Mother of Plenty

“Say it with me. ‘Winged.’”

“‘Winged,’” Nestor repeated.

“Good,” said Airi, turning the page. “Make sure to pronounce it right. Next. ‘The skies opened like a book, and people skimmed the tops of clouds.’”

Nestor repeated that line, too. Under the morning light, they were in the midst of learning the new spell, Tale of Flight. On Nestor's fifth time reading the spell, the wheat stalk in Airi's hand lifted a few inches into the air and fell back down.

“It worked?” Nestor looked surprised. “Usually it takes way longer to learn a new spell.”

“You just need to practice your reading and mana control,” Airi said. “From now until lunch, I want you to try lifting the wheat stalk a hundred times.”

“A hundred?” Nestor said in shock.

“Don’t worry about your mana. It regenerates every day, doesn’t it? And we’re going to Magisbury; there won’t be any monsters. After lunch, we’ll practice lifting it higher. ”

“...Okay.”

She expected Nestor to wear a petulant expression like a child forced to do homework, but there was no reproach in his eyes, only quiet determination. He bent to Tale of Flight and began reading under his breath, and the wheat stalk lifted and lowered into the air.

After lunch, the farmer encountered another cart coming in the opposite direction. The two carts were almost identical, except the other cart was empty. The two farmers stopped to exchange a few words.

“Just come from Harveston?” asked the farmer driving Airi and Nestor.

“Sure did,” said the other farmer, wiping sweat off her forehead. “It’s bad. They need all the food they can get. How soon can you deliver your wheat over there?”

The farmer glanced at Airi and Nestor with a conflicted expression. “Looks like the situation in Harveston is worse than I thought. I’m awful sorry, but—”

“We don’t mind!” Nestor answered. “Let’s go to Harveston first.”

“What’s going on in Harveston, anyways?” Airi asked.

“Nobody really knows.” The farmer reached up to adjust his hat. “Usually we’re the ones getting crops from them, ‘cause half the farms are in Harveston. Then, ‘bout a month ago, we started gettin’ messages from Harveston. Askin’ for food. Only a bit at first: just the extra crops, y’know. But now, half our crops are going there instead of Magisbury.”

This sounded alarm bells in Airi’s head. “And you guys just... gave the crops to them? You didn’t ask what was going on?”

“Well, none of our business, is it? Besides, it’s prob’ly just a bad harvest. We’ve had our fair share o’ those, and Harveston’s always helped us out in those times.”

As they approached Harveston, the fields they passed by became browner and more barren. “See, looks like a dry spell,” said the farmer, nodding his chin at one field, where the soil was overturned. “They must’ve harvested the survivin’ crops in a real hurry.”

The cart arrived at a cozy-looking town. Whereas Stormhaven had red roofs, the houses here all had rounded orange roofs like pumpkins. Strings of flags and lanterns hung across the streets.

The people waved cheerfully as the cart rolled past. For a farming town, they were shockingly thin. One little girl sucked her thumb, her legs sticking out under her like twigs.

Airi’s eyes lingered on the little girl. “Why do they look like they’re starving to death?”

The farmer frowned. “With all the food going straight here? It isn’t possible."

There were piles of crops under the waving flags at the town square. Airi’s doubts vanished when she saw the mounds of pumpkins and tomatoes, stacks of wheat, and leafy mountains of vegetables. It wasn't possible to starve with all this food here.

The farmer deposited the wheat at the town square, where a statue of a woman stood in the middle of a fountain. He smiled up at the statue. “Know who she is?”

Nestor looked up at the statue. “Isn’t that Legendary Mage Elowen? The one who wrote The Sleeping Princess?”

“That’s her. She came from Harveston, all those thousands o’ years ago.”

Airi took a closer look. Even as a statue, the woman was extraordinarily beautiful. Her tumbling hair was crowned with roses, and she wore a mage's robe adorned with roses, too. She held a pitcher, from which water poured endlessly. Her face was carved into a faint smile, as if she were watching over the town.

“Beautiful, eh?” said one of the nearby townspeople. His sunken eyes bulged. “The Mother of Plenty watches over us, even after all this time, making sure our harvests are always plentiful.”

“Plentiful?”

