Authors: Kate Sparkes
I was the last to arrive for the day. A dozen Potioners stood at the long, stone-topped tables that spanned the width of the room. Each station was better-equipped than any place I’d ever worked. I stepped closer to the nearest station, ignoring the irritated look its occupant shot me. Sophisticated filtration and distillation systems made of glass and metal took up the rear of the table, along with adjustable flame-lights, a set of razor-sharp metal and duller stone knives, and a few other items I didn’t recognize. Underneath each table were stacks of bowls in varying sizes and materials, plus mortars and pestles, spoons, sticks, and other implements.
I turned toward the door and the wall beside it, which was covered in polished wood cupboards. I suspected that if the workstations didn’t have something we needed, we’d find it there.
“Incredible,” I whispered.
Myk grinned as though he’d had the place set up for me himself. “Not bad, right? Better than back in—where did you say you were from?”
“Cressia.” I realized my mouth was hanging open, and closed it. Had my situation not been so dangerous, this would have been paradise. And there—a set of doors in the wall perpendicular to the windows. That had to be where they kept ingredients. Even from this distance and through sturdy doors I felt magic calling to me.
An older woman with steel-gray hair pulled back into a severe bun gave me a curt nod as I took up a position at the empty workstation next to her. She was working on what I took to be a simple healing salve. I hoped Sara had something more challenging for me.
Sara spoke to a nervous-looking girl near the large window, then approached me.
“Did you sleep well, Nox?”
“Very,” I lied. “Thank you.” In fact, my dreams had been nightmares of fire and burning flesh.
“Excellent. Will you join me in the pantry for a moment?”
Would I? It was all I could do to keep from dancing my way over.
Ulric’s cure is in there,
I thought.
I know it.
Don’t think about it. Pay attention to the present. The rest can wait.
I followed Sara through the thick wood-and-iron doors and froze again as the atmosphere and power of the place washed over me. I was accustomed to seeking out magical plants in the woods, where I might find just a few truly useful items in a field or forest glen if I were lucky. Here, the challenge would be to not become overwhelmed by the possibilities.
Rows upon rows of shelves lined the walls and stood on the floors, every one covered in neatly-labeled baskets, jars, canisters, bowls, and boxes. Herbs, most of them unfamiliar to me, hung from drying racks on the ceiling near the door.
Sara placed her hands on her hips, inhaled deeply, and watched my reaction. “Amazing, isn’t it? My assistants travel to the ends of the world to collect all of this.”
“That must get expensive,” I whispered, imagining great ships sailing away and carrying back this precious cargo.
“Our king is more generous with and respectful of Potioners than most Sorcerers are,” she said softly, and I got the impression that she took full credit for that. I wondered about the exact nature of her relationship with Severn, but didn’t dare ask.
I closed my eyes to take in the feel of the room. Though nearly all of the ingredients were sealed away in jars or wooden boxes they still clamored for my attention, shouting their properties, benefits, and potential dangers. I sensed them as vibrations, as faint lights, as an odd feeling at the back of my throat. It was a delicious sensation to feel such power, and yet I thought I might collapse under it.
When I opened my eyes, Sara was smiling. “You do feel it, don’t you?”
“Don’t we all?”
“Sadly, no. Not the way you and I do.” She reached one delicate hand out and brushed her fingers over a bunch of half-dried flowers I didn’t recognize, but thought might have been a minor component of the bone-setting serum. “It’s not that the Potioners out there aren’t gifted. They certainly are, and I’m glad to have them. They’re healers, and can be perceptive about the potential of ingredients. But there are levels, just as there are true Sorcerers and lesser magic-users.”
I thought of the differences between Mama Bunn and my first teacher, and nodded. “I’ve seen it.”
“You’re obviously gifted, Nox, and your talents were being wasted up north. I don’t know how natural talent like yours came from a place like that, or how it was overlooked for so long. I’m not going to waste it now that you’re here. I have a special project for you today. If that works out, we’ll see about making you my new personal assistant. The last one didn’t work out.”
Oh, that sounds promising.
