Chapter 46 - A New Companion (Early Version)

Chapter 46 - A New Companion

“She blesses the poor by letting them lose their favored beast, only to then aid them in finding it again.”

- Attributed to Cardinal Mauros at the Conclave of the Righteous AC 681

All in agreement, we exited the building. Following Taciano’s advice, we headed towards the directions we were given to a local alchemist that could provide us with some healing potions. I remembered the taste of the potion that I was force-fed by Degei, the slave overseer, a memory which almost caused me to dry-heave at the mere thought of drinking another.

In good time, we made our way to the purple-colored yurt that I had seen before. Strange-colored smoke was flowing up from a stone chimney at its crown. Girding my courage, I pushed back a heavy cloth to enter the colorful yurt and my nostrils were immediately hit by a foul smell that assaulted my senses.

Almost gagging, I had a look around the dimly lit yurt, patches of the morning sun streaming weakly in, through openings in the side of the yurt. Across the beams of giant horn, several wooden poles lay stretched across the room. Dangling from which, like shriveled mystical grapes, were a plethora of drying ingredients ranging from herbs to unknown animal parts. At the far end of the yurt, an old hunched bald man was mixing glowing liquids with the aid of various alchemic apparatus at a sturdy-looking white stone table.

The man muttered to himself, the deep lines of his face creasing in frustration as he drained an alembic filled with a yellow pus-colored liquid into a glass vial filled with a viscous red substance. There was a flash of light and puff of smoke followed by the alchemist’s cry of success.

“Fantastic! A mid-grade healing potion made from only common ingredients. I daresay I have simply outdone myself!” said a cultured voice, raspy from the various fumes.

“Excuse me...” I began.

The Alchemist jumped, almost dropping his newly made concoction in surprise, from his gloved hands. Peering at us from across the smoky room with squinted bespectacled eyes, he finally realized that he had customers. He stopped for a long moment, looking me up and down and I felt a small chill and sensed an echo of a feather’s touch upon my soul.

“Welcome, honored customer, to Hamsa’s Wondrous Apothecary,” he managed to finish before he was wracked with a round of coughing, completely destroying the air of esoteric mystery that had previously surrounded him. “The finest potions in Ansan at an affordable price,” he wheezed, waving a hand to disperse the foul-smelling smoke. Somewhere toward the back of the dark tent, I could have sworn, I saw something small scurrying, but I dismissed it from my mind and focused on the Alchemist.

The Alchemist’s skin looked sickly pale in the poor light and his pate was completely bald like a freshly peeled egg. He didn’t have a single strand of hair upon him, not even eyebrows or a hint of facial hair. Hamsa's smoke-gray eyes looked at us through the cracked lenses of gold-rimmed spectacles, which he wiped absentmindedly with a dirty cloth from his pocket. The hunched man was wearing a tough-looking leather butcher’s apron, worn with age, and bearing chemical stains from a thousand experiments. He wore thick cloth vestments of coarse linen to protect his exposed skin and thick leather gloves protected his skilled hands.

Nodding to a queasy-looking Elwin, I urged him to take the initiative and begin negotiations. The Rogue understood my intent and approached the alchemist in a relaxed fashion, hands behind his back.

“Good day to you, master alchemist,” he said with a smile plastered to his face. “My name is Elwin Tucker and my companions and I are planning a little trip into the Sainba forest to gather a few herbs and materials. We were wondering if we might peruse your stock of health potions before we begin our new venture,” continued Elwin.

The shop owner visibly preened at this and stood a little straighter. “I Hamsa, do so swear that you have come to the right place. Only the finest potions here, I even have a small sample of Troll’s blood that could perk up the dead,”. He glanced at our new copper badges and his earlier enthusiasm wilted a little, “but for hasty people still new to the trade, I guess something a little more affordable would be in order, at a small discount for the Guild,” Hamsa the alchemist sighed.

