Chapter 4: Beginnings

Chapter 4: Beginnings

Tuvos, Day 19 of Rhexia

Blinking Moons

Year 602

The brewer’s mind must be as clear as possible to concoct an effective potion.

Any residual thoughts or concerns will make their way into the brew

and can compromise its potency.

—The Brewer’s Practice, 2nd Edition, University of Gradl Press

Stillness. Terrible, terrible stillness...

Evin gasped and felt around in the dirt for the vial she knew she had. It was dark—it was so dark! How long had she been out here?

The town of Liminey was silent except for the ominous storm clouds that filled the sky above her. Little bursts of silent lightning streaked horizontally across the horizon. Not another soul could be seen in the inky streets; not a single window shone with warm yellow light. This wasn’t right at all.

It was as if someone watched her from one of the many strange, still shadows, and that she had been found horribly deficient in some way. As if she had disappointed someone.

Growing more and more terrified, Evin stretched forth questing finges that trembled in trepidation.

There it was. The tiny bottle was half-filled with a minor protection ward for ingestion. The liquid sloshed gently as Evin brought it to her lips and shakily swallowed. Comforted, she glanced up and tried to get her bearings. This was the main street. She was close to the Wheel and Well. Feeling incomprehensibly weak, she stood, nearly falling against a nearby wall.

She would go and find Stacia. Master Stacia could help her.

Evin couldn’t tell what bell it was. If it was nighttime, the strange, orange-coloured light that shone through the storm clouds seemed pulled from the underworld itself. If it was day, it was the darkest she’d ever seen. She reached the shop.

It wasn’t there.

She blinked. The Wheel and Well simply wasn’t there.

Her breath quickened. There. On the other side of the road from the bakery was where it should have been. Wasn’t that right?

She scanned the eerie streets for other familiar landmarks.

Just then, a frightening clap of thunder shook the sky. She felt it in her bones, a deep ache that felt like sorrow, and Evin knelt, pressing shaking hands to her ears.

She opened her eyes wide.

She was in her bed, in her own room, and it was raining outside.

Evin sat up, breathing hard. “What a horrible dream,” she said to the twisted bedclothes in her lap.

She pulled the sweaty blankers to one side and got up, going to the window to look down at the village streets. It was wet, muddy and grey, but it was all still there. She could see the Wheel and Well up the road a bit, still in business. Customers were trickling in and out as she watched. She sighed in relief, then went to her dressing mirror to check her face.

Pale, she thought. But not bad. She’d slept at least.

It was still early, and she had the day off, but Evin decided to go down to the shop anyway, just to make sure all was well.

She dressed slowly, careful to layer. It was still Rhexia so the weather would be mild for quite some time, but steady rains always tended to cool off the air. Evin wore a stretchy eborel long-sleeved smock and covered that with a simple tunic. She tucked thin, dark pants into her trusty boots, and threw a light woven sweater on as an afterthought.

Outside, it was cooler than she thought it would be, and was glad for the precautions she had taken. The rain was a slow, soaking one, dangerous only in its continuity. Several drops struck her nose, and she wiped them away with the back of her sleeve. She tried her best to avoid the puddles, but inadvertently stepped in one, cursing as she felt the chilly water enter her shoe seams and instantly moisten her stockings.

As she entered the potion shop, Stacia looked up in surprise. Custom seemed to be slow but steady.

Evin waved sheepishly.

“What are you doing here?” the older woman asked with an incredulous smile. “You’re not scheduled to work today.”

Evin nodded. “I know. I just wanted to make sure everything was alright.”

Master Stacia glanced around the store. “Fine, as far as I can tell.”

“Good.”

Guiote came around the corner carrying a box of dried echice, ostensibly for grinding. “Hullo,” she said to Evin, surprised.

“Evin came to visit us today,” explained Stacia. “Just to check in.”

“Huh,” said Guiote, bemused. “That was nice.” Echoing the spoken words were the silent ones, What are you really after? And are you here to make the rest of us look bad, perhaps?
But Evin only shrugged.

“It’d be even nicer if you came with the intention of helping with prep,” added the redhead slyly.

