Chapter 8: Pond Water

  “Edict: [Null Hymn]!”

  Cole’s spell touched the light, erasing whatever it was in a hum echoing forgotten and lost things.

  The glow stopped existing.

  The light died nearly as quickly as it came.

  The frog went still.

  Cole stood there with his hand still raised, chest pumping air. He didn’t trust it. His brain refused to accept the silence as safety. His shoulder throbbed in hot waves. His ankle burned.

  A message blinked at the edge of his vision.

  700 EXPERIENCE GAINED for defeating an elite monster.

  Cole blinked hard. The words stayed.

  “Another elite?” he wheezed.

  Faelen leaned on his shovel, looking haggard. He’d held it together during the fight, but now that the danger was gone, the fatigue showed. His face was pale, eyes sharp but tired.

  “Yes,” Faelen said. “It seems the Ethereal favored them for this dungeon rift.”

  Cole sucked in air, then let it out slow.

  “Cool,” he muttered. “Love that for us.”

  Faelen didn’t smile. He just stared at the corpse.

  The elite frog was bigger up close. Thick arms. Thick legs. Skin slick and stretched over muscle. Its eyes were dull now, the wet shine gone.

  Cole limped closer. They were here for a reason.

  On the frog’s head sat the mushroom.

  Pale cap. Faint green veining. The underside dense and layered, packed tight with something that didn’t belong in open air.

  Faelen walked over and plucked the mushroom off its head with a careful twist.

  Cole watched him do it and felt his throat tighten with relief.

  Faelen wrapped it in cloth and tucked it away.

  “I’ll carry it for now,” Faelen said. “We should get moving. Really is a shame you don’t have the alchemy profession yet or I didn’t take butchery. I bet this frog is worth something.”

  Cole gave a tired grunt of agreement.

  “I’m not carrying anything else,” Cole said. “I swear to God, if you ask me to haul a damn frog…”

  Faelen huffed, almost a laugh. “I will not.”

  They limped up through the field, collecting the flower.

  It was stupid how ordinary it looked. Bright petals, clean shape, sitting in a place that had just tried to kill them. Cole picked it carefully and held it up like it might bite him.

  “This thing is going to be the reason we live,” he muttered.

  “It is one reason,” Faelen said.

  “Yeah, well, it better pull its weight.”

  Cole tucked the flower away and kept moving.

  By the time they reached the cottage, the adrenaline had bled out of Cole’s body. His muscles shook when he stopped. His shoulder burned, and his ankle complained every time he put weight on it. His head had that low, mean throb behind the eyes that came when you pushed too hard and paid for it later.

  He did not let himself think about the daycare again.

  He couldn’t. Not right now.

  From the cottage, Cole grabbed the cauldron.

  It was heavier than it looked, and his hands were tired enough that he almost dropped it the first time he lifted it. He caught it, swore under his breath, then carried it to the stream in careful steps.

  He cleaned it thoroughly.

  He scrubbed until the water running off the rim stopped looking cloudy. The stream water was freezing, biting at his hands, but he liked that. Cold was honest. Cold didn’t pretend the world wasn’t insane right now.

  He filled the cauldron halfway with stream water and carried it back.

  The hook over the hearth creaked as he set it in place.

  First he heated the water.

  He didn’t want to get this wrong, so he made sure it was a slow heat. He fed the fire gently, building it up instead of roaring it to life. Smoke crept up and stung his eyes. The smell of wood and ash settled into his clothes, into his hair, and into his skin.

  Cole stood over the hearth with the spoon in hand, breathing through his nose, trying to keep his hands steady.

  Then he added the ingredients and stirred slowly with the half-broken wooden spoon he had found in a crook behind the cauldron.

  The spoon bit into his palm where it was splintered. He adjusted his grip and kept going.

  The mixture clouded. Then darkened. Then shifted again, turning into an ugly color that made Cole think of pond water and bad decisions.

  Faelen poked around near the bench, producing some dirty vials that he went down to the stream to clean.

  Cole watched him out of the corner of his eye. Faelen moved stiffly. He tried not to show it, but Cole saw the little pauses, the way the elf breathed.

  The poison clock was still ticking.

  Cole kept stirring.

  The book, when he kept reading, told him that he would know the potion was done when it turned a yellow-red color. It would take some time, since he didn’t have the profession.

  Cole read that line twice, then grunted.

  “Of course,” he said quietly. “Of course it takes longer.”

  He thought he’d need mana, which he didn’t have, and the thought pushed out of his mouth before he could stop it.

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  “It’s weird as hell,” Cole said, still stirring. “Me casting magic, and you keep looking at me like I’ve got three heads because I’m not… I don’t know. I’m not draining anything. No mana. No whatever.”

