fence. A hedgehog nosed the stones. Somewhere in the ferns, something larger moved and stopped. Grizak's hand went to the knife at her belt. "Word's out," Grizak said. "That fairy's been talking." Amanita went to the path and listened. She could hear it now — a high, bright voice past the ferns, boasting to anyone who'd stop. The fairy was showing off the etched bottle at the edge of the grove and telling every creature who passed where she'd gotten it. A greedy circle was forming around Amanita's patch by the hour. Amanita ran for her great-aunt's cottage. Myrtle Sporecap was on her step, sorting dried caps into jars. Moss clung to her hat. She looked up before Amanita spoke. "You've got a crowd," Myrtle said. "I can smell the loam from here." "They'll dig it up by dark," Amanita said. "Tell me what to do." Myrtle set down her jar. "You can't hide it. The shine carries. So you stop hiding." She tapped Amanita's chest with a knobbed finger. "Feed the sprites and bring them home with you. All of them. Not for one night. For good." "They belong to the willow." "The willow's loam is in your yard now. Their work is in your yard now." Myrtle handed her a stoppered jug of honey water, larger than the last. "Offer this. Offer the second patch. Half the caps you grow, forever. That's the price." Amanita ran back with the jug against her ribs. At the grove, the sprites were still hunched on the roots. She knelt and made her offer plain — shelter, honey water, half of everything the new ground gave. The blue-capped sprite climbed her sleeve first. One by one, the others followed. Nine sprites in her basket by the time she stood. She walked home with the basket glowing against her chest. The magpies scattered when she stepped into the yard. The hedgehog backed into the ferns. The sprites climbed down and spread across the new ring of loam, caps brightening as they touched it. Grizak let out a breath. Amanita knelt at the edge of her patch. The ground was safe. She had traded away a garden that stayed small for a garden that would hold nine mouths besides her own. She pressed the first spore into the new soil and covered it over.