Chapter 5 First Class #3
And if that was true… Kraghtol wanted nothing more than to share his epiphany with someone, preferably Merrick, and it bothered him to no end that he would have to keep this realization to himself.
If that was true, then perhaps with him it was just the same story.
His foster father had admonished him countless times — in his own gentle way — to pay more attention when teaching him, and Kraghtol had never understood how he was supposed to do that with all the storms of chaos in his head.
Merrick had never said so, but Kraghtol had always assumed it was because he was just bad at learning, stupid even.
He had never considered that it might just have been part of who he was, the same Orcish part that gave him his green skin and his fey-cursed tusks.
When he had changed into a human, not just his face and his body had changed, like he had expected.
His mind had become humanlike as well, making him think like an ordinary human, so nobody would notice anything out of the ordinary.
That explained so much, down to minor details like tomatoes.
Before his change, he had not been fond of tomatoes, but the first thing he had craved after coming out of the clock tower had been tomato soup.
It was just his mind working differently, more human, now.
The realization hit hard and was a little scary as well.
Thankfully, Aniriel had finished her thoughts and replied.
“Perhaps. It’s what the recipe says. And it’s easy to see that everything relates to the fire element in some way. So maybe we should do it?”
It sounded more like a suggestion than an opinion, and Kraghtol shrugged.
“Yes, you are right. We should start with preparing the bugs and moss, though, so we have everything ready in time.”
He knew the materials well enough. People commonly used sunflowers for cooking, but the healer’s apprentice knew of no remedial properties.
Sunmoss, which grew on the south-facing side of stones, had a red-yellow color and a burning sap, but, if dried and mixed with cherry stones, could help warm a stiff neck.
Fireflies were known for their faint ghostly glow at night, but only when alive and not ground into a powder.
So, nothing save for burning the substances would have produced any light normally, and Kraghtol couldn’t help but wonder about the mysterious Activator.
Was it so powerful that it turned the mixture into something entirely different?
They set to work, and preparing the ingredients first proved to be a good idea.
Grinding the materials into powder wasn’t complicated, but it took time.
After one or two minutes, Aniriel broke the busy silence — filled only with the crunching sound of insect shells breaking under the mortar — with her quiet voice.
“I don’t think he meant to talk badly about you.”
Kraghtol looked up at her, the confusion painted on his face.
“What? Who?”
“Valir el Greylune. You keep looking at him, so I suppose you were wondering about it.”
Kraghtol hadn’t even noticed, but now that she mentioned it, he realized she was right.
Now and then he had indeed looked up from his fireflies, and like a magnet, his eyes had been drawn to the handsome face and the arrogant smile of the noble student.
For some reason, he couldn’t get over the apparent condescension the man radiated.
“I don’t know. Perhaps he didn’t mean to attack me personally, but he does not strike me as the kind of man who cares much about others.”
Aniriel shrugged but appeared out of her comfort zone.
“Perhaps. But why do you care if you don’t even know him?”
That was a surprisingly good question.
“I… don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess people like him just rub me the wrong way.”
Aniriel didn’t answer that, and Kraghtol didn’t want to talk about it any longer either, so he changed the topic and asked her about something else instead.
“I don’t mean to pry, and you don’t have to answer if I’m being inappropriate, but I have to admit, I’ve never talked to an elf before. You are not from Winterstone either, are you?”
She smiled, and her entire posture relaxed noticeably at the question, as if she had heard it before many times.
“No, I’m not from around here. I come from the Starlit Plains in the south, like most of my kind. And don’t worry, you don’t offend me by asking. I, too, noticed that elves are relatively rare here in the north. It feels lonely in a way.”
Kraghtol grimaced.
“I know exactly how you feel. Being the only —”
He stopped and blushed, much more clearly visible on his pale skin. That had been close.
“The only what?”
If she had noticed anything out of the ordinary, her voice didn’t give it away.
“Err… The only one from the north. I mean, Winterstone is the northernmost big city, so, obviously, most people come from the south, but…”
He had exhausted the idea and stopped, but Aniriel shook her elegant head.
“I don’t think that’s quite the same. At least when people look at you, they don’t immediately recognize that you are an outsider. It’s not that they are unkind because of it, but you still feel like a stranger.”
Kraghtol just nodded. That didn’t even begin to describe his own experiences, and for a moment, he considered telling her about his true identity right here in a low voice, just to feel sympathetic. But that would have been unwise; the only way his secret would stay safe was if he told no one.
“I think the oil is boiling now.”
It was true, as the oil in both their bowls was bubbling and hissing now, but also a welcome opportunity to change the topic.
Since they had prepared the powdery mixture beforehand, Kraghtol could focus on the rest of the recipe now: He carefully stirred the substances together, counter-clockwise and three times, watching the moss and fireflies mix with the oil with a sizzling sound and a sharp smell, just as the recipe said, before coming to the part he understood least. He was supposed to concentrate on the image of a glowing light and imprint it onto the mixture. How was he supposed to do that?
