Chapter 22

A Priceless Day

Brewer’s Reputation: 600,548.

“From your cabin to the brewery,” she said and traced a line in the air with a pointing finger. “Then another walkway from your cabin to your gardens, and then all the way to my shack. All the paths will connect in the middle and lead straight to each one of your woodland trails.”

“I’d like to put another that goes around my cabin and to the log pile,” I said.

“Not a problem. Take a look at these.” Abigail led me to the edge of the clearing. Beyond the sheltering bubble was a stack of flat rocks. Each slab was smoothed by the sea and wet with the rain. “I’ve started collecting these to use for the walkway. Thrush has been helping me to carry and split them.”

“They’re massive,” I said. “You’re really going to transform this place, aren’t you?”

Abigail became bashful. “I hope that’s all right,” she said.

“More than all right with me. I love the wilderness; adore the flowers. Nature is beautiful. I’m in love with your ideas.”

Abigail’s jovial nature returned to her. There was mirth in her eyes. “It’s my little happiness.”

I turned to gaze at my home in the woods and said, “I’ve always felt bad having logged this place. I think about the trees I cut down to settle here, but they’re just trees, right? I shouldn’t feel bad.”

Abigail heaved a rueful sigh and said, “You should feel however you feel. I certainly have, and I left Salindune because of my feelings. As a result, I became a successful gold rank Brewer. For me, life without beer would be a mistake. Maybe that’s how you feel about your trees. Embrace that. It’s a wonderful thing to feel so strongly about something.”

I felt my soul nod in accord. I smiled and muttered, “I didn’t pick this place to settle down in. I think it picked me. It was getting cold and my travel had exhausted me.”

Abigail’s voice softened. She stepped near and breathed, “Sometimes… …you don’t get to pick the things that draw you in.”

The sky was in her eyes again. They were stormy this time, but day-blue still pervaded the mood of them. Leaves the color of hearts fell around us. Rain pattered upon the sheltering bubble. A tremendous burp rent the air. The hatch of Thrush’s smoker slammed shut.

“Oof,” the beast said from across the clearing. “By my name, that was delicious.” Abigail and I shared laughter as Thrush slapped two massive filets of fish back on the smoker, where it sizzled. The sizzling was soon drowned out by a torrential downpour.

Abigail leaned in to shout over the din. “Come. I want to show you what I’ll be planting next!”

She led me through the clearing to the brewery where Barnacle-eyes was paddling spent mash from one of the tuns. Abigail halted at the wide open doors and gestured to the perimeter. “I want to plant clematis vines here, all along the walls. If I plant jasmine flowers beside them, I think it would be lovely. Your brewery will look like an architecture of flowers.”

“Sounds like a dream,” I said. “Plant everything you want to plant. The more green growing things there are, the better.”

Abigail pulled me along and painted visions of her ideas. Her hands showed me where flowers and shrubs would go. Her voice colored the future of the land with spring. Her enthusiasm had her rolling her sleeves up and planting varieties of flowers in tilled earth. I was an eager passenger to her joy. I knelt in the earth beside her, took seeds, and sowed alongside her. We listened to the din of the rain, felt the sphagnum texture of black soil, delighted in the rich fragrance of freed earth.

After planting several rows of fireweed, We washed our hands.

“You’ve been planting all day,” I said.

“There’s still so much to do,” she said, “but you’re right. I think it’s time for a break and some beer.”

The rain came harder. Shouting was too much effort, so we quietly sat upon barrels in the brewery alongside Barnacle-eyes and watched the water run over the dome of the bubble. Barnacle-eyes was full of life. Her lips were moving, but neither Abigail nor I could hear a word she said.

Abigail was first to share a Memory attribute beer. One of her own. The beer was a blonde ale. It smelled sweet like orange blossom honey. The head was a fine mesh of bubbles. The malt was smooth like diluted gold.

It tasted like juice squeezed from honey. The malt carried a hint of baked bread glazed with a mild syrup. It was one of the smoothest beers I’d ever had. Deceptively simple. Beautifully smooth. A faint breath of kilned malt lingered in the aftertaste.

