THE HARVEST OF MOONDEW VALLEY

  BALTHAZAR’S HEART

  D. R. R. HATCH

  Copyright © 2023 by D. R. R. Hatch

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  [Harvestwane. Day: 10. Year: 702. Weather: Clear skies, brisk temperatures.]

  Green, glowing mist trailed from Balthazar’s gloved hands. He placed them on the cool hide of a large, burgundy plumkin.

  “How are you, precious?” he whispered, patting its side. The thing sounded hollow, but as he pressed an ear against its tummy, his skin buzzed. Energy hummed within the fruit, making the grassy hairs on his arms stand on end.

  [Plumkin.]

  Days Till Harvest: (3).

  Status: (Boost). (Blessed). (Empowered). (Revitalized). Water Saturation: 100%.

  Like most of his passive abilities, [Plant Whisperer] had only grown with time. It gave him more insight into plants than most farmers could ever dream of.

  Cold wind blew by, tousling his green beard. He rubbed his hands together, warming them up. Breath puffed from his lips, and although most villagers in Twilight Haven dreaded the oncoming chill, Balthazar couldn’t help but smile and embrace it. Why? Because the chill meant only one thing. Harvestwane is almost over. And if Harvestwane is almost over, the festival is close at hand. He rubbed his hands fast, mist drifting from his palms. Two more days to make this plumkin fatter than ever.

  He placed a misty hand on the gourd. “You’re going to win me the Weigh-Off, darling.” This would be his first year competing. A strange fact, considering I’m the one who started it. These people wouldn’t know, though. Their great-grandparents were in diapers when that happened.

  Regardless, he’d avoided the competition altogether. Starshine Farm was the reason people could grow food in the first place. It was seen as the breeding ground of fertility! There was no chance anyone could stand against his crops. If he showed up, feathers would ruffle.

  But Amara Al-Din’s going to be there this year. The thought of her rose gold eyes and cherry-red smirk made his heart flutter. No other woman had his heart like her. And no other lady ignored him so pointedly. It was like she was bent on refusing his affection merely because of his fame.

  - Ongoing Quest: The Girl of Your Dreams. You have yet to marry, you old fart. Find a good woman and settle down.

  - Objective: Increase your [Reputation] with one of the female villagers beyond [100]. Reward: True Love. Duh.

  He chuckled, pressing both palms against his large, luscious plumkin. This hunk of flesh was his ticket to completing that [Quest]. And it was only going to get bigger and better.

  “Grow large, grow strong, my sweet, sweet darling,” he chanted, over and over again, activating the [Golden Harvest Ritual]. Green and yellow mist puffed from his hands, flowing into the gourd. It shifted left then right, expanding little by little.

  Leaves spun in the air, near the ever-growing plumkin, and the sound of wind chimes tinkled in the air. They came together, forming into a round clump. Sticks poked out from its sides, and from below, looking like arms and legs. Leaves slid on its face, revealing two dark holes. Orange pinpricks shone within, blinking.

  The whimling floated nearby, waving its arms up and down. Other leaves blew on by, bringing with them the sweet scent of cinnamon. Ten more whimlings formed, joining in on Balthazar’s chant.

  When he was done, he staggered back, shaking out his now cramping hand. [Essence: 150/250]. That…took a little more out of him than he expected. And now, the gourd was twice its original size, looming over him. He whistled and he took another step back, admiring his handiwork. The whimlings still hovered around the gourd, chanting with high-pitched voices as they swayed up and down.

  “Nice fruit you got there.”

  Balthazar spun, mist trailing from his entire body. Sunlight hit his eyes, so he dipped the brim of his hat. A woman peeked from tall stalks, smirking mischievously. Colorful beads adorned her long, dark dreadlocks. Her flesh, the color of the earth itself, was a beauty of marbled wonder. Craghearts were a stunning variety. He always marveled at the Twins’—the gods’—artistic taste.

  The woman stared at him with all-black eyes.

