Chapter 347: Knowledge is Bliss
Knowledge is Bliss
Manday offered an opportunity to learn more about the nature of relics from the Lyceum's human granary of knowledge; though Martel figured it best to wait until the lesson in Tyrian runes had ended before he approached Master Fenrick. Asking questions outside the topic of the class just meant that his teacher would give a curt reply in order to actually begin the lesson. Thus, Martel concentrated on the task at hand. With a piece of charcoal, he drew the rune of warning, following the example of the symbol as shown by Master Fenrick, and practised activating it.
"Vara." The rune glowed, as did Martel's face with satisfaction. He felt the almost strange, intangible connection of magic between him and the symbol; similar to how he might connect to a flame or some object in order to move it around, and yet different. The other end of the connection did not attach to the parchment with the symbol, nor the charcoal drawing itself. Rather, it felt like having a rope around his waist with the other end floating in the air on a strong wind; intangible, yet the connection tugged on him all the same, making its presence known.
Master Fenrick, moving through the rows of students, glanced at his work and grunted in approval before continuing.
***
As the other students filed out of the classroom, Martel quickly approached his teacher before the latter left. "Master Fenrick, I've a question. Can you explain to me what relics are?"
The eyes under bushy brows beheld him. "What makes you ask?"
"I went to the shrine of Saint Laurentius the other day," Martel explained, sticking as close to the truth as possible. "They had his hand in a chest. Even closed, I could practically smell some kind of – power, I guess. I'm just confused about what it actually is."
The Master of Lore nodded a little. "Sadly, the Faith denies any requests to scrutinise their relics. As if we want to take them apart! I just want a closer look," he sighed. "Because of that, my knowledge is limited. But we can infer a few things. Most people cannot sense the mere presence of a relic like you can. What conclusion can we draw from that?"
This would be easier and faster if Master Fenrick simply explained it, but apparently, the teacher in him demanded that he led Martel to the answer. Accepting that he would have to play along, the acolyte easily guessed what was meant. "The effect is magical, since only those with the gift of magic may sense it."
"Indeed. Now, there are two ways that an object may be imbued with magic. Intentionally or spontaneously. Can you give me examples of either?"
"Uh, the first would be enchantment, like what Master Jerome does. The second – as an accident?" Presumably, that was what spontaneously meant, though Martel could not think of a more precise answer.
"Yes, as a by-product when great amounts of magical energies are released. Ghosts wandering the battlefield where mages fought, for instance."
"But ghosts would be evil, wouldn't they?" Martel suddenly thought about the sewers and how the presence of the jinni had felt foul.
"We would think so. Certainly the magic causing them to happen would feel foreboding to us, much like intentional necromancy. Regardless, back to your question. A relic is the creation of a spontaneous magical effect, but benign. While good and evil seem simple terms for complicated magic, the intention and will of the mages involved do seem to matter."
Martel considered what Father Andrew had told him of Saint Laurentius, dying in battle against a fiend. A heroic act, undoubtedly, and the magic seemed to have infused his hand, however morbid that sounded. "So – magic is definitely involved when a relic is created?"
"If the relic has magical properties, such as the one you described, certainly." Master Fenrick grabbed his scroll case. "Now off with you, lad. Lunch will be soon."
***
Martel ate his meal in solitude, using the time to contemplate what he had learned. It seemed certain to him that Saint Laurentius had been a wizard, or possibly a hedge mage. Not important in itself, as this hardly helped him find the missing relic, but he was deeply curious about the nature of the magic involved. If nothing else, he felt certain that the saint's hand indeed had magical properties. Considering how powerful a presence it left behind, even when removed from its resting place, Martel figured he could find it if he just came close enough to it, much like a hound tracking a scent. That might help locate the relic, assuming he could discover where to search for it.
Martel's next step would be to discuss the enchanted chest and lock; if he could figure out how it worked, or how to overcome it, it might prove a clue to the identity of the thief. Presumably, few in Morcaster would have the ability or knowledge to fool Archean magic. Tomorrow, he would have his duty for Master Jerome, giving him the opportunity to inquire. For now, he had alchemy.
***
As the usual prelude to learning a new recipe, Mistress Rana quizzed Martel on every ingredient. One after the other, he gave a full answer until she picked up the last item. "This is?"
"Chamomile." He easily recognised it from the illustration in the herbal tome.
"Used for?"
"Flowers can make an infusion that has a calming effect." As Martel replied, the scent reached him. A memory, only recalled now that he could smell the herb instead of simply seeing its illustration, flooded through his mind. The pit of The Broken Crown, Leatherfist hitting him, the crowd roaring for his blood. The scent of chamomile upon his opponent's glove, used to weaken him.
"And?"
Her voice cut through. This was not the time to let ill memories shake him. "The herb is used for ointment to lessen ache in certain places," Martel replied.
"Care to guess the potion all of this can make?"
One answer would be a tincture to make someone dazed and easy to defeat in a pit fight, but probably not what Mistress Rana meant. "A potion to help someone relax or rest?"
She gave half a nod. "The potion of blissful sleep, we call it. Six hours of deep slumber. I gave you one the other fiveday if I recall. Have you tried it?"
Sort of; Julia had done so on his behalf. "Yes, mistress, it worked great."
"Time for you to learn how to make it."
***
This was among the slower potions to make, at least judging by Martel's experience of having made two other kinds. The heat had to be low, leaving the water simmering at most, which seemed to be compensated by more time spent stirring and dragging the magic from the ingredients out into the liquid. Martel estimated that three hours had passed before Mistress Rana finally removed the cauldron, tipping the contents into a flacon while Martel distilled the magic along with it.
The end result was a murky, brown liquid sloshing inside the glass container. The alchemist placed her hand around it tightly for a moment. "This is a rather weak result. I am not sure this will actually put anyone to sleep. Certainly not for a whole night. Can you think of why the result is poor?"
Martel frowned. "Too much heat?" She had specified several times during the process to avoid that.
"One possibility. Another is that you didn't awaken the ingredients well enough. Have you practised that since last time?"
To be honest, he could not remember. "A little."
"Not enough, clearly. You have only worked with herbs, which is the easiest kind of ingredient. Practise this every day until our next brew, so I can be sure you have made progress." She poured out the content of the bottle into the sink. "Clean up."
After watching the last drops of his work drain away, Martel did as ordered.
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