My mind tried to understand the chemical properties of the potion that I had been force-fed by Degei. Through the lens of modern science and understanding, I simply could not understand the mechanics of such a phenomenon. To be able to heal internal and external injuries in such a fashion was nothing short of miraculous. However, I did not have to understand the workings behind the potions to understand their efficacity.

“Forgive me, Hamsa, but are there any side effects to taking such potions?” I blurted.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could have sworn I saw a shadow move behind some shelves at the rear of the shop. However, it must have been my eyes playing tricks on me, for my companions registered nothing.

“Not for one such as you, though perhaps in the future if you decide to grow a cleft instead of a dangle it might affect your pregnancy,” chuckled the alchemist before he patiently continued, blocking my view of the rear shelves, “but I would still stick to only one potion a day, least until your body grows a tolerance for their effects.”

“If it is no offense, may I know the name of the one I am addressing?” he said obsequiously as he rubbed his hands together, a merchant shark smelling blood in the water. “Oh yes, most importantly, the body can only tolerate taking a certain number of concoctions, depending on one’s vitality, of course. That brute of a companion you have,” he commented, nodding towards Kidu, who simply adjusted his quiver, and this little action seemed to effect an air of menace, “could perhaps take three potions without ill-effects, but master Tucker here, perhaps one or two at the most. You will of course forgive my impertinence, master Tucker,” Hamsa bowed in a half-apology.

Now I felt a spike of worry at the prospect of imbibing a single concoction, let alone multiple potions. What did they do exactly to the body? What was the price that one paid for their miraculous effects? What exactly happened when you went over your limit? The alchemist had sidestepped the potential issue of side effects, but for the moment I didn’t feel like pressing the issue.

“The name is Gilgamesh of Uruk,” I offered candidly, exchanging a quick look with Elwin, I simply nodded to him and he began the next round of negotiations.

“How much for three lesser healing potions, and a single Mana potion?” the Rogue asked, finally getting into the swing of bargaining.

“I see the need for three potions of healing but, forgive my haste, I do not see an Honored One among you for the Mana...” commented Hamsa uncertainly.

“Of course, it is for another member of the guild. Something of a favor to a friend of a friend and a minor errand,” Elwin said offhandedly, brushing off some non-existent dirt from his tunic.

“Of course, forgive me for prying. Just idle chatter from an old man. Three minor potions of healing should come to six silvers, and a mana potion for another three silver,” offered the old alchemist.

The Rogue now fully in his stride continued to bargain, “But this is the first time we have visited your magnificent shop, perhaps if we promise to do business only here, and put in a good word with our fellow adventurers, you could help us in the matter of a getting a good price,” countered Elwin nonchalantly.

“Bah! You would buy colored water from those peddlers at the market square? Nonsense! Charlatans and thieves, the lot of ‘em,” replied Hamsa, real vehemence in his voice before he continued, almost lecturing, “I would have you know that I graduated from the University of Quas in my youth. Hah, but I see what you are trying to do. If you could get me a few Broomshead mushrooms from the forest I could bring it down to five silvers, what say you?”

“Are you sure we won’t get in trouble with the Guild?” I interjected swiftly.

“A straight arrow, eh? I will have a word with them myself, the Guild will always get their cut somehow,” he said brushing me off.

I simply nodded to this and we divided up the price of potions, my enhanced Intelligence allowing me to swiftly do the arithmetic, as I took one silver, one bronze, and one copper coin from my companions each. I paid the rest of the sum myself, sure in my swift calculations, and not wanting to quibble any further. I could not help but feel that I was missing something - like my mind was searching for a connection.

My eyes were drawn to a knotted herb that was hanging in the corner. The roots looked like a clump of ghost-white snakes and the leaves were broad blades of a deep poisonous purple. The eccentric alchemist noticed my interest and stated a simple price in a no-nonsense voice, “Three gold for the Dragonsbane, and another five silver if you want me to process it into a concoction for you.”

