Chapter 40: Alchemy II (Patreon)

Elliot placed a finger on the lid of the wide-mouthed jar in front of him, filled nearly to the brim with pink liquid. “This is the most expensive one, the one he recommended, right?”

“Yes,” Yehi replied, her voice practically a whisper. “Master Etienne named it his proudest achievement, and said the concoction would carry an especially powerful earth aspect. He couldn’t be more specific without further testing, but each is precious in coin, and I wasn’t confident.”

“I do think it’s the strongest,” Elliot continued slowly, turning the thought over in his mind as he laid it out, “but I’m fairly sure it sacrifices flexibility for strength.” His voice was low, matching Yehi’s. “I get the sense it aims to impart a powerful camouflage effect. My worry, though, is that it won’t translate well to your finished pieces.”

This was verging on guesswork, but he’d appraised all four hides while focusing intently on the pink liquid, and the sense he’d gotten was one of rigidity. Twice [Detailed Appraisal] had presented a problem of overspecialization, saying that hide tanned in this liquid could run the risk of being a poor raw material for future work, such as armor or travel wear. 

“The others seem like they’re imbuing a more general earth and metal affinity, to varying degrees. This one,” he held up a jar half-full of something dark green and slightly sludgy, “is stronger in earth than metal, which I think will help it integrate better with leather, but it carries enough of the metal aspect to balance it out, and although the overall effect is weaker than the pink stuff, it should make for better raw materials when you use the tanned hide to craft leather goods.”

“And it is cheaper. Far cheaper,” Yehi added with a widening smile. “A beautiful thing.”

“Master Etienne must know all this,” Elliot said, his own voice as soft as he could make it. “I’m proud of my skill, but this is his work. He didn’t go over this with you?”

“I am confident the good master knows his own creations far better than you or I, that is true, but you underestimate the value of such a wide-reaching appraisal skill. My own abilities work best with leather and animal hide, while his, I’m sure, are specialized to alchemy. It is at the intersection of the two where both of us are close to blind,” she said, standing. “That was enormously helpful. Thank you, Elliot. Master Etienne,” she said, turning, “ten thousand apologies for the wait. I would like to purchase a large vat of this.” She hefted the jar with the thick green solution.

“If that is what your…compatriot recommends, then who am I to disagree,” the man replied, nostrils flaring. “Just a master alchemist evaluating his own work. Useless, I’m sure.”

“My heart yearns to follow your advice, but unfortunately the cost is beyond me.” The red-gold feathers on Yehi’s cheek fluffed slightly.

“Well, as you would have it.” The alchemist placed a piece of paper onto the table and began to write. “Come back tonight, I’ll have it ready.”

“Wonderful. Again, my thanks.”

As Yehi turned for the door, Elliot had an impulsive thought. Where’s the harm? I don’t have to use it. What did Grik call them? “Master Etienne, do you have taming potions by any chance?”

The alchemist’s frown deepened, almost as if he thought he was being mocked. “Of course I have taming potions.”

“Could I purchase one?”

The man squinted. “You want a taming potion? You know the risks, young man?”

“I believe so, yes,” Elliot replied. At least he thought he did. Grik had mentioned potential core damage if your tamed beast died, and the fact that it influenced your future skill selection to an excessive degree. It didn’t seem at all realistic for him, but what the hell, why not have the option. Certainly he needed things that broadened his skill selection, so at least that part didn’t sound too bad. A magical pet would be so cool.

“Then fine. It’s five silver.”

Suppressing a wince he reached into his back pocket—curently hosting [Esoteric Storage] twisted in a sort of C-shape, to confuse any thieves—and pulled out the coins. It wasn’t a huge hit to his finances, as Breka insisted on paying market rates for the enchanted items he sold her, but it was still more than he’d spent on anything since coming to this world. And for what would almost certainly be a useless item. But what if it wasn’t? He’d ask Breka. Maybe she could think of a clever way to fit taming into his long term plan.

“You have more skill with appraisal than anyone I have seen, at least those not specialized in the art,” Yehi said a minute later, as they walked through the busy central district. “Your help was much appreciated.”

Elliot laughed. “Well, let’s see if I end up being right. But thanks. And you’re welcome.”

“I have high hopes for this venture, I must admit,” she replied, looking up at the leaves overhead, still slowly twisting in the breeze. “Making a journey through the wilds is always a risk. But it has been too many years since I have seen my home, and I tire of waiting.”

