{"product_id":"nell-odell-hates-quests-isbn-9781536243314","title":"Nell O'Dell Hates Quests","description":"\u003cb\u003eWhat happens when the quest finds \u003ci\u003eyou\u003c\/i\u003e, despite your best efforts? A reluctant adventurer sets off on an unexpected journey in this broadly appealing fantasy at once earnest and self-aware, funny and heartfelt, and thoroughly charming.\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNell O’Dell yearns for a quiet life tending her garden and caring for her chickens. Unfortunately, her family runs the bustling Crossroads Inn—accommodating all species of patron from fairies to fauns to half-giants, most of them questers on their way to seek glory and fortune. What’s more, her parents are retired questers themselves, and everyone assumes that Nell will follow in their footsteps. Then the day comes when a letter arrives from the government, threatening the Inn and all that Nell holds dear, and someone needs to go on a short journey to the capital to take care of it. Nell is the only one available—but that's fine, because it's just a boring business trip, not a quest! Even if she does find herself up against an excitable travel partner, a thief in the night, a stolen treasure, and a mysterious knife . . . Lively black-and-white illustrations by the author embellish this breezy, bighearted adventure that will satisfy both longtime questers and first-time visitors to the genre.Martin, a noted voice in the eco-fantasy genre, offers a lively, trope-aware adventure that questions the very idea of heroic destiny. . . . A witty fantasy that celebrates ingenuity and subverts prophecy; a strong pick for readers who enjoy genre-bending adventures.\u003cbr\u003e—School Library Journal (starred review)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMartin’s descriptive worldbuilding and extensive knowledge of fantasy quest tropes breathe life into Nell’s endearingly ridiculous world. The character development really shines. . . . Humor and heart mix in this fantasy romp about learning to see different perspectives.\u003cbr\u003e—Kirkus Reviews\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWritten in a manner that will entice novices to the fantasy genre, the story also has plenty of twists to please those who already appreciate falling into an imaginary world. Martin fills her universe with fantastic creatures and quirky characters who have faults but are full of fun, and readers will happily follow them to the novel’s satisfying conclusion.\u003cbr\u003e—Booklist\u003cb\u003eEmily B. Martin\u003c\/b\u003e splits her time between working as a park ranger and as an author and illustrator, resulting in her characteristic eco-fantasy adventures, including \u003ci\u003eA Field Guide to Mermaids\u003c\/i\u003e, the Outlaw Road duology, and the \u003ci\u003eCreatures of Light\u003c\/i\u003e trilogy. An avid hiker and explorer, her experiences as a ranger help inform the characters and worlds she creates on paper. Emily B. Martin lives in South Carolina.\u003cb\u003eChapter 1: The Golden Crossraods\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAll quests start out on one of twelve roads. Naturally, there’s a place where those twelve roads meet. They straggle together and then outward again, forming a many-spoked wheel trampled by thousands of feet, hooves, claws, and wheels every season.\u003cbr\u003eIn proper questing form, which demands theatrics and symbolism, folk call this the Golden Crossroads. And at the Golden Crossroads, between the spokes of the roads, stands an inn.\u003cbr\u003eTo call it an inn, actually, is an understatement. The property covers nearly a third of the land around the twelve roads. On the first floor of the main building, there’s your typical tavern, where folk can get a good meal, a welcome drink, a rousing song, and possibly a fight or two. A rickety staircase leads to two floors of guest rooms, with beds of all sizes to accommodate most species of patron, from three-foot fairies up to the odd half-giant. There’s a barn out back for horses, ponies, and the occasional rough-and-ready centaur. Sprawling in another wedge of the Crossroads is a campground for those who prefer sleeping in the open air, with a low spot along the creek where bog folk can find wet patches to their liking. On the inn’s other side is a lush lawn leading to a real elvish grotto—well, a replica of a real elvish grotto, constructed of wood and plaster—where questers receive wisdom and travel tips. Behind the inn is a long fenced garden with rows of raised vegetable beds and a muddy chicken run.\u003cbr\u003eOn government documents, its official name is the O’Dell Partners Waystation, Campground, and Travel Agency: Questers’ Bureau Affiliate, but to everyone else, it’s known simply as the Crossroads Inn.\u003cbr\u003eAnd everyone \u003ci\u003edoes \u003c\/i\u003eknow it. No quest can get anywhere without passing through the Golden Crossroads, and few travelers pass through the Golden Crossroads without using a service the Inn offers. Such a profitable location could inspire unsavory business practices, but not under the watch of famed ex-questers Kettleburn O’Dell and Iglisenia of the Opal Cascade. The Inn has fair prices, clean rooms, hearty food, and safe boundaries. It’s the place to get a training session and a weapon evaluation from renowned human ax-warrior Kettleburn before receiving questing wisdom from elf Iglisenia, the Mellifluous Bard. Few places are held in such high esteem by so many.\u003cbr\u003eAt the time of this story, however, the Crossroads Inn was understaffed.\u003cbr\u003eNell O’Dell burst through the kitchen door with a muddy basket under one arm.