He must have noticed the look of stupefaction that crossed my face as he decided to explain, a little annoyance entering his voice at my obvious ignorance, “Dragonsbane, one of the, if not ‘the’ strongest poison in the world. They say it was one of the only things that the flying lizards feared as it, according to the stories at least, robbed the beasts of their flight. The Hero, himself, is said to have discovered its many and varied uses. It disrupted the flow of Mana in their wings, messed with their Mana pathways or some such nonsense, according to the sages of old. Dragons have not been seen since the Cataclysm, and I doubt if they had ever existed. Diluted, it can cause paralysis in all but the strongest of constitutions and a single drop of this distilled in its processed and purest form can kill a man in a few heartbeats. In other lower circles, it is called the Final Gift… ” he finished rubbing his hands avariciously.

I simply shook my head regretfully and made a weak promise to hopefully buy some of the herb if I was ever able to scrounge up the money at a later date. Carefully, I counted out the money on the counter in front of Hamsa.

The alchemist pocketed the money with a snort and carefully handed over to us three thick red vials and one blue vial. The red ones were presumably healing potions and the smoky blue potion was most likely the Mana potion, at a guess. We thanked Hamsa, and after confirming where we could find the Broomhead mushrooms, we left the foul-smelling yurt.

I shielded my eyes from the strong late morning sun as we exited Hamsa’s establishment and adjusted my tear-shaped shield across my armored shoulder. Then I divided the potions with my group, keeping the single blue Mana potion for myself,

“How big are Lurkers supposed to be anyways? Anything I should know about them?” I asked of Elwin, as I took care of a recent crick in my neck.

“Not too big, they can grow about six paces from snout to tail. Their mouths are mostly filled with daggers for teeth and can shred just about anything. The trick is to get them out of the water, where they are ever so slightly slower,” answered the Rogue, his eyes scanning the streets.

“Then I guess it’s going to be a bit beyond us to carry their hides by ourselves, we will need to invest in a beast of burden,” I said with a smile. Perhaps we could even get an exotic creature like a domesticated Laur, I thought to myself.

“Yeah, I’m with you on that,” replied the Rogue, eager to make his life easier by any means necessary. “Let’s head off to the market and see what we shall see.”

We continued, in relatively good spirits, and made good progress through the streets to the market. Once there, we entered the section where a large selection of creatures was being sold. Some were predators that hissed at us from behind the thick metal bars of their cages, displaying fangs, talons, and claws that could easily rip flesh and tear bone. Others were more placid and docile, like the sleepy large rodent-like creatures called Catyids, according to Elwin at least. These beasts looked like an even larger version of a Terran capybara, but with a long sinuous scaled tail.

What drew my eye, however, was a wretched creature that was being led to a butcher’s block. It was a donkey, and one of its legs was lame, or broken, and the owner, a turbaned man with an impressive handlebar mustache, probably wanted to cut their losses on future feed and grain.

Sensing a potential bargain, I called out to the man, which surprised both of my companions. “Hey! How much for that donkey?” I shouted in the owner’s direction.

The man turned around, surprised that someone had interrupted him, and looked at me perplexed before finally answering, “This beast’s no good. Lame leg, only good for glue or stew now,” he sighed, as the donkey brayed in a panic, almost if it understood its fate.

“How much for the donkey? And some feed and grain?” I continued, undeterred, the seed of a cunning plan forming in my mind.

“Stubborn one ain’t ya? Well, guess I could get half a silver from the knackers so I’ll do you for that? Throw in some feed for another two bronze? Throw in a carrot or two if you like,” answered the man, almost licking his lips with glee.

My companions looked at me as if I had gone soft in the head as I handed the man seven bronze coins, not even bothering to dicker about the price. I smiled at the man as we completed our transaction and he kept looking at me as if at any moment I would seek to renege upon our bargain. I quickly had a look at my purse and counted out my coins. After all the various fees and expenditures I calculated that I had just a bit over one gold in various shrapnel. My own father often referred to coins as shrapnel, strange that I could remember his words, but his name and face still eluded me.