Elliot looked over sharply. In the months he’d known Yehi, he’d never heard her explain the reason for her travels. There had been hints of homesickness here and there, but nothing more than that. “What makes you have to wait? If you don’t mind me asking.”

The feathers covering the right half of her face and neck fluffed again, in a sign he’d begun to associate with stress. “It is not a story that fills me with pride.”

“It’s okay if you don’t want to share. But I already know you pretty well. I wouldn’t judge you.”

For several minutes they walked in silence, surrounded by the bustle of the city. There were vendors everywhere pulling their draw-carts, and the crowds of pedestrians all seemed to be in a rush. The buildings were squeezed together, vying for space on the central platform around Mother Yarba’s trunk. The constant motion and overlapping conversations reminded him of home, like walking through Back Bay on a Saturday afternoon.

“I come from one of the smaller isles of Deshien. My home was happy, but poor.” She kept her eyes straight ahead, her expression unusually still. “I never felt the lack. Perhaps simply because I knew no other way. But my father loved me desperately, and when there had been one too many years without quite enough, he decided something had to change. In the Golden Isles, one need never seek far for a windrunner in search of crew.”

“Windrunner? Like sailors?”

“Pirates,” she said, turning to meet his gaze. “Ship hunters. Those who give our waters their darker reputation.”

“Ah,” he said lamely, trying and failing to suppress a small wince.

“Yes. I do not know precisely what he did during those years. It was important to him that it be kept from me. I know it drove my mother away, although whether from fear or anger I am not sure.”

“Oh, Yehi,” Elliot said softly.

“And I know how it ended,” she said, her voice still perfectly calm. “With him hung from a mast, and my inheritance of his blood debt. Returning home without full restitution would mean death. For ten years I have made my payments, and it will be twice that again before I clear my ledger. Unless I find a different way.” She stopped abruptly.

Elliot practically tripped over his feet curbing his own momentum, and turned to meet her eyes. There was pain there, and something searching. 

“Where I’m from, children don’t carry their parents’ sins,” he said firmly. “And life is complicated. Obviously he did wrong, both to you and to others, but I think it means something that it came from a place of love. I think that makes a difference.”

Her face twisted slightly, before softening again. “Well. Most I’ve met would not agree. But my thanks, nonetheless.” She rubbed a hand across her feathers. “I must return to my work. Now that I have a path forward, I wish to finalize my plans for the crafting to follow. Thank you again for your aid, my friend.”

“Of course. Anytime.” He tried to think of something else to say, whether comforting or profound, but before he could even make an attempt she had turned away.

Damn. 

He made the walk back to the inn slowly, taking in the view. The mist around the falls shone particularly bright, catching the high sun. This world had so much potential, so much beauty. Magic still staggered him sometimes with its endless possibilities.

But this was a good reminder of the other side. Piracy, poverty, death by wild beast, all were still commonplace enough to go largely unremarked. He tried not to let his thoughts drift to Rowan. She’d be okay. She was smart, creative, and adaptable. And just a child. Just a kid, in a crazy new world, all alone.

He shivered, and picked up the pace.

The inn came into view soon enough, wrapped in a great circle around the thinning outer stretch of the Westbranch. 

“Welcome back young man,” Wren greeted him from behind the small desk up front. “There was quite a bit of noise coming from your room this morning. Please remember to keep it down before sunrise.” The smile she gave him was friendly but firm.

“Sorry, ma’am” he replied, bobbing his head contritely. “It won’t happen again.” He’d had the bright idea to try staff training inside today, using the many obstacles to enforce precision, and the cracks of wood on wood had been alarming in both volume and frequency before he’d quickly given up.

As he walked up to his room, Elliot was already slipping his bag over his shoulder and planning a short nap when he crossed the threshold and saw he wasn’t alone. “Breka! You made it back. Are you alright? How’s Hadrian?”

The old lady’s face was more worn than usual, wrinkles standing out in sharp relief under the glowstone lighting, although the silver-green of her eyes was as sharp as ever. She was settled in her massive armchair, which still seemed to somehow come and go as freely as she did. “I’m well enough boy, well enough. Hadrian is out hunting.”

Elliot felt a small knot unclench in his chest. Everyone was still alive. “You look tired.”