I was pulled into the memory after my first sip. A memory that took place at the top of a hill which sloped down into thick fog. Long horned goats emerged from the clouds and climbed the hill. The goats looked up and I saw their eyes. Each horizontal iris gleamed brass. Abigail’s arms stretched out, long and reaching; I knew then that I was in her shoes. There was a solitary warmth in her heart. She shared her joy with the goats. That gleam in her heart was one of familiarity. Then they crowded her and bleated. The memory ended with echoes of Abigail’s charming laughter.

“That was a long memory,” I said. “Very sweet. I like your goats.”

“They’re beautiful animals,” she said.

“I’d like to share a Memory attribute lager with you,” I said. “If you don’t mind.”

Abigail was delighted by the offer. I poured each of us a boot’s worth of the lager. Abigail sipped hers first and I watched her live my memory on my ethereal plane. Her expression went blank for half a moment before her jaw fell. Her eyes widened, she leaned forward, and then the memory must have ended.

“Heavens,” she mouthed. “Hawkin—that was amazing! A very short memory, and a little jumbled, but what a thrill!”

The rain had quieted by then and Abigail and I talked shop. She gave me pointers on organizing memories when imbuing beers with the attribute. I took note of making sure to channel the personal poetry of a moment. Her best advice was to emphasize the richest moments of a time and place.

Then we discussed the new ethereal plane some more until Barnacle-eyes sat up in alarm and said, “do you think my sloop is all right? It rained an awful lot. Should I have been bailing?” She began biting her nails.

The goblin leapt off the barrel and bolted out of the brewery. Abigail threw me a look of confusion. I answered by leaping off my barrel and running after Barnacle-eyes.

“Wait for me,” Abigail shouted.

She laughed as she sped across the clearing. Barnacle-eyes headed straight through the bubble, into the rain, and down the trail to the sea. I popped through the bubble after her. I was instantly soaked and the coldness of the rain took my breath. I heard a squeal behind me as Abigail popped through the bubble. Then a peel of her laughter.

I turned to be sure the gold rank Brewer was all right. Her face was lit with glee. Her hair and dress were soaked. I once again shared her laughter. We sprinted down the trail, slid around bends, and fell to our butts a few times. No matter our speed, we didn’t catch up to Barnacle-eyes until we arrived at the dock.

The gangway of Barnacle-eyes’ sloop was pulled down and the goblin was just climbing aboard. We were right on her heels.

The hatch leading to the cargo hold was open. Water had pooled below deck. Barnacle-eyes sprinted into action. She grabbed two buckets, and began bailing water. Abigail used Brewer’s Bubble to efficiently pull all the water out of the cargo hold in one easy action. The sloop rose in the sea, bobbed violently and threw us all off our feet.

“That was amazing!” Barnacle-eyes said after she scampered back to her feet. She grabbed both of us by the hand and pulled us to the deckhouse. She closed the door behind us and righted some benches for us to sit on.

Abigail was still laughing and Barnacle-eyes cackled with her. I was also breathless. I used my Fire and Roast skill to warm the space, and Abigail helped to increase the intensity. In just a few minutes, we were dry and toasty.

“Wow,” Barnacle-eyes said. “Thank you so much, Hawkin and Abigail! My sloop could’ve sank; I’d have to ask Thrush to fetch it; what if I lost my hoard; all the silver and gold we’ve been making; maybe I should bury some on a map; we’re safe behind the Mist Hidden wall; that was so helpful, yes helpful; buckets would have taken me forever; what a good, good sloop I built; better than any of Gloom-glower’s; wow, I’m glad you guys were here!”

“You’re right,” I said. “This is a mighty fine sloop. You should be proud of yourself. You worked hard on this boat.”

Barnacle-eyes clasped her hands and performed a pirouette.

“All thanks to you and Thrush,” the goblin said. “Thanks for cutting all the wood.”

“Speaking of wood,” I said. “I’d like to ask for your help. You’ve got the Ship Builder skill and I was wondering if you could help me put together the foundation of a log home. I want to bring it with me to my ethereal plane. Your help would be priceless.”

Barnacle-eyes gasped and said, “Did you hear that? My help is so valuable it’s priceless!”