Evin grinned at her, saying, “I wouldn’t mind, but Master Stacia spaces out our paid days for a reason, and if she hasn’t the coin to give me today, I’d rather not insist.”

Her master smiled back at her. “You’ve got some room in the schedule to add a few bells, if you’re truly up for it,” she offered.

Guiote brightened. “Oh, good! Evin, it’s just us today,” she said, glancing at Stacia. “With you here, we can get a head start on the week.”

For the next few hours, Evin helped out with sundry tasks at the Wheel and Well while Master Stacia and Guiote took care of the customers.

In the back room, she submerged a batch of wintercress in a vat of cold, clear well water. The ratio needed to be correct; one part water to two parts cress. She allowed the mixture to sit. Later, she would strain off the liquid and keep it, discarding the spent plants. This particular infusion could be used to calm the stomach and sweeten the breath.

She thought about her dream as she worked, glad to be in her beloved shop and helping to support her master and coworkers on this wet, dreary day. It was cozy inside, but the chill of her wet feet nagged at her. On impulse, she removed her boots and stockings cast them into an obliging nearby corner.

There was a knock at the back door, and Evin went to answer it.

A young man with a patchy beard stood in the rain holding a large wooden box.

“Come in!” Evin said, opening the door wider and holding it for him. “What do you have for us?”

The man gasped and shook his head slightly to clear the rainwater from his eyes. “Shipment of valley posy,” he replied.

“Good,” she said. “We’re nearly out.”

He nodded and raised his eyebrows, and Evin realized he was waiting for instructions.

“Oh,” she said. “Just there,” and pointed to the floor near one of the storage cabinets.

He put the box down and straightened, stretching. The posy wouldn’t be heavy, but the large box seemed as though it was awkward to carry, especially in this weather.

“You should go get something warm to drink,” Evin suggested. “Master Stacia gives complimentary brews to delivery people.”

The man seemed encouraged by this, and left her in the back room to go and seek his prize.

Guiote entered some time later, wiping her hands on her eborel apron. The young woman’s red hair was tousled so that half of it formed a little halo about her head and the rest of it remained plastered tight to her skull from perspiration. “I’ve got a lull,” she said, her sharp green eyes taking quick stock of Evin’s progress from her busy hands to her bare feet. “What are you working on now?”

Evin looked up from her ministrations with the pry bar. “Crate of valley posy,” she replied. “I just can’t seem to get it open.”

Together, the two of them wiggled and pushed, and finally the lid of the crate popped free. The thick scent of valley posy assailed them, and Evin breathed in deeply.

The blooms smelled spicy, floral, and somehow creamy. They were all different colours, but most were a faint violet. They needed to be de-petaled.

Evin, Guiote, and Stacia worked for the rest of the afternoon at the Wheel and Well, stocking, cleaning, and preparing for the rest of the week. The rain continued to fall steadily on the busy little streets of Liminey, and Evin considered with satisfaction how nice it was to belong somewhere.

The rain continued the next day as well, and she was back at the counter as if she’d never left.

Stacia gave her a gentle squeeze on the shoulder. “Thank you for yesterday; that really was very helpful.”

Evin smiled at her. “Well, I’ll do just about anything for extra pay,” she said.

The older woman laughed.

“And not many places will employ someone like me.”

Her master’s sharp eyes circled back and met hers faster than summer lightning. “What do you mean by that?” she asked speculatively.

Evin’s eyes danced and she continued to joke self-deprecatingly. “Oh, you know. I spill about one in four potions I work on. I should probably be paying you!”

Stacia looked dissatisfied with this answer and began what Evin expected to turn into a lecture. “Believe it or not,” she started, “I was the same way at your age—”

Suddenly, the front door swung open, taking them by surprise. Tak was in the back room, and Alon would arrive later. The rain had slowed custom considerably, and showed no sign of stopping.

The new arrival was hooded and cloaked against the weather, and dripped traces of rainwater onto the oiled flagstone floor.

“Welcome!” Stacia called. “Please make yourself at home.”

The stranger slid his hood off and Evin noticed he was South Urdan—dark skinned with an almost bluish cast. His hair was rubbed into long, heavy locks, and they spilled over his broad shoulders and down his back.