  Faelen came back in with the vials, water dripping off his fingers. He frowned.

  “It’s strange to see you cast magic and yet you claim not to have mana,” Faelen said. “Does the journal call for it?”

  Cole shook his head. “No. It just tells me what to do.”

  Faelen’s frown deepened. He didn’t like puzzles right now.

  “The Ethereal wouldn’t put you in a trial you can’t complete,” Faelen said. “Just follow the directions for now.”

  Cole did so.

  He stirred and stirred until his shoulder ached worse.

  Minutes passed. Maybe more. Time was weird in here.

  Cole’s hands started to cramp.

  He adjusted the fire to keep it slow.

  His thoughts drifted toward Nathan for half a second, then he shoved them away. Not now. Not while he was holding their survival in a pot.

  Then he felt it.

  A tug after a while.

  A tug that came from his Authority stat.

  The same feeling he got when he spoke a spell name and reality seemed to listen.

  The tug pushed into the ingredients.

  Cole swallowed.

  “What the…” he whispered.

  Faelen looked up sharply. “What?”

  Cole kept stirring, but slower now.

  “I can feel it,” Cole said. “Like… like it’s reaching out. Like it’s grabbing the potion.”

  Faelen stared at the cauldron, jaw tight. “Do not stop. Keep stirring.”

  Cole did.

  Something happened.

  As near as Cole could figure it, which wasn’t very near given he was new to all of this, the ingredients obeyed something in him, then snapped into place in one clean movement.

  The potion suddenly bubbled, turning a yellow-red.

  Cole blinked fast, startled by how sudden it was.

  “Oh,” he said, stupidly. “There it is.”

  Faelen stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “Move it up. Not too close to the flame. Do not scorch it.”

  Cole pushed the cauldron up further so it wasn’t that close to the hearth. The metal shifted with a scrape that made his teeth itch. He used the side handle, jaw clenched against the tug in his shoulder.

  Then he began to pour two potions.

  His hands shook. He hated that. Hated that his body was tired enough to betray him on something this simple. But he poured carefully, the yellow-red liquid streaming into the vials.

  There was enough for at least four, but Cole didn’t pour it all yet.

  He didn’t know why he hesitated. Maybe because it felt smart to keep some in the pot in case he messed up the next step. Maybe because his brain still didn’t want to trust this as real.

  He handed a potion to Faelen.

  The elf stared at it.

  Relief was plain written on his face.

  “Cheers, man,” Faelen said, voice rough.

  Cole lifted his vial in a little salute and downed it.

  Instant relief.

  The potion didn’t taste horrible. Slightly bitter, tangy at the edge. A sharp aftertaste that made his tongue go numb for a second. Cole didn’t care. It could have tasted vile, he would have lapped it up at this point.

  The heat hit his chest first, then spread outward. His shoulder burned, then tightened, then the throbbing gash began to close. Cole felt it happen in layers, skin pulling together.

  He let out a shaky breath.

  His bruises didn’t vanish, but they faded, going from screaming pain to dull ache. He shifted his weight and realized his ankle wasn’t screaming anymore. It still hurt, but it wasn’t trying to throw him on the ground.

  His head was clearer too. A low throb instead of a pounding drum.

  It was enough to make him feel like a new person.

  Across from him, Faelen looked a far sight better. More color returned to his skin. He straightened, rolled his shoulders. He lifted a hand, clenched it, and opened his fingers.

  “That’s better,” Faelen said.

  Cole stared at the cauldron, then at the vials, then at Faelen.

  A thought hit him that was part curiosity and part desperation.

  “Can we take multiple of these to stack the effects?”

  Faelen cocked his head, then gestured at the cauldron. “One way to find out.”

  Cole should have hesitated.

  Cole did not.

  They drank more potion.

  As it turned out, you could.

  The second dose didn’t hit as hard as the first, but it still helped. The last bite of pain in Cole’s shoulder softened. Faelen’s breathing smoothed further. The sickly tightness around his eyes eased.

  “It’s a trade off,” Faelen said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “You require more potion, but stronger potions will do the job much sooner. I’ve even seen some with more fortifying effects.”

  Cole snorted. “So we’re not just chugging this and becoming immortal.”

  “No,” Faelen said. “If you try, you will regret it.”

  Cole glanced at the remaining liquid. “Good to know.”

  He hesitated, then asked the question that kept bothering him.

  “Do you have a health bar?” Cole asked the elf.

  Faelen’s eyes narrowed. “No. Stats don’t work that way. I have heard of other worlds where the societies there have made systems to track such things, but they are independent of the Ethereal. Most of my abilities run off stamina. If I am too tired to use them, they simply will not work. You need to be aware of your body.”