My heart fluttered. “A test?”
Her smile widened. “I wasn’t going to call it that, but I suppose it is, in a way. I don’t think you’ll fail, you’re a clever woman. Here’s the puzzle. Some time ago, Severn was in an altercation of a magical nature. An unexpected attack that should have killed him, but he thought quickly and survived.”
First name basis,
I noted. “Go on.”
“He returned to the palace suffering ill-effects from using his magic in untested ways. He’d transported his mind and body back here, but he was a wreck. Totally destroyed on a physical level. It was only thanks to his determination to live and the efforts of myself and a team of physicians that he pulled through. I want to know what you would have done in my position. Make me one potion that would have saved him.”
I looked around the room. “I can use anything I find here?”
“You may.” She turned to leave.
“Sara?”
“Hmm?”
“Was his magic affected?” When she frowned, I added, “It affects my theoretical treatment options.”
Her expression softened. “Of course it does. I knew I was right about you. Let’s say it was affected, just for the sake of this test. Good luck, though I doubt you’ll need it.” The door clicked shut behind her.
My heart leapt again, this time at the realization that I had just been left alone in any Potioner’s dream, surrounded by more powerful ingredients than I’d even imagined when I considered Ulric’s problem. I had to bite back a laugh of disbelief. The fear and pain I’d endured to get to that room faded to insignificance as I turned my attention to the substances that called out to me.
A person could become drunk on this,
I thought, and wondered how anyone could become as accustomed to it as Sara seemed to be.
I wandered the rows of shelves and realized she hadn’t given me a deadline. I’d assume the end of the day, unless she told me otherwise. My fingers trailed along the edges of shelves until I felt something interesting, and then I opened a few jars, just to explore. There wasn’t nearly enough time to familiarize myself with everything.
Think, then.
My approach was obvious. Improving a Sorcerer’s magical strength would help his physical healing. I’d seen it in Aren not long before. When in Darmid and away from a strong source of magic, he’d been unable to heal himself. I’d bridged the gap with potions, and once we got closer to Tyrea, his magic had been restored and he’d healed.
As I took in the potential in this room, a smile spread across my lips.
I can do this.
I would pass this test, and then I’d surely find Ulric’s answer once I’d earned a little trust and freedom. Getting that potion out of the city might be a problem, but I could do it.
I
would
do it, by whatever means necessary.
The room was organized by type of ingredient. Flowering plants in one area, whole and in parts. Reeds in another. Magical catalysts. Shelves of null items that held no power themselves, but would assist in reactions—sands, waters, metals, slabs of stone, chunks of wood. Within each section, items were shelved by the region they’d come from, and seemed to be set out roughly in order of how powerful the magic within them was. Simple enough, if one knew what she was looking for. Less helpful for me.
At the rear of the room I came upon the animal ingredients. I’d never liked using them, save for the occasional insect or small rodent, but sometimes it couldn’t be avoided if one wanted a specific and reliable result. Eye of newt, though somewhat useless, always impressed folks for some reason when they heard we’d included it. Salamanders were actually far more powerful, though the fiery little buggers were difficult to come by.
Bundles of feathers covered one shelf, labeled with hanging tags. Red parrot was new to me. Eagle. Robin. Harpy. Aeyer. I shuddered at that last. Ingredients taken from the winged people of the mountains came a little too close to home for my tastes. Though I’d used my own blood in potions when necessary, I generally drew the line at asking people to consume anything remotely human. Besides, where would one get the ingredients save from the dead? And to desecrate them would be unthinkable.
Apparently this wasn’t an issue for all Potioners. I pulled back a curtain that covered another section and leaned closer to read the labels, gasped, and let the curtain fall.
A jar of eyeballs had been labeled “human,” as had the neatly bunched strips of leathery skin. Vials of dark liquid didn’t bear closer scrutiny. I moved on, hoping my answer didn’t lie there.
On a higher shelf I found several small jars of gold-tinted liquid labeled “mer tears.” In my admittedly limited experience with merfolk I hadn’t found them overly keen on giving them up, and didn’t like to think how someone had acquired these. At least there were no eyeballs on that shelf.