\u003cbr\u003e“Papa!” she called into the steamy room. “Somebody’s gotten into my garden again!”\u003cbr\u003e“I can’t hear you, love. I’ve got sausages on!”\u003cbr\u003eNell circled the kitchen island, which was crowded with brimming plates and bowls waiting to be served to tavern patrons. Her father, Kettleburn himself, was at the double-wide stove, lording over skillets and pots on every burner. His sleeves were rolled up his burly forearms, and above his full beard, his normally acorn-colored cheeks were ruddy with heat. Despite the hectic atmosphere, he was smiling, and as Nell reached his side, she heard him humming an old chef’s ballad. In addition to being a famous ax-warrior, Kettleburn had been his questing party’s chef. Nell had always suspected that he preferred cooking to fighting.\u003cbr\u003e“Someone’s been in my garden again,” Nell said, tipping her basket to show the measly contents. “They’ve dug up almost all my potatoes! My kale looks like it’s been mowed over! And I only found four eggs—someone’s taken the other twelve!”\u003cbr\u003e“I’m sorry, Nelly Belly,” her father said, flipping a few sizzling sausages from a skillet to a plate. He wiped grease from the tattoo on his forearm of his battle-ax, Magronc. “Is the egg charm not working?”\u003cbr\u003e“It’s too weak to protect the whole garden,” Nell said. “It was fine when the hens laid their eggs in the coop, but since it was destroyed by that feral griffin, they lay their eggs all over. And it doesn’t do a thing for my vegetables!”\u003cbr\u003e“Next time we go to town, we can order a new charm.”\u003cbr\u003e“We \u003ci\u003eneed \u003c\/i\u003eto build a new fence and coop,” Nell said.\u003cbr\u003e“I know, honey, but there hasn’t been time—not without Tiffin and Gabria.”\u003cbr\u003eNell ground her teeth, as she usually did when Tiffin and Gabria came up. They had signed on for the summer—Tiffin to run the tavern, Gabria to help in the training ring and campground—but before spring was over, they had left on a quest to retrieve some magical artifact. Nell, who usually worked in the garden over summer break, was forced to take up their work. She’d barely had a chance to eat sitting down since school got out, let alone work in her beloved garden.\u003cbr\u003e“Has anyone answered our help-wanted ad?” she asked.\u003cbr\u003e“Not a one. In fact, someone took down the broadsheets in the tavern.”\u003cbr\u003e“Again?” Nell blew a frustrated breath. “Who keeps doing that?”\u003cbr\u003e“No idea.” Kettleburn stirred a pot that was beginning to scorch. “Listen, sweetie, I’m sorry about your vegetables, but we can’t do anything about it right now. These dishes need to go out. We’ll talk in the morning, okay?”\u003cbr\u003eIn the morning, her father would be in the training ring, examining rented swords and running folk through tuck-and-roll drills. But he was right—they couldn’t do anything now. The potatoes and eggs were gone. Grumbling, Nell set down her basket and began loading a tray with bowls.\u003cbr\u003e“Which are beef and which are cricket?” she asked, tying her apron around her waist. In the rush, she almost forgot to pull her short chestnut hair back. She carefully hid the opalescent strands shimmering among the brown and tied a handkerchief over her head for good measure, tucking the noticeably pointed tips of her ears underneath.\u003cbr\u003e“Cricket’s in the blue bowls. Oh, and mind those kids by the bar—I think they’ve got a Chosen One.”\u003cbr\u003eNell groaned, the sound lost to the spattering of more sausages. The last thing she was in the mood for was some self-absorbed teenager convinced they were out to save the world. Steeling herself, she pushed through the curtain into the tavern.\u003cbr\u003eThe noise hit her like a blast from a mage’s spell. It was peak questing season, and every table was packed. Adventuring parties laughed and argued and plotted, pounding tables in excitement or leaning together in conspiratorial whispers. Bards twanged instruments and sang encouraging ballads. Scarred warriors thumbed their blades and cracked their knuckles. Mages tested spells, chanted over books and crystals, or polished wands. Rogues in dark hoods lurked in the shadows. Rangers studied maps, medics sorted herbs, and even those with no obvious jobs jostled and clamored and sang with vigor.\u003cbr\u003eThe pandemonium wasn’t unexpected—it was only a few days before midsummer, and things always \u003ci\u003ehappened \u003c\/i\u003eat midsummer. Prophecies came true. Secret messages were revealed. Firstborn sons and orphaned daughters came of age. The only difference this year was that instead of tending and harvesting ingredients for her father’s dishes, caring for her chickens, and completing the odd jobs of the high season, Nell was right in the thick of the rowdy crowds, trying desperately to avoid attention.\u003cbr\u003eShe maneuvered around a human girl with two long red braids who was leaning on a wooden staff and reading the broadsheets plastered to the wall. Nell looked for her parents’ help-wanted ad, but her father was right—it wasn’t there. Instead, her gaze slid to the boldest advertisement: a marketing piece from the Questers’ Bureau, the government department that oversaw the adventuring industry. In huge letters, it proclaimed this summer’s most sought-after prize—a Starshell egg.","brand":"Candlewick","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":48233429336293,"sku":"NP9781536243314","price":18.99,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9781536243314.jpg?v=1767733611","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/nell-odell-hates-quests-isbn-9781536243314","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}