The new member of our party was a frail-looking thing, mostly skin and bones but stood almost sixteen hands high. She was a dull black, except for white fetlocks that looked like socks, and white again around her mouth and forelock. Her entire coat was unhealthy looking and there were several bald patches, probably due to malnutrition or stress. The donkey looked at me with sad-looking eyes as I fed her a slightly wilted carrot, which she half-heartedly chomped down on.

“I think I’ll call you Patches, a bit of a boring name but I think it suits you,” I told my new donkey as she looked at me with soulful eyes.

*

It was slow going on the way back to the inn, as our donkey was lame, and we had to stop off to buy a harness and tack for half a silver, which Kidu was forced to carry, much to Elwin’s amusement. The pair of them looked at me as if I had gone crazy. After all, what was the point of buying a beast of burden that couldn’t carry anything? Still, I assured them that there was a method to my madness and even Elwin stopped with his frequent protestations and suggestions about making donkey stew.

We entered the empty stables and I told Elwin to watch the street to make sure no one entered. Kidu saw to the donkey while I filled a trough with grain and another with water from a dark wooden barrel. The donkey had started to eat now with gusto and was looking decidedly better.

Once Patches was happily fed and watered, I decided to put the plan I had been brewing since the marketplace in motion. First I drew my power inwards, focusing on the warm luster and, pushing from my center, the golden energies that constituted my strongest healing spell. Silently I cast Greater Heal, going through the ceremony of its long cast entirely in my mind. The spell complete, I released the invigorating light slowly into Patches’ broken body. First, her lame leg straightened with an audible ‘pop’, as the limb was forced to take on a healthy shape. The golden light continued to flow around the donkey, repairing the damage of the cruel and long years under an uncaring master. Both within and without the magic restored the animal to its best possible form. Her dark coat regained its luster and there was a new sparkle to her intelligent eyes as she brayed with joy.

The spell had taken a full two-thirds of my Mana, but I was overjoyed that my little experiment had worked. Patches nuzzled my hand, recognizing that I was her source of good fortune. Kidu just nodded in understanding, his faith in me reinforced.

“That was well done,” the large man praised, as he ran a hand across the donkey’s back as he began to load Patches’ tack.

A warm feeling began to suffuse me and I nodded to Kidu in appreciation. I simply couldn’t help myself as I cast Identify on my new pet.

Patches - (Donkey lvl.12)

Health: 264/264

Stamina: 51/51

Mana: 4/4

Well, that was just great. Even the donkey was stronger than me, or at least was at a higher level. In a way it sort of made sense, animals were generally physically superior to humans. I still snorted a little in frustration and the donkey brayed in affection, displaying large perfectly white pearly teeth. Once Kidu had finished mounting the tack on my donkey, we left the stables and Elwin almost shouted in surprise at Patches’ new and improved form before Kidu hissed him to silence.

“What happened?” Elwin asked curiously, bemusement all over his face.

“The blessing of the gods,” said Kidu almost reverently, which caused Elwin to bluster a little before he finally caught on.

Now that Patches was no longer lame, we were able to unload our camping supplies into the donkey's packs. In good spirits, we made our way at a rapid clip along the eastern road and passed the gate guards. With a wave and a smile, I greeted the corrupt Dagesh, the same guard who had introduced us to the Twisted Boar with a wave and a smile.

I turned back to look at the city, still stained with the light of morning, a mix of emotions filling the pit of my stomach. Again, we would be entering the domain of the great Sainba forest, where my companions and I would be put to the test once more.

But as I gazed upon the verdant forest in the distance, I remembered the woman, her shocked expression and the arena as my mind finally made a connection. I remembered a mother’s grief, that had shattered the Tide’s ancient rite of passage, with its great lament.