Focus, Nox.
I passed by those and searched the higher shelves, just overhead, which held dragon scales in a rainbow of hues and scraps of their eggshells. I pocketed a bit of shell, remembering Aren’s advice about protecting myself as soon as possible.
Unicorn tail-hairs and horn shavings came next.
Horrid.
A unicorn never shed its horn. The only way to obtain that would be to kill the beast, or somehow trap it, cut the horn off, and release. Either way, that would be the end of the creature.
I turned away, but couldn’t help looking back toward a power that called to me, unfamiliar and beautiful. I reached for a dark glass jar of horn shavings.
They would help. A unicorn’s deep magic would aid a wounded Sorcerer’s power and help open blocked channels, protecting and healing. It was the absolute simplest solution, and I hadn’t thought of it before because I’d never had access to the ingredients.
It’s here anyway. If the unicorn is dead, it’s dead. Just use it. Make the potion, get the position. It’s the only way to get a step closer to Severn’s defeat.
I reached my fingers into the jar, drawn by the overwhelming power of its contents. Even before I touched the thin slices of nacre-like horn, they glowed softly. The essence of an autumn wood reached my nostrils, thick and rich with the scents of moss and mushroom and rotting leaves. A pleasant aroma, to be sure. There was a wildness to it, and the fragrance of the wind caught while racing along the crest of a mountain ridge in the moonlight, with the world at one’s hooves, and all the magic in the world coursing through one’s veins....
I snapped the hinged lid of the jar closed, and the images vanished. A tear slipped from my eye. I’d seen a unicorn’s memory, felt her magic and her life... and she wasn’t a part of the world anymore. A silly thing to cry over, perhaps. Sentimental. And yet I set the jar back on the shelf.
There had to be another way. I searched high and low, feeling the ingredients more than seeing them, grabbing a few items to mix with the dragon eggshell and tucking them deep into the pockets of my apron. Though a few possibilities for my assignment came to mind, nothing jumped out at me the way the unicorn horn had.
“Nox?”
I went back to the door to find Sara poking her head back in.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Just checking on you. You’ve been in here for hours.”
Impossible,
I thought, but the growl of my stomach said otherwise. “Have I? Just enjoying my explorations. You have some fascinating items.”
“We certainly have.” She raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by my enthusiasm. “You might want to start working soon, though.”
I plastered a confident smile on my face until she was gone, then turned and scowled at the shelves. I’d found a component for my blocking potion, but had made little headway on my test. And if I failed that, we were all finished.
I hummed softly, a tune I vaguely remembered my mother singing to me when I was a child. My voice wasn’t much, but the music calmed me.
Come on. I know you’re here. Speak to me.
I tiptoed past each shelf again, arms held out to my sides—humming, feeling foolish, hoping it might somehow help as it had with my work on Ulric’s potion. I ignored the obvious power of the unicorn’s horn. I would do this my way. I closed my eyes and colors swirled behind my eyelids. A fuchsia light to my right caught my fancy, and I turned toward it. I opened my eyes to find a small jar filled with a quintet of blossoms that appeared fresh in spite of the fact that they’d been enclosed in glass. The broad, flat petals, a rich purple at the edges, faded to the blue of the summer sky in the center. Feathered yellow stamens like moth antennae curled up from the depths. I leaned closer to read the label.
“Enshandris,” I said aloud. I’d never seen it, nor heard of it. I took the jar, based more on a vague hunch than any strong understanding. When I opened the jar, I felt the light instead of seeing it, a mid-pitched vibration. This wouldn’t heal. It would poison, at least under normal circumstances. But if I could persuade it to behave nicely with barberry roots, they might lessen that effect, allowing the poison to draw magic.
If I combined it with—
I spun.
There.
Cinnamon, and a spiny vine I had also never encountered. Burbentix. It didn’t feel powerful on its own, but maybe...
I dashed through the pantry, collecting jars into my apron pockets. I’d cut them on a soapstone block, prevent magical reactions before I was ready for them. With every step, my certainty grew.