  “Tabene,” he said, straightening his shoulders. “A pleasure to see you.” Not really, but it was rude to say otherwise.

  She crept from hiding, wearing a fitted green robe. Her inner robe, a nice creamy white, contrasted well with her dark skin. “The villagers won’t shut up about you, you know?” She spoke with a thick cragheartian accent, striding up to his prized gourd.

  He stepped in front of her. “What are they saying?”

  “Everything and anything.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, the other on her hip. She wore her usual rough, stone gloves, her fists powerful enough to tear through flesh. One punch, and his plumkin was ruined. “Most are…shocked you signed up.”

  He shifted his weight from one foot to another. “And why’s that?” Get off my property, woman!

  “Just think of it.” She strolled to the left, placing hands behind her back.

  Balthazar sidled in step with her, keeping his back to the plumpkin.

  “Balthazar Wildewood. Caretaker of perhaps the biggest, most successful farm in all of Moondew Valley, joining the Festival of Harvestwane.” She flashed a mischievous grin. “Sounds a bit unfair, huh?”

  “I think it’s about time I participated.” He cleared his throat. I mean, the festival wouldn’t exist without me.

  “They’re worried, scared, even.” She stopped and brushed one of her beaded locks behind her ear.

  They were standing behind the plumkin now, with a clear view of his entire property. Rows and rows of bushes, stalks, and trees bearing colorful fruits and vegetables of every conceivable sort and kind stretched on for miles. Everbloom Mound towered near the far end, its shadow stretching across the lapping waves of Crescent Lake. “You don’t want the people scared, Balthy. You know what happens when fear takes over.”

  Balthy? Didn’t I tell her to stop calling me that?

  “Tabene,” he said, forcing a chuckle. “It’s just a festival.”

  Tabene cocked a dusty brow, seeming to say, Seriously?

  And she had every right to. Harvestwane wasn’t just a festival, and he knew it. People from all over Moondew gathered to participate, and even more showed up just to watch or place bets. Livestock was on the line. Twins, property was at stake. His included. If he lost, half of what he owned went to the winner. But I’m not going to lose.

  He patted his fat plumkin. “Everything’s going to be fine.” He would win. And when Amara Al-Din saw it, nothing would keep her from falling for him.

  “All right, Wildewood.” She raised her hands. “You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  A kind gesture, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she used this moment to sniff out the competition. No. That wouldn’t make any sense. Tabene didn’t care about Harvestwane. She cared about people. It’s why she started that dojo of hers.

  His heart stirred. She treated her students like a loving mother. A good woman. Really, she was. But she had a hard time leaving him alone. Why can’t she find someone else to bug? His heart ached at that, causing him to start. He shook his head, brushing the pain aside as he turned, placing a hand on his prized gourd. Balls of mixed leaves poofed into existence, dancing around him. One sat on the plumkin’s thick, white stem.

  Tabene wasn’t trying to bug him. She loved him. He knew it. But he couldn’t give in. Not with Amira on the horizon. She was the one for him. All of his previous seven failed relationships led to her.

  Tabene was there, through them all. His heart warmed, but he quickly shook his head, trying to get her out. Little warm hands poked his hand, which was resting on the plumkin. Whimlings waved at him.

  “Protect this,” he whispered, looking at each one in turn.

  They nodded, whispering their ascent.

  “Protect it,” he commanded the earth. It shivered beneath his booted feet, giving a sharp hum of agreement. The crystal in his chest stung. He winced, placed a gloved hand over it. Using his authority took more and more out of him these days. Twins, he hadn’t even sensed Tabene’s approach. What was he, a [Level 1] Caretaker?

  Starshine would obey, though. Yes, his authority ebbed and flowed, and this command might not work the way he wanted it to, but he didn’t have anything to worry about. Even if the villagers were afraid, they were good, civil people. Not barbaric savages.

  Which reminds me….

  There were a few things he needed to pick up in town. It had been awhile since his last visit. Maybe showing his face would help ease the tension. It was easy for a man to fear a distant competitor; but what about a friendly, approachable one?