“There’s been no shortage of work, I’ll say that. Our uninvited guests have been thick on the ground.”

“Isn’t that concerning?” Elliot asked slowly. He still wasn’t privy to the greater details of their work, although as time went on Breka had been more and more loose with what she shared. “People are beginning to talk, openly. It feels like things are shifting from a spy-situation to a soldier-situation. Or is that not true?”

She looked up at the ceiling for a moment, an expression Elliot couldn’t quite parse passing across her face. “In their infinite wisdom, the great minds of the Broken March still find themselves in a state of debate over the correct course of action.”

He frowned. “What keeps them from just sending more forces?”

“Oh,” she said, sighing. “What a question. Andaluse wants to act, because I am trusted there, while the rest of the March distrusts anything the Bloodflame Queen suggests because they fear her supremacy and feel the creeping dread of obsolescence. The Sunsguard wants to send every battalion in the region, while the Greenguard shrieks that we are getting distracted from the real threats to the north, despite their own enclaves having been hit multiple times. The Riverguard refuses to believe the Talessi have sent what appears to be the raw bones of an army past their vigilant defenses, claiming this whole thing is a ploy, and Remmir shores up its own border like they expect an invasion while joining the rest of the March in blocking my queen from any significant action. Our nearest neighbors, especially Quintara, send envoys by the dozen decrying any buildup of armed forces as tantamount to a direct provocation, while their spies push north in an attempt to ferret out the danger for themselves. What’s keeping anyone from sending more forces? Everything. Nothing at all.”

“Oh,” Elliot said faintly, eyes wide. That had been, by far, the most unguarded he had ever seen his mentor, and it made him deeply uneasy.

She put a fist to her forehead, and took a deep breath. “My apologies, boy. I find myself slightly frustrated with the progression of events. Pay me no mind. Now,” she said, placing her hands in her lap and leaning forward, “you’re alive, so I take it the warren went well? What treasure did you find me?”

Trying to put his anxiety aside, Elliot smiled. “An antique this time.” Crossing to the opposite wall, he drew the grimoire out of the drawer where he’d placed it beneath a stack of folded shirts. “Here.”

Breka took the book, tracing the small black bats embossed onto the otherwise dark purple leather cover. “Excellent. I had a good feeling about this one.”

He rolled his eyes. She said that every time. “I think this will push me to the fourth step.”

“Fantastic. It’s most likely going to be an ability upgrade, which we’d take to try to get [Detailed Appraisal] either more specialized for combat or more broad-ranging for general use, since it’s too early to get anything useful for [Golden Touch], but if [Combative Bartering] comes back around I want you to snag it immediately.”

“Breka,” Elliot said, hesitating. “I feel like I’ve been doing a lot of physical training. Is that because it’s a way to cheat the system, where merchants don’t normally get offered physical enhancement skills? How did you get strong enough to crack stone with a punch?”

She snorted. “You are ‘doing a lot of physical training’ to keep you alive as you move forward, and to guide your skill choices more towards combat and survival. You will not receive any physical enhancement skills, at least none that will ever be comparable to a combat profession. My path was, unfortunately for you, unique. It would be a disservice to your growth to attempt its recreation in any specific respect. Have patience. Durability in particular is a tough nut to crack for you, but I have tentative ideas.”

“Fair enough,” he replied, containing the urge to frown. The idea of being fragile was unsettling. “And how I get the vitae doesn’t affect the chances? Like, it wouldn’t be helpful to do more myr-killing instead of using my profession? I don’t even really get how that works. When you kill something with a core, there’s energy there to be converted by the Beacon, but where does the vitae come from when I hand you an antique?”

The look she shot him was wilting. “Oh yes, silly me. I’ve been leading you astray, haven’t I? All you must do to overcome your physical limitations is kill beasts. How could that have escaped everyone who came before you? We must be morons.”

“Sorry,” Elliot muttered. “I’m just disappointed. I know you’d tell me if there was a way.”

Breka gave a light snort. “Your other question was a good one, at least. There are competing theories. Most hold that the Beacon siphons off a fraction of the world’s ambient ethera and converts it to vitae which can then be rewarded for professional feats, but why it rewards certain things for certain professions is unknown. Now,” she said, reaching into her pocket. “I’ll give you one gold for the grimoire. Let’s see what rewards there are to reap.”