These travellers were rare up in near the Capital and especially in Liminey, but not unheard of, and Evin had some familiarity with the rich South Urdan dialect and intense eye contact.

The stranger nodded cordially at Stacia, but seemed immediately drawn to Evin.

“Good afternoon,” she said to him. “How may I serve you today?”

He gave her a smile, showing two rows of perfect, white teeth. “As you can guess,” he said in deep tones with a lilt to his accent, “I have traveled a very long way in the past week. Can you recommend something to ease a wanderer’s aching feet, perhaps with something to help me sleep this night?”

Evin nodded. “Of course,” she replied. “She liked it when customers asked for a specific effect without knowing the exact brew they wanted. It gave her room to play and create. “You said you’re experiencing pain?” she asked him.

“Yes,” the stranger answered. “Muscle pain from daily travel, and extra from the rain. I injured one of my feet as a child, and the weather always wakes it back up.”

Stacia had made her way back to the counter and was listening to the exchange.

“Let me think,” Evin said, mostly to herself, and Stacia and the man shared a brief smile as they waited to see what she would do. Then, as though some unseen entity had whispered the perfect answer to her, she went to work.

Evin prepared the brew in a clean glass vial, assuming that the man meant to take it with him. She also decided to make it a philter—quite strong, but still affordable. She created a mixture of powdered arctium and greater trillium shavings, then poured hot water over the dry ingredients to activate the combination. The arctium was sweet and rather pungent, and would sooth general pain while protecting the body from contracting illnesses brought on by stress and damp. The greater trillium, milder in taste, would calm inflammation. Almost as an afterthought, Evin added a few drops of a corydalis tincture, which was a natural sleep aid. Corydalis, also known as Rest of the Gods, was distinct, and that was putting it mildly. Corydalis was downright stinky. It immediately jumped out of whatever mixture it had been included in, but was unparalleled as a sedative. She hoped that the inclusion of the arctium would mask it a bit.

She didn’t notice, but her customer was watching her with interest, nodding to himself with each part of the philter Evin completed.

She felt somehow that the order wasn’t complete, however, and decided on a whim to add a another element to the remedy. The Wheel and Well stocked several salves for topical application, and Evin took a generous smear of hare’s claw from one of the tiny pots. She cast about a little crazily for a container that would be suitable to give away, and jumped when Stacia handed her a clean, shallow jar.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, still preoccupied. She took a little powdered coakum and added it to the salve, stirring it in until the mixture was thick and smooth. Coakum was strong, spicy, and an excellent pain reliever. She lidded the jar, and brought both it and the glass vial back to the counter.

The customer’s dark eyes still followed her every move.

It was time to imbue her creations. Evin brought the arctium concoction to her chest, and closed her eyes. Relieve, she thought. Relieve, Relax, Soothe. Rest, peace, freedom. Sleep. Sleep deeply. Sleep productively. Relieve. She replaced the glass vial on the counter and picked up the jar. She took in a breath and let it out slowly, then closed her eyes again, saying silently to the salve, Cure stiffness. Banish pain. Burn out all tightness. Relax. Release. Cure.

Finishing an imbuement was often like waking from a dream. Evin stirred and roused herself, placing both containers down in front of her customer. She smiled. “Here you are,” she said politely. “I hope these will be satisfactory. The arctium mixture is to be consumed without food for immediate relief. It’s also a sedative, so don’t take it until you’re ready for bed. The effects should last for about ten bells. And this salve—”

“Hare’s claw,” the man finished for her. “And coakum. To be applied on the skin.”

Evin nodded. “Yes. Use as needed. The total is four gems, two shins, and an eccat.”

The customer looked at Stacia, impressed. “Does she know she just made Traveler’s Rest? And that this salve is sold in great cities for much more?”

The woman smiled and replied, “She does now.”

Evin looked from one of them to the other, a little confused. Had she done something wrong?

“Do not worry, little one,” the man said. “You have talent.”

“Thank you,” she said, surprised. “I have an excellent teacher.”

The man dug around in his travelling pouch for the money, and laid the exact amount gently on the counter. “If I may ask, is it your intention to study alchemy in the future? You have quite the gift.”