Epilogue

Exquisite could not begin to describe what he saw before him. The strokes and subtle application of line and shadow, each accent and touch a study in technique-both effortless in their execution, yet perfect in style. The colors drew the eye here and there, a new shape for the imagination to take in before drawing them back to the overall piece and its true magnificence. Each time he looked upon his work he saw new aspects that he, himself, had never seen before. Perfection, and thus would go unappreciated by those who saw it only with their eyes, and not through the lens of their soul. The true aspect of the divine transcended brush, paint, and canvas.

The artist began to add imperfections to his work, his heart breaking with every adjustment, with every distortion that he was made to render. When he could finally take no more, he forced himself, exhausted, to a lemon-scented bowl of water placed near his desk by one of his aides, where he splashed himself with cold water.

Then the horror came back. The horror that had haunted him through childhood, that propelled his art to levels that debased, created and molded him. He saw his own face distorted across the water’s surface, the colored oils twisting his visage into a monster as he saw the stigmata of the goddess. It would seem that no matter what heights he reached, to whatever new levels of artistic or spiritual nirvana, the mark would always hold him back, even as it propelled him up the ranks of the ecclesiarchy.

Jealousy, once hot, but had since grown cold with the passing of the years, flared before he was interrupted from his thoughts by a knock at his door.

“A hundred pardons, your eminence, but you asked to be informed if there was any news of the location of Her Champion,” said a tonsured bookish man, bowing low as he entered the room.

“Then spit it out, Fedius. You have interrupted my meditations on the nature of the goddess, yet again,” said the artist, in annoyance, stealing a glance at his latest work before donning the robes of his office.

“Yes, Cardinal Mauros. One of our assets in the Grieving Lands, in the heathen city of Ansan, has detected the God-spark of Her champion,” said the nervous aide, looking with awe at the cardinal's latest piece of art.

The oil painting showed the veiled Goddess of Justice with an expression of righteous anger. However, the lines of her body displayed the welcoming compassion of mercy, like a mother’s invitation. In her right hand, she held the long heavy sword of judgment, and in her left she gripped the short knife of mercy. The whole painting was truly sublime, showing movement and motion shackled in a single moment, frozen forever in the stillness of eternity.

Mauros, one of the highest ranking members of Her church, stopped for a moment. New emotions added to his seething mixture of annoyance and threatened to spill over into violent rage. With supreme effort of will, he stopped himself from throwing something at the bearer of the news.

“You have, of course, verified this?” said Mauros, his anger turning into the cold professional calculation that allowed him to reach his high rank.

“Yes, of course, your eminence. They are one of our most trustworthy agents. However there was an irregularity...” he said as he bowed even lower, fearing the ire of his master.

“You do say…?” the cardinal replied, a cultured eyebrow raised in a mix of annoyance and curiosity.

“The God-spark was detected, yet disappeared after a few hours, according to our source. It is posited that perhaps the Champion has found a way to shield his or her divine grace,” continued Fedius, bowing even lower, in brazen defiance of physics.

“No matter, we must pursue all leads in regards to God-spark. We will send a team of our best inquisitors and knights to the region, but do be sure that they go under no banner and that the rites of secrecy are observed. By our very best, you will also see to it that the Light of the Faith leads them. Hrmm, be sure to send that overly zealous hothead, the one the lay priests call the ‘the little goddess’ as well. You will collar the bearer of the God-spark with blessed metals and bring him into the loving arms of the church, the Goddess will have it no other way,” proclaimed Cardinal Mauros, the authority of his office echoing with each word like the judgment of the hammer.

“It shall be as you command, your eminence. As the Goddess wills,” intoned the aide reverently, with no little relief.

“Yes, as the Goddess wills my child,” replied the cardinal automatically, sure in his conviction and interpretation of the divine will. Inwardly, he still seethed. Because, for all of his efforts, and despite a righteous life lived, he could never be her chosen. How dare they go against Her great will, he thought. He would chain Her rebellious champion to Her divine intent. Even if they chose to cross to the other side through the veil of death, he swore that he would bring them back, a thousand times if necessary.