Explanations

The wheels of the cart creak as we roll back into the village. Every bump, every jostle of the sacks we barely managed to trade for, grates against my nerves.

We lost too much.

The merchant had us cornered, and I had no choice but to give in. And he—he only made it worse.

Nate sits beside me, quiet for once. Good.

I don’t even wait until we reach my house before turning to him. "Inside. Now."

He hesitates. "Shouldn’t we—"

"Now, Nate." My voice leaves no room for argument.

He follows. The moment the door shuts behind us, I round on him.

"What the hell was that?"

He blinks. "What was what?"

I step forward. "You—jumping up like an idiot, shouting about plants in front of the merchant! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

He flinches slightly. "I… yeah, I know. I messed up."

"Messed up?" My voice tightens. "If I didn’t cover for you, we could have lost everything. Do you even understand what that deal cost us?"

Silence.

He shifts on his feet, glancing at the floor. "I—look, I didn’t mean to mess things up, okay? I just—" He exhales sharply. "The potatoes, Io. They’re important."

I cross my arms. "And why is that? Why would a plant no one wants be so important that you risked revealing yourself?"

His jaw tightens. "Because there’s going to be a famine."

The room goes still.

I stare at him. "…What?"

He lifts his head, eyes serious. "Think about it. The merchant was bragging about rising wheat prices, right? Said nobles were filling their silos? That means they know something. Maybe the harvests are bad, maybe there’s a drought farther south—whatever it is, they're preparing."

I narrow my eyes. "And you figured this out how?"

He swallows. "I just—listen, back where I’m from, this kind of pattern usually means something big is coming. High wheat prices, stockpiling—people who control food don’t do that unless they think there won’t be enough to go around."

I watch him carefully. He’s a bad liar. He dodges, he deflects—but right now? He’s certain. Too certain.

"You talk like you’ve seen this happen before."

He hesitates. "I… studied things like this. A bit."

A half-truth.

And that means there’s more he isn’t saying.

I exhale through my nose. "So what, you thought potatoes would save us?"

"Yes." His answer is immediate. "Wheat is vulnerable. It fails in bad weather. Potatoes don’t. You can plant them late, harvest them faster, and they grow underground where they’re harder to ruin. If the merchants are right and a famine is coming, then this village needs something to fall back on."

I keep my arms crossed, letting his words settle.

He could be wrong. But I don’t think he is.

And that bothers me more than anything.

I sit down at the table, drumming my fingers against the wood. "You bought us a bunch of useless plants based on a hunch, nearly exposed yourself, and made me lose a sack of wheat."

He winces. "I—yeah. That’s about right."

I lean back, watching him. "If you're wrong, you’ll work double to make up for it. And if you’re right…" I glance toward the door. "We might be the only ones who know what's coming."

His expression shifts, just slightly. Not relief—something else.

I sigh. "We’ll plant them."

His shoulders relax. "Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet." I point a finger at him. "You still have a lot of explaining to do."

###

I have survived. Barely.

I think I’m not dead only because Io saw something in my rambling. If I had sounded any less sure, I might have been tossed out on my ass already. I’ll need to really explain myself better next time.

She’s still staring at me, arms crossed, like I’m some roadside peddler trying to scam her with miracle water.

“Alright, thinker,” she finally says. “You keep insisting these weird brown lumps will save us—but let’s start with something simple.” She steps closer, tilting her head. “Are they even edible?”

I blink. “Yeah?”

She narrows her eyes. “You sound unsure.”

“I am sure,” I say quickly. “I’ve eaten them before.”

Silence.

Her expression doesn’t change.

“You’re expecting me to just believe that?” she presses.

I sigh. “Fine. I’ll prove it. I’ll cook some tonight.”

Io snorts. “You? Cook?”

I scowl. “I can handle boiling a potato.”

She raises an eyebrow. “And if they’re poison?”

“They’re not poison.”

“And if they are?”

I cross my arms. “Then congratulations, you get to say ‘I told you so’ over my dead body.”

Io scoffs. “Not a great plan.” But then she waves a hand. “Fine. But I’m watching.”

###

I stare at the dirty, knobby potato in my hand. This should be easy.

Io watches from across the room, arms still crossed, skepticism practically radiating off of her.

“Any last words before you keel over?” she asks dryly.

I roll my eyes and start scrubbing the potatoes with a rag, trying to get most of the dirt off.

Io tilts her head. “What… are you doing?”

I glance up. “Washing them.”

“Why?”

“…Because they’re covered in dirt?”

She looks genuinely unimpressed. “So? Just peel it.”

Peel it. Right. That’s probably how they deal with root vegetables here. Do they even eat root vegetables?

I don’t have a knife, so I leave the skins on. If this world doesn’t eat potatoes, they probably don’t eat them properly either.

I get some water boiling over the fire. The moment I toss in the potatoes, Io frowns.

“That’s it?”

“Yep.”

She exhales sharply and leans against the table. “We’re wasting time.”

“No, we’re not,” I say, poking the boiling potatoes with a stick. “Give it time.”

After a while, the skins start splitting, and the water turns cloudy. They’re definitely cooking. I stab one to check if it’s soft. Perfect.

I fish them out, letting them cool slightly before peeling one with my fingers. The golden inside steams as I break a piece off and take a cautious bite.

Soft. Starchy. Even without salt, it’s fine.

I glance at Io. She raises an eyebrow. “Well?”

I chew, swallow, and grin. “I’m still alive.”

She rolls her eyes. “Give it an hour.”

I break off a small piece and hold it out to her. “Just try a bite.”

She stares at me like I just suggested eating a rock. “I watched you dig these things out of a sack no one wanted,” she says. “I’m not eating that.”