Evin’s face fell a little, but she squared her shoulders and met the man’s gaze. “I can’t afford the tuition, I’m afraid,” she answered stoutly.

“Ah.”

“But I feel more than adequately prepared to serve in this capacity,” she continued. “The Wheel and Well is the most important potions shop in all of Liminey, and I believe rivals many places even in Daitak Capital. I’m lucky to be here.”

The man seemed apologetic. “Of course,” he said soothingly. “No offense was meant, believe me. Only that if you ever decided you would like to train professionally, I am sure the universities would be very interested. And many of them offer scholarships. Just something to consider.”

“Thank you,” said Evin tartly.

With a brief word of thanks and another knowing look at Stacia, the man concealed his salve and philter in a cloak pocket and went back out into the soaking rain.

Neither of the women inside saw him, but he took down the address of the Wheel and Well on a damp scrap of paper before sauntering on.

* * *

Once, when trees could speak, there was no such thing as a potion.

The Great War between the gods and the Shadow People had finally come to an end. The last spectre had been destroyed, the last nightmare vanquished. Beili the War God, who had led the defence, was exhausted.

The attacks from the Shadow People had been merciless, senseless, and brutal. From the very beginning, Beili had been responsible for all strategy and communication among the Pantheon, and had staved off the majority of the attacks himself. In fact, he had been instrumental in discovering the true intent behind the Shadow People’s occupation on Heladrith.

But that, friends, is another tale.

Once the war had ended, the fighters had been healed and rested, honors bestowed, and proper homage paid to the lost, Calumn God of the Cosmos was dismayed to find that the battle was not truly over.

His friend Beili, who had served so bravely in the war, was not well.

When asked, Beili could not succinctly point to what the problem was. But he could not seem to sleep. At night, he saw shadows everywhere he looked. His lean, muscled frame grew limp and frail, though not for lack of food or company. He simply could not find rest.

The Five Deities of Healing were summoned to minister to him, but even Dota, Deity of the Mind, could not ease Beili. Dota and her sisters pronounced Beili generally sound of mind and body, but haunted by past occurrences in a way that would ultimately damage him if not remedied. This is why today, war sickness is recognized as a true and dangerous ailment.

Without sleep, the shadows under his eyes deepened, and his gaze darted frantically about. He even told Calumn on several occasions that he had spotted shadows hovering nearby. Saddened, the Divine Pantheon withdrew, for no one could support his fevered claims.

When it was thought that Beili the War God would go mad for lack of sleep, Eena the Goddess of Mysteries and Ydos the God of Protection had a conference.

Eena had been experimenting with perishable materials and had found that some of the provisions kept by the Divine Pantheon possessed innate and specific qualities. She brewed a strong tea of corydalis, telling Ydos that she believed it would make Beili fall asleep. But, she warned, it wouldn’t be enough to keep him asleep.

Improvising, Ydos took the tea from her hands and spoke an imbuement over it—the first in recorded history. He poured his psyche into the brew, encouraging the consumer not only to sleep, but to truly find peace. He banished all evil thought and all fell visions, and included his own love, appreciation, and goodwill.

Together, Ydos and Eena administered the drink to Beili. The War God looked at the two of them, sighing in apparent relief before falling at last into a deep, healing sleep.

Each night under the effects of the brew, Beili’s symptoms grew less and less severe.

Ydos and Eena attempted several times to give Beili the tea without the imbuement, but found it to be ineffective and returned to their original procedure.

After one hundred days of this regimen, Beili finally stopped imagining his ethereal foes around every corner and returned to his full and glorious strength. Thanks to the clever invention of Eena and the giving spirit of Ydos, Beili the War God protects the entire Divine Pantheon to this day.

This was the first potion.

And this is why corydalis is also called Rest of the Gods and is still consumed plentifully today.

Bricot scratched feverishly at the blank book with his quill. He had slowly filled the first thirty pages or so with translations from the Facerum, but it was delicate work. He knew that once finished, all of Heladrith would likely read his version of the sacred book. It was daunting—was he saying all that the original authors had meant to communicate? Would his interpretation cloud the original purity of the work? Hardly anyone spoke or even understood Ruqa anymore, so whoever completed the translation would inevitably colour the stories with their own understanding and experiences.