He closed his eyes and imagined the bright sunlight of a late summer day, warm and golden, just like Mrs. Hawke had told them in her repetition, letting his mind wander until he had found a suitable memory: Golden light shining in through open windows, near the end of the long day.
It had been late, probably past midnight, and Kraghtol had tried to sleep, but his mind had been preoccupied, analyzing everything that had happened on that day over and over again.
The funny thing was that Kraghtol couldn’t even remember much about the day itself, and he was pretty sure it had not been very special either.
Still, it had been one of the countless times sleep had not come easily, so he had had plenty of opportunity to watch the silent golden light on his bedroom floor.
Homing in on that memory, he opened his eyes again and tried to keep focused while he reached for the small vial containing the Activator powder.
He immediately recognized the substance.
It was the same glittering substance Dean Quenning had used when the guild members had sealed the contract.
Now, up close, he realized the white-silver color was not as pure as he first thought.
Instead, the bright, finely ground salt or crystal mixed with dark particles of unknown nature.
Feeling his concentration wane, however, he tried to return to the memory, and with a steady hand, he added a pinch of the Activator to the mixture.
The reaction was immediate and almost violent.
Suddenly, with a sizzling sound and a sharp smell, blue flames erupted from the bowl, engulfing the oil and momentarily blinding him with their brightness.
It was the same cold fire he had seen before, both when he had drunk the potion that had transformed him and when he had formed the alchemical contract with Thalen Virex.
This flame, he figured, had to be some kind of embodiment of alchemical power.
As quickly as they had appeared, the flames receded, and Kraghtol watched in amazement how the liquid had changed entirely.
Where before it had been a muddy oil and powder mixture, just as he would have expected given the ingredients, now, veins of yellow and orange were swirling through the dark oil, like streaks of molten gold.
And really, the bright parts were glowing faintly, like embers in a fireplace.
“Hm. Mine looks different.”
Aniriel sounded skeptical, and when Kraghtol looked over at her bowl, he had to agree. Her mixture had taken on a more uniform milky color that was emitting a cold shine, not unlike moonlight on a stream.
“Adequate for a first try.”
Mrs. Hawke had appeared behind them, but her voice was no more enthusiastic than before.
“A customer would deem both concoctions at least half failures, but at least you both created something that produces light. Apparently, you can follow simple instructions, and you created the potion just fine. Both your faults lie in the activation process.”
That came as little surprise to Kraghtol. Mixing the ingredients had not been the hard part.
Mrs. Hawke continued. “It is always difficult to say what exactly went wrong, but this looks like common beginner mistakes. In Mr. Krasen’s case, it’s most likely because of a lack of concentration.
You have allowed yourself to get distracted, and as a result, couldn’t imprint your will properly on the whole of the mixture.
That is why the glowing effect is localized in these golden strands.
Not bad, but not good enough, either. And you, Miss Aniriel of the wandering sky, had excellent concentration, but didn’t focus so much on the intended effect and more on a memory or a concept you thought fitting.
I would suggest the both of you work on your mental strength, and tomorrow we will repeat the exercise. ”
Her face softened from its usual frown, and for a moment, she seemed almost happy, nostalgically.
“You produced something more than a complete failure, though, which is more than about half of the students manage to do on their first try. If you like, you can save some of your first alchemical mixture as a memento before you dispose of it. Call it a silly tradition of mine.”
She handed them two tiny glass vials on a string, and the joy on her face faded.
“It will probably only glow for a few months or years. Mine has been dull for a long time now.”
Blue fire erupted on one of the other tables, and the teacher moved away to observe the next student.
Valir el Greylune, who had apparently listened to Mrs. Hawke’s lecture, strolled over from the neighboring table. Up close, his face was even more perfect, and the thin lips curled up into a condescending half-smile as he examined their products.
“Forgive me, but I could not stop myself and just had to congratulate you myself on your success, newcomer. I am sure you must be the absolute pride of your peasant people back in… what was it? Caemdir? Well, wherever that is. Adequate. Absolutely remarkable.”
Stifled laughter came from the rest of his friends as the noble returned, not before giving Kraghtol and Aniriel a courteous nod.
Kraghtol was at a loss for words, and only the fact that the effect of the alchemical potion controlled his temper and perhaps the light touch of Aniriel’s hand on his shoulder saved Valir’s face from a fist. It didn’t help that, as he looked over again, he noticed that in their bowl, a syrup-like fluid illuminated the mocking faces in a perfect yellow light.
After breathing a few times, Kraghtol carefully captured one of the golden strands from his oil in the small vial, holding it up before carefully hanging the vial around his neck, like a small glowing pendant.
It wasn’t very bright, worse than some other students’ products, and probably useless for any practical application.
But it was undeniably alchemy. An alchemical wonder he had created all by himself.