  Tabene was no longer in sight. When had she burrowed? He didn’t watch her leave. No worries. Even if she stayed, his gourd was safe from harm. At least for now.

  With that, he found a path and marched toward Twilight Haven.

  Twilight Haven was unlike any other in the Valley. A massive white tree, jutting from the cobblestones, reached its thick limbs high into air. Stardrops hung from branches, looking like tiny blue-white gems. Leaves of silver flapped in the wind, birds with velvet petal-feathers lodging there for warmth.

  Villagers mingled all around the thick trunk, children playing in the town square ahead. As Balthazar passed through the surrounding crowd, people turned and waved, calling out and smiling.

  Vespins—with their fox ears and tails—ran up to him, grabbing his hand and shaking it, asking about his morning. Scyllians—with their blue or green scales—watched him with yellow eyes, waving with webbed fingers. Humans—with their various shades of tan—slapped him on the shoulder, welcoming him into town. There weren’t any grasskins, sadly. His relatives were few and far between.

  “Mister Balthazar Wildewood,” a man said, rising from his seat near the tree. “I did not expect to see you here till Harvestwane.” His tall, pointed hat made up for his squat stature, his long white beard brushing the cobblestones.

  Balthazar bowed at the waist, paying his respects to the village elder.

  “None of that, none of that,” he said, waving his hands. “I should be the one bowing to you, son.” He chuckled.

  “I’ve heard a…rumor, Elder.” He glanced around at the loudly chatting villagers. Several watched, but kept their distance.

  “And what rumor is that?”

  “People are upset with me.”

  The elder snorted. “Upset? With you? Balthazar, I don’t think you could get a rise out of someone even if you tried.” The elder let out a loud, hoarse laugh.

  Balthazar leaned in. “It’s about my involvement in Harvestwane,” he whispered, glancing to make sure no one heard.

  He stopped laughing. “I see.” He adjusted his mantle, which hung around his shoulders. “There are…some…people…who are a little upset about that.” He forced out a laugh, and it sounded painful. “But it’s nothing, Balthazar, it’s nothing! I’ve got the whole thing under—”

  “Hey!” someone shouted, sounding angry. “Are you Balthazar?”

  Balthazar spun, Essence coursing through him. A bear of a man stalked over, his arms bulging with muscle. His tight tunic showed off square pecs. “You him?” he yelled, gripping the hilt of a sheathed broadsword.

  He whispered a spell, activating [Solstaria’s Heat]. More than half of his Essence burned away, boosting his [Attack] and [Defense] by [100] points. Heat haze drifted off of him, and, if he wanted to, he could call on the whimlings of Solstaria for aid.

  “I said”—he drew his sword—“are you him?”

  People were backing away now, a few crying out in fright.

  Balthazar squared his shoulders. “I am,” he said, words reverberating.

  The man’s hard expression softened. He dropped to one knee, and stabbed his sword into the cobblestones. It clanked, chipping the pavement. “Lady Amara Al-Din,” he shouted. “This is the one you’ve—”

  “I know.” A woman’s voice sounded from behind, those two words sending chills down his spine. He turned to find the crowd parting for a stunning beauty in a bell-shaped dress. It was made of a gradient of pink petals, the hem blush pink, the top hot pink. Her strawberry blonde hair was tied up in a symmetrical complex of braids, two antennae poking from the scalp. She blinked vibrant eyes, the color matching her bright red lips.

  [Amara Al-Din]

  [Reputation: 45/100] [Neutral].

  “Lady Amara Al-Din,” Balthazar gave a stiff bow, trying his best not to unleash the power coursing inside. One accidental move, and the entire courtyard would go up in flames.

  “Is it true?” she said, every word a melody.

  “It is.” He could only assume she was talking about Harvestwane.

  “Why now? After so many years?”

  He stroked his green beard, thinking how best to reply. “Well, to be perfectly honest, my Lady…it’s because of you.”

  Gasps. Whispers.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Me?”