And this began a whole new and wholly more terrifying line of thought.

Was Bricot worthy of this task?

Before he could get too carried away, he was startled by a knock at his chamber door. Thinking he imagined it at first, Bricot sat in silence and waited. When it came again, his concentrated frown eased into surprised appraisal.

“Come in?” he asked more than called.

The door opened slowly, and a chagrined face peered around the corner.

It was young Ger.

“Yes?” Bricot asked.

“Good afternoon, Master Bricot,” the student said respectfully, and sketched an awkward little bow as an afterthought.

“Good afternoon,” the alchemist replied, no less awkwardly. “Ger, was it?”

“Yes, Master,” the young man said. “I had a question about yesterday’s lesson. May I come in?”

It was unusual, but not unheard of. And what sort of teacher would he be if he refused? Bricot had agreed to keep office hours upon his arrival at the university, and those technically included any hours he was not actively teaching.

“Of course,” he said. “Of course.”

He stood, bumping the chair a little in his haste.

If one hadn’t known better, they might think Bricot a bumbling little old man. And he might well have been, sitting hunched over his desk at all times, forever pushing an incriminating pair of spectacles up the bridge of his long nose.

But he wasn’t. He was in his thirties. Curious, clever, and painfully maladroit.

Bricot opened his door as wide as it would go and welcomed Ger inside.

He motioned for the young student to take his place in the desk chair while he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Ger’s eyes lighted on the foreign document lying open on the desktop, and it’s sister next to it, written in the common tongue. “Is that the Facerum?” he asked in awe.

“It is,” Bricot said, nodding.

“Can I look at it?”

“You’re looking at it right now.”

Ger smirked a little, and asked, “No, I mean, can I read some of it?”

Bricot cocked his head. “Is that why you’re here?” he prompted.

“No,” Ger admitted.

“Then, no. But I’d be happy to help you with whatever else you need addressed.”

Ger obediently turned the wooden chair away from the desk to face his teacher. “I just wanted to get some clarification on imbuements after yesterday’s lesson,” he said.

“Of course,” said Bricot. “What specifically?”

“Well,” the young man began, “You mentioned speaking your imbuement versus thinking it, and how beginners often need to state their intentions aloud, vocally, to keep their focus clear.”

“Yes.”

“Well, Master, my family—especially my mother—we all go to the Divine temple quite frequently. And during your lecture on imbuements, I couldn’t help but think of the act of prayer.”

Bricot nodded.

“And I wanted to ask—is it untoward for me to pray to a deity during the imbuement process? Only, that’s exactly what I found myself doing. Like I usually do in times of need; asking for strength, or power, or… you understand.” The young man trailed off awkwardly.

“I do,” Bricot replied. “This is a very common parallel, and is made by most serious students early on in the learning process. You’re not alone,” he reassured Ger. “You shouldn’t be afraid to try it. At the end of the day, all of us imbue our potions differently, and with different methods and feels. At Craestor, we hope to guide you toward finding your best technique without prescribing it for you.”

Ger began to nod.

“In answer to your question, your impulse is not wrong. You are not doing this incorrectly. But a prayer to a deity is also simply not necessary. The words themselves paired with your intentions are enough to properly imbue whatever brew you are working on. However, if this process helps you get through the beginning of your training, then by all means embrace it.”

“Good,” the young man said, a bit hesitant.

“But?” asked Bricot.

“But there’s another problem. I can’t help feeling that I’m just not powerful enough to perform an effective imbuement without supernatural help.”

Bricot frowned. “Ah.” That was a problem.

“My family stressed our fallibility when I was growing up. We were taught to lean on the gods implicitly,” the student explained.

“Believe it or not, this is also not unusual,” Bricot told him after a little pause.

Ger look up, surprised. “No?”

And Bricot smiled. “No. It isn’t. We should train together and work on this. Why don’t we set aside some time for a private tutoring session after the next Alchemy class?”

The student brightened. “I’d like that. You’d really do that for me?”

“It’s my job,” Bricot said. “And I’d be happy to.”