  Cole grunted. “Great. So I’ve got numbers that go up, but not the one that would actually help me not die.”

  Faelen’s mouth twitched. “A health bar makes people stupid.”

  Cole frowned. “How?”

  “They see a line half full and decide they are fine,” Faelen said. “They stop listening to pain. Pain is information.”

  Cole didn’t have a good comeback for that. Not after the last few hours.

  “My spells don’t take any strength from me,” Cole said. “No mana, either.”

  “I know,” Faelen said, and his tone made it clear that he did not know what to do with that. “You are strange. I suspect it is due to your title. Go on, look at the purge tonic recipe. We’ve made progress, but no need to get lax.”

  Cole opened the book.

  Purge tonic. Collect fever thorne from the woods on the west side. Spring water, and thistle. Grind the fever thorne and thistle. Boil for two minutes while slowly stirring, then distill.

  Cole read it once. Then again.

  He looked up.

  “Distill?”

  Faelen pointed at a small vial-like contraption attached to the alchemy bench that had its own small burner under it.

  “You move that to the cauldron rim,” Faelen said. “Pour the liquid into it, heat it up and it then filters it into the potion vial.”

  Cole stared at it. “That seems too simple.”

  “It is simple until you do it wrong,” Faelen said. “Then it is very complicated.”

  Cole huffed a laugh. “Okay. Alright. Before we go looking for these ingredients, why do you keep bringing up my title? I know what it does, and yeah, it locks me into some things, but why do you keep saying it like it’s the only explanation? What are titles?”

  Faelen paused, then rubbed his face.

  “Titles are complicated,” Faelen said, “and yet they are incredibly simple. Titles can only be granted by the Ethereal, but they have to be earned. They all do something, and they all reflect something about the individual, even if it isn’t clear.”

  Cole nodded slowly.

  “For example,” Faelen continued, “I have the dauntless title. It gives me extra stamina. That’s it. Only, it’s a common title, so it not doing much makes sense. I’ve heard of a legendary pyromancy title that allowed a wizard to do some spectacular things with fire magic, only that was the only magic he could use. So, I suspect your title, because it is the only thing that could potentially make you so powerful.”

  Cole snorted. “I don’t feel powerful.”

  Faelen laughed, and it was tired, but real. “Cole Rourke, you are far more powerful than any level two being has any right being. Most wizard at your level have access to maybe one spell, which they can cast maybe three or four times. You spam your spells without concern and have at least four that I have seen. What’s more, they have far more effect than they should.”

  Cole blinked. “Okay, what’s that mean?”

  Faelen spread a hand in frustration. “It means it is not normal. It means someone sees it, someone truly dangerous, and they will not react the way a terrified civilian reacts. They will react like you are a problem that needs solving.”

  Cole’s stomach tightened.

  Faelen rubbed his face again, then shook his head, forcing himself back to the present.

  “We don’t have time for all of this,” Faelen said. “I could sit here explaining Ethereal rules to you all day. Why do you think tiers matter?”

  Cole shrugged. “More power, I guess.”

  “Yes,” Faelen said, and then he waved a hand. “But in more ways than one. A tier two being may as well be a demigod compared to a tier one. They just don’t care about lesser abilities. Sure, a tier one rank three spell might make them feel it a little, but you’re out here killing tier two beings with your spells and they are rank one spells. I’ve never heard of that until now, never.”

  Cole stared at him.

  He didn’t feel like a demigod.

  He felt like a delivery driver who had been thrown into a nightmare and handed a gun that worked too well.

  Faelen stared at Cole, then raised a finger.

  “Last point before we move,” Faelen said. “If you get any opportunity to hide your information from analyze abilities, do so. You need to hide your information as much as you can. If people know, and I mean truly dangerous people, they will set their hands against you just due to the danger you represent.”

  Cole swallowed, closed his eyes, and pushed the worry down.

  He didn’t have time to worry about future problems. Not while he was trapped in a dungeon and the elf beside him had poison in his veins.

  He’d take the advice. He wanted to ask about analyzing, how one did it, how people looked at you and saw your title, but he knew the second he started that question it would turn into ten more.

  Cole exhaled.

  “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go get this purge tonic made.”

  Faelen picked up his shovel and headed for the door.

  Cole followed, book in hand, shoulder aching but mind clearer, stepping out into the field again. The grass whispered around their legs. The west-side woods waited in the distance, dark and still.

  Cole tightened his grip on the journal and limped after Faelen.

  If the Ethereal wanted them moving, fine.

  They were moving.