“That’s right. An’ it’s all thanks to her blessing us each night.” He smiled, the skin on his face stretching. “Say, you’re not from Harveston, are you? Wouldn’t you like to witness the Mother of Plenty’s blessing?”

“Yes!” said Nestor.

“Nestor, we’re not staying in this creepy place. Something’s clearly wrong.” Despite the bright sunlight, Airi couldn’t help but feel a chill, standing there in the town square.

“But how else are we supposed to find out what’s going on?”

“We don’t need to find out what’s going on. We need to get to Magisbury, remember?” Airi patted the satchel, where the prince’s letter was tucked.

“But we can’t just let them starve to death!” Nestor looked at the scrawny townspeople, who all wore contented smiles, as if starving to death was the best activity they could imagine. The little girl smiled and waved at Nestor as her legs trembled beneath her.

“Nestor... you can’t help everyone.”

“Isn’t that why I’m becoming a mage?” Nestor said fiercely. “To help people? I mean, I wanted to help Star’s End, but I wanna help these people too.”

Airi sighed. There was no getting around it.

“Well, that’s all. Shall we get going?” said the farmer, getting back onto his cart.

“Actually, could you wait?” Airi hated the words as they left her mouth. “We just want to look around for a bit more. Could we stay till tomorrow morning?”

Night settled in, blanketing the town in a glimmering violet haze. The pumpkin-shaped lanterns flickered dimly through the streets.

The farmer had fallen asleep on his cart, hat over his eyes. Nestor and Airi huddled behind a wheelbarrow filled with pumpkins, watching people gather by the statue, forming a ring. It looked like a bizarre cult, except the whole town was in on it. Everyone looked excited.

Moonlight illuminated the Mother of Plenty's rippling hair. She smiled down at the people, benign as ever. Perhaps Nestor’s fear had been unfounded.

Then the statue began to speak.

"My sweet children," she murmured in a voice like the sound of wind through a wheatfield. "Have you come to receive my blessing?"

Airi couldn’t believe her eyes. If it weren't for Nestor's sharp breathing at her side, she would have thought she were dreaming.

“Yes,” the townspeople breathed in unison.

"Then let us feast, my dear children," the Mother of Plenty said. Airi blinked, and found that the pumpkins and the wheat and the vegetables had disappeared. In their place were long dining tables covered with velvet tablecloths and wine goblets. The wheat had become honeyed bread, and the pumpkins had become pies and soups.

The townspeople cheered and partook in the feast. The aroma was so tempting that Airi and Nestor found themselves sitting down, too. People laughed as they ate. The Mother of Plenty stood in the center fountain, presiding over the feast. Her pitcher of water had turned gold, and from it poured a waterfall of wine.

Suddenly, it was dark. Airi found herself lying on the ground in the town square, hungrier and colder than ever. There were no tables or dishes to be seen. Worse still, she looked around and saw that the crops in the square had all vanished. The townspeople were still there, standing in a ring around the Mother of Plenty.

Had the feast been a dream? A collective hallucination? None of the townspeople looked concerned; smiles lingered on their faces as if they could still taste the wine.

“May your harvests be forever fruitful,” the Mother of Plenty sang soft and low, as if soothing a baby. “May your rivers never run dry."

A voice broke through the entranced crowd. It was the little girl. She took her thumb out of her mouth and said, “But I’m still hungry. My tummy hurts."

The statue’s smile became sweeter than ever, and she stepped gracefully out of the fountain, her robes shifting like real cloth, not marble. It really did look like the long-lost mage had come back to life, a fairytale come true.

The Mother of Plenty approached the child and touched her head gently. “My sweet child, do not listen to the call of temptation. It is the call of the long-banished demon, enticing you from beyond the world’s borders. Listen to me; my blessing shall protect you.”

The Mother of Plenty turned to the townspeople. “Are you happy, my sweet children?”

“Very happy!” they cried.

“Then rest,” she said, returning to the fountain. “Rest, and be contented with your harvest, and know that my blessing watches over your slumber.”

Airi stared in horror. She wasn’t staring at the town square, now empty of crops. Or even at the townspeople, filing dreamily back to their homes. She was staring at the statue of Elowen, because when the statue had spoken, its perfect lips had opened, and Airi had seen what was inside her mouth: pale violet crystals rather than teeth and a tongue.

The Mother of Plenty was a monster.