The Slime Farmer - 122 Scyllarelis

It was still early, the orphanage kids would be readying for school; he decided not to inflict on them his pensive mood and turned toward the market instead.

The dawn market was livelier by far than in the summer. The warehouses, the northern and southern marketplaces, and the town square, all were allocated to smoking and preserving part of the massive autumn catch for the community.

In a town where there were more fishers than farmers, it was a big commotion every day.

Each year, the town hall buys part of the autumn catch to do this, storing the preserved seafood in the warehouses. What do they do with it?

One, to feed the people during the three-day autumn feast.

Two, to send preserved food to all the soldiers who are from the Lowpool.

Three, to keep as town stores for the snowy winter months. In the middle of winter, the town opens the warehouses to sell the preserved seafood at very reduced prices.

Four, to feed people during the week-long midwinter feast, the Sunsbirth Candle Festival.

Ascharon’s Candle Festival occurs traditionally during the last three days of the old year and the first three days of the new year, more than two months after the autumn feast, and right before people start readying for the planting season.

In this way, the festival revitalized the population at the beginning of the year. During a harsh winter, some families might only make it through because of the Candle Festival.

Defi knew that in many places north of Ontrea, snow fell at the end of the year. Still, he could not imagine a winter of snow so difficult that people starved.

It rarely snowed in Ontrea.

In his lifetime, the only time enough snow fell to blanket the landscape was when he was three years old and it was an occurrence talked about even fifteen years later.

In the last few weeks or so, seeing the tumult and carefulness of the preparations for the autumn feast, Defi always felt he should be doing more than he already did to ready the Garge homestead. Even if the others reassured him that he’d made more than enough preparations, how could he look at the entire town so industriously and frantically working like ants or bees and not be stirred?

Once more, he told himself to trust in the experience of those who’d already lived through many Lowpool winters.

Still, what a wondrous humbling sight, everyone helping in one way or the other, laughing and calling to friends.

One would almost be ashamed if they were only walking leisurely through the market.

He put a hand out to steady a toppling tower of baskets, then lifted them himself. The small girl and her grandmother hauling the baskets protested, but Defi insisted until the grandmother could only laugh and direct him to where they were supposed to go.

“Oh?”

Or rather, a particular tree in a pot that was part of the flower stall display.

It couldn’t be.

He all but rushed to the stall and stared.

Three-lobed palm-sized silver-green leaves, red and yellow flower balls, vividly red and orange fruit clusters.

He was not mistaken.

It was a young papyrif tree.

Defi had only ever been to the family papyrif plantation once, but all the distinctive points of the tree were the same.

“Young mestre, this is our last trident shrub. Very popular in the cities for indoor decoration. My husband and I don’t often get trident shrubs, so this is likely the last one in town until next spring.”

“Trident…shrub?”

Defi thought that the Acharonian word ‘shrub’ meant a plant with woody trunk that is smaller than a tree. Papyrif trees could reach ten times the height of a man; it was not ‘small’ at all!

The motherly-looking stall-keeper’s eyes smiled. “You do not know it? Then young mestre has good eyes. The trident shrub is one of the most beautiful ornamental plants in Ascharon.”

Defi didn’t know what to say, and only looked at her speechlessly.

Ornamental?

The papyrif tree was one of the most productive trees in Ontrea.

For thousands of years, the bark of the papyrif tree has been the traditional ingredient in the making of Ontrean paper. The bitter fruit could be used to make pale yellow or pale red dyes.

Not to mention the distinctive three-lobed pattern of the leaves, which admittedly looked like that trident he saw at the blacksmith shop, was one of the official symbols of the Ontrean king’s family.

How could it be ornamental?

The stall-keeper must have seen something in his face. Her smile retreated a bit, and she waved at a plant hidden behind the larger flowerpots.

“Perhaps the young mestre would like this snakebraid plant instead? It has travelled by caravan all the way from the east. Also very rare. It will add a distinctive flair if you place it in a reception hall.”

Defi glanced at the snakebraid and nearly flinched back. How could a plant look so realistic? He had seen nests of baby vipers that were less menacing.

“No, no.” He coughed. “This trident shrub, you say it can live indoors?”

“Of course! It only grows to about three or four mar in height, and is easily trimmed. Most rooms can accommodate it.”

Four or five mar?

Defi brushed his fingers against the leaves, feeling the slight hairiness of the leaf underside. Even that was the same.

It could be that it was a pygmy species of papyrif. A native analogue of Ontrea’s tree.

Or it could be a transport that came through the Gate, like he did. Didn’t he hypothesize that the effect of Ascharonian soil on Ontrean plants would be unpredictable?

“I’ll take it.”

The stall-keeper beamed. “Of course. Just three klauds, young mes—look out!”

The sound of breaking pottery, a wash of hot liquid soup over half the plants in the stall display.

The stall-keeper cried out in dismay, then stomped over with a fierce face very different to what she showed the customers, prepared to berate the young man who was looking in horror at the large broken jar and the spilled fish soup that was to be for the workers.

Before she could say anything, someone screamed. It was right beside Defi, high with a freezing terror.

He whirled, eyes sharp, knife already in hand.

“What in Chelua is that?!”

“Get the child away!”

The shock from the surrounding people spread quickly.

Defi saw the snakebraid plant twining around the arm of a young boy, who looked fascinated despite the horror in the faces around him.

He huffed. Snakebraid. Of course it was evil.

Defi, with the Current already rising to answer his need, lunged.

He was not the only one who did so. But he was the fastest, severing the persistently reaching tendrils as another man pulled the boy away.

Blood splattered on the market cobbles, and Defi saw that the exotically patterned tendrils of the ‘ornamental plant’ were in fact actual snakes.

The hot soup from the jar must have wakened them from slumber or hibernation.

“Scyllarelis! It’s a scyllarelis!”

Defi heard them, but the name meant nothing to him. A mystic beast maybe?

He sought to err on the side of caution, and readied for combat.

The Current swirled with purpose, into the Fifth Circle, and Defi evaded the dozen or so snake-tendrils that shot out toward him.

It was one beast, he realized. The snake-vines curling and springing from its center were its numerous heads.

He dodged one of the snake-beast head’s swift lunges, twitched at seeing needle-sharp teeth in a mouth wider than should be possible.

How was it possible that someone mistook this malevolent atrocity of a creature for a plant?