Chapter 361: Sweet Knowledge
Sweet Knowledge
Brewing potions late in the evening in Julia's room meant that Martel got to bed late, but fortunately, next day was Manday. Rather than exhausting lessons in the Circle of Fire or the gymnasium, Martel could take it easy; especially as his morning chore in the apothecary was replaced by afternoon work in the laboratory instead. It gave him time to go to the library and read up on the latest list of herbs given him by Mistress Rana; when he was done, as always, he looked forward to learning this new recipe and adding another potion to his repertoire. But first, lessons with Master Fenrick and Alastair awaited.
***
Each of the students sat with their small pile of rune-inscribed parchments in front of them. To stop the lesson, the Master of Lore went down the aisle and had each acolyte demonstrate their ability to activate the symbol. They did so with varying success, none to Master Fenrick's satisfaction, though he gave Martel fewer words of instruction than the others.
"You still have ways to go. Continue practising on your own time. Meanwhile, we shall cover another rune today." The teacher held up his own drawing of the symbol.
Martel had to wonder what exactly the strange, twisting shape meant and how it contained this Tyrian magic; if he had seen this inscribed on a wall or door, without knowing better, he would have assumed some jester was at work defacing the surface.
"This is the rune of repulsion, as we call it. As the name says, it does the opposite of the attracting symbol you learned last fiveday. I know your only thought is how could this ever help you in combat, and otherwise you are indifferent to its uses," Master Fenrick said in accusation as his eyes swept over the assembly of mageknights and one battlemage. "But when your tent is leaky and it's pouring down torrents of rain, you may find this useful after all. Watch." Holding out the parchment with one hand, the teacher held a penny in front of the rune with the other. "Veg." The coin flew away from between his fingers.
Martel laughed with the others; he had not felt reproached earlier by the accusation. To him, magic of any kind was worthwhile. Regardless of origin, regardless of usage, he was only thrilled to learn. He wished that he could stay at the Lyceum forever, always learning; he understood that besides teaching, Master Fenrick spent his time with scholarly pursuits, and Martel envied him that.
The sound of charcoal scratching against parchment woke Martel from his daydream; the other acolytes had begun practising. He quickly followed suit.
***
With closed eyes, Martel stood at the centre of the Hall of Elements and waited. He vaguely sensed the earth beneath his feet, the water flowing around it, the air that surrounded him, and the flames flickering on the walls. He had to fight the instinct to search for heat, allowing him a form of vision even with his eyes closed; it was an ability most familiar to him since early childhood, and honing it under Moira's tutelage had only increased the urge to use it rather than leave himself vulnerable and blind, so to say.
Something moved. But Martel's ears could not help him determine the element at play and thus the spell employed by Master Alastair; his sense of hearing was not the one he needed. He forgot about sound and tried instead to let magic lead him to the answer. Cool darkness. Walking underground. The taste of rye bread and mushrooms. "Earth."
"Correct."
Martel opened his eyes to see a small pile of dirt raised in front of Master Alastair, trapped in that form by his magic. He smiled.
"But much too slow. If you have to think about the answer, it's hardly a reaction. Close your eyes."
Martel nodded, his expression becoming serious, and he removed his sense of sight to avail himself of his sense of magic instead.
***
Martel looked at the different ingredients on the table. Something was odd. He counted seven different kinds of powders and plants, but the list given to him by Mistress Rana had only contained six items. In his head, he went through each of them as he had just read up on them this morning; he could still only think of six entries.
The alchemist regarded him and pointed at the first of the ingredients. "This is?"
"Strangleroot." It was well known to Martel, and he rattled off its properties in an offhanded manner while staring at the other ingredients, trying to determine what was amiss.
One after the other, Mistress Rana went through each of the little piles, quizzing Martel as per usual. After six questions and six answers, she finally pointed at the seventh ingredient. A small pile of white powder in a bowl. "Care to guess what this is?"
Martel had to admit ignorance. "I don't know."
"It was not on the list I gave you for the simple reason that it is not well known in these lands. That tome in the library has no entry for it."
Martel exhaled, glad to discover he had not made any error. "What is it?"
"I have heard it called Sindhian honey, though my people call it sugar."
He frowned, silently forming the word with his lips. "This is made by bees?"
To his complete surprise, Mistress Rana laughed. "No. It is made from canes that grow in the soil. But go ahead – taste it. It's not poisonous, on the contrary."
Hesitant, Martel extended a finger to touch the white powder and placed some of it on his tongue. He opened his eyes wide. "It tastes so sweet!"
"Honey without bees, as your people say. Now, can you guess what manner of potion all of this might brew?" She let her hand move across the table to indicate all the ingredients.
"Something to make you feel happy?"
"You might say that, but not quite. This is used for an elixir of fortitude. It is among the most useful recipes, as it strengthens the imbiber and helps them fight off diseases and the like. While specific illnesses do have specific treatments that work better, this little concoction is always useful if you do not know of any better remedy, or you cannot be certain of what malady plagues the patient. But as it is both expensive – trading sugar from Sindhu is not cheap – and difficult to make, I shall do it with you every step."
Martel could not help but smile; this was exactly the kind of alchemy he wanted to learn. "Yes, mistress."
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