  “Andolians are fond of the harvest, are they not?”

  She stared, her icy mask melting into a warm smile. “They are.”

  “Well, two days from now, I’m going to bring the biggest plumkin you’ve ever laid eyes on.” He carefully placed hands on his hips, energy surging through his veins. Heat haze continued drifting off his skin. “And, when I win, it’s yours for the taking.”

  The entire courtyard erupted in conversation.

  Amara eyed him, tapping a closed fan against her alluring red lips. “They say your farm is something out of a fairytale.”

  “It is.” No need for humility now.

  “I would love to see it sometime.”

  “Come by tomorrow morning, just before dawn. That’s when Starshine’s at its best.”

  She flicked out her fan, and waved it back and forth. It was made of iridescent flutterfly wings. “I think I will.”

  “Meet me on the edge of my property.”

  Her smile deepened, her eyes slanting dreamily. With that, she turned, and floated off.

  Everyone was in an uproar: girls giggled, boys laughed, women swooned, men stared longingly after Amara Al-Din. Everything was set. This [Quest], the likes of which he’d put off for so long, would finally come to an end.

  As he watched the Lady bob away, a knot formed in his chest. He drew his brows together, touching his chest with the tips of his fingers. Taking a deep breath, he tried forcing the uncomfortable sensation down, but it wouldn’t leave.

  And this wasn’t the first time. Nearly every interaction he had with Amira left him both charmed and unsettled. It’s just nerves. She’s a beautiful woman. It only makes sense.

  That lie used to work. Deep down, he knew there was something off about Amira. But wasn’t there something off about everyone? There was no such thing as the perfect woman. He turned, forcing a smile at the villagers, giving that bear of a man a nod. He glared at Balthazar, squeezing the hilt of his blade. What’s wrong with him?

  He stormed off, heading into town, giving him a clear view of another crowd of bubbly villagers. They were a flurry of motion; kids tugging parents’ hands, people waving arms, friends blathering. There was but one solitary figure, her brown and black marbled skin standing out. She stared at Balthazar, her expression tight with concern.

  “It’s okay,” he mouthed, turning away and heading into town, a posse following him from behind. The village elder slapped his back, laughing merrily, telling him that was the greatest spectacle since Layn Gruff’s drunken yodel.

  He nodded, laughing along, feeling Tabene’s disapproving glare the entire way.

  [Harvestwane. Day: 11. Year: 702. Weather: Overcast. Time: Early Morning]

  Two Days Until the Harvestwane Festival

  Tabene peeked from behind one of the umbrella leaves of Starshine Farm, spying on the perfect man who just so happened to be walking arm-in-arm with a villainous rat. Balthazar, you handsome fool.

  She couldn’t blame the man. Amara Al-Din—with that hourglass frame and perfect skin—was drop dead gorgeous. But it was all a facade. There was something…off about all this—something that might break her potential husband’s heart. And she wasn’t about to let that happen.

  A whimling appeared next to her, this one made of dark mist. She gave it a little wave, and it waved back. Tabene spent enough time here to start seeing the little guys. She wasn’t sure if it was just because they were comfortable around her, or if the magic of the farm was starting to lift the scales from her eyes.

  “How’s the plumkin?”

  “𐌍ዐ𐌕ⶴ𐌉ክᏵ ᏔዪꝊክᏵ 𐌔ዐ ቻ𐌀ዪ.” The little guy pulsed, his words sounding like high-pitched garble. She had a hard time distinguishing their words, but the overall impression they gave off spoke volumes.

  Everything was fine. For now. Should I stay here, then, and keep an eye on ol’ Balthy? He was probably the safest thing on the farm. Still… Seeing that woman hug his arm, and laugh at everything he said, raked her nerves. She clenched stone fists. See if he likes you if I punch that pretty little face of yours. Dark red specks floated around her. Heart pounding, she took a deep breath, shooing away the angersprites. Focus, Tabene. You're a Stonefist! Not a monster.

 

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