I shrug and take another bite. “Suit yourself.”

Io sighs heavily, then snatches the piece from my fingers. She eyes it suspiciously before popping it into her mouth.

She chews.

She doesn’t immediately spit it out.

Her brow furrows slightly.

“…Not bad.”

I smirk. “See? Told you.”

She flicks a potato peel at my face. “One bite doesn’t mean it’s a miracle food.”

“But it does mean I didn’t poison myself.”

She exhales through her nose, rubbing her temples. “You better have a damn good explanation for why you think these things will ‘save the village.’”

Oh, I do. And I can’t wait to tell her.

###

So, this is it.

The moment of truth.

I’m sitting across from Chief Alric, the man who decides if I get to keep breathing comfortably in this village, trying to explain why potatoes will save them from starvation.

Io made it very clear last night—if I wanted her to take this seriously, I had to explain myself properly. Not just to her. But to him.

The wooden table between us feels far too small for how much weight this conversation carries.

Alric sits with his arms crossed, expression unreadable, studying me like I’m still an outsider—someone who, despite his usefulness, is yet to be trusted. Io, seated beside him, is unusually quiet. That’s not a good sign. Either she doesn’t fully buy into this yet, or she’s waiting to see if I’ll dig my own grave before stepping in.

A small fire crackles in the hearth, casting long shadows against the rough stone walls of the chief’s home. The scent of burning wood and something faintly herbal lingers in the air.

I take a slow breath. I have to make this count.

Alric drums his fingers against the table, voice calm but firm. “Io tells me you have… an idea.”

I glance at her, but her expression gives nothing away. She’s letting me handle this.

“I do,” I say, leaning forward slightly. “It’s about the wheat trade. And… about what’s coming.”

Alric raises an eyebrow. “‘What’s coming’?”

“A famine.”

The air shifts. The fire crackles louder in the silence.

Alric doesn’t react immediately. He just watches me, waiting. Io, however, tenses slightly beside him.

I need to explain this right. If I just blurt out random speculation without backing it up, I’m as good as dismissed.

I clear my throat and begin. “I have reasons to believe that the price of wheat is going to rise dramatically in the coming months. Not just here, but everywhere. The signs are there. Large transports of wheat—under a noble’s banner—moving south. Rising prices in the cities. Merchants are stockpiling. And, most importantly, the dry weather the merchant described. No rain for two months? That’s not just a bad season. That’s the start of something worse.”

Alric narrows his eyes. “And you know this… how?”

Because I’ve seen it before. Because history follows patterns. Because, where I come from, we have entire fields of study dedicated to predicting disasters like this.

But I can’t say any of that.

Instead, I keep my voice steady. “I studied trade patterns. In places I lived before.” Technically not a lie. “It’s always the same. First, a few noble families start hoarding grain. They know what’s coming before anyone else does. Then prices start creeping up. Before long, the towns feel it, and the countryside suffers the most. And by the time the average farmer realizes what’s happening, it’s already too late.”

Alric watches me, his expression unreadable. “And you expect me to take your word on this?”

I expected skepticism, but I need to keep my cool.

I nod. “I do. And I understand why that’s a big ask. But look at what you already know. The price of wheat is already high, and the merchants are refusing to negotiate. The roads are dry—too dry. And powerful people are quietly moving grain to places where it shouldn’t be going. I promise you, by the time the cities realize what’s happening, wheat is going to be worth more than silver.”

A heavy pause.

Alric considers my words, tapping his fingers once against the wood.

Io, still silent, finally speaks. “We saw those carts. And what he’s saying about the merchants makes sense.”

Alric doesn’t look away from me. “And your solution?”

I exhale. “We stop relying on wheat.”

Another silence.

Alric’s brow furrows slightly. “Elaborate.”

I gesture toward Io. “She made a bad deal yesterday—”

Io glares at me.

“—not her fault,” I correct quickly. “The merchant had leverage. He knew you needed to sell and took advantage of that.”

Alric’s expression doesn’t change.

“But,” I continue, “he also sold us something he thought was worthless. Those plants—potatoes.”

Alric leans back slightly. “The brown lumps?”

“Exactly,” I nod. “They’re food. Real, good food. They grow underground, they don’t need the same kind of soil as wheat, and best of all? No one else is growing them.”

Alric folds his arms. “You’re saying we plant these things instead of wheat.”

“Not instead. In addition,” I clarify. “If I’m right, and there’s a famine coming, wheat will be too valuable to eat. We’ll need something else to survive. If we plant the potatoes now, we’ll have a backup food source and something we can trade when the price of wheat skyrockets.”

Another pause.

The chief studies me carefully. Then, he turns to Io. “And you believe him?”

Io hesitates. Not outright dismissing me, but not throwing her support behind me just yet.

“I believe he believes it,” she says finally.

Alric nods once, then looks back at me. “So prove it.”

I blink. “What?”

“You say they’re food. You say they’re worth planting. Fine. Prove it.”

I glance at Io. She smirks slightly.

“Oh, we already did that,” she says, voice dry. “He boiled them and made me eat one.”

Alric raises an eyebrow at her, then looks back at me. “You’re still alive.”

“Yep.”

He exhales through his nose. “I still don’t trust this.”

I swallow. “I get it.”

Alric studies me for another long moment. Then, finally:

“We’ll plant a small batch. Not enough to waste land, but enough to test.” He leans forward, leveling me with a firm look. “If they’re as useful as you claim, you’ll have proven your worth. If they’re not?”

I get the message loud and clear.

“Understood,” I say.

Alric stands. “Good. Then we’re done here.”