Chapter 6
Iwatched warily as Wizard Alden whirled about the room, seizing all manner of books, ingredients, and potions and throwing them into the trunk he’d enchanted to follow him as he packed. It wasn’t the only object trailing him—the spellbook had spent the past hour using every manner of silent persuasion in cajoling its master into bringing it with him, pleas to which Wizard Alden was remaining stubbornly unyielding.
From the moment the wizard had received his message, the formerly quiet magical laboratory had been a whirl of chaos as he prepared for his sudden trip which he’d been nothing but cryptic about. He’d only spared as many words as necessary to explain about a magical competition that, should he win, would allow him to earn a prestigious position on some wizard’s counsel I’d never heard of, let alone understood its details.
All I knew was that this venture would require him to be absent for weeks, likely even months, an arrangement I found myself quite disgruntled by when I was only just getting used to my apprenticeship and still needed help learning the basics of my craft, especially if I hoped to master the healing tonics I yearned to create for Corbin.
“How long is this competition supposed to last?” I asked for the third time.
Wizard Alden didn’t even spare me a glance as he yanked several books from the shelf and tossed them haphazardly into his trunk, which had yet to become full, enchanted to hold any number of objects, a mystery that, like many others, I’d have to wait until his return in order to understand.
Though I found his silence frustrating, it didn’t discourage me from trying another tactic. “Should you earn this prestigious position as you hope, how will it affect my apprenticeship?”
“It’ll put me in a better position to tutor you.” He plucked several potions from a shelf and turned to pack the vials…only to nearly careen into his spellbook hovering precariously close to the trunk, as if it meant to slip inside when he wasn’t looking. “For the last time, I can’t bring you with me. Competitions are meant to be done on one’s own without any outside assistance, especially from a familiar.”
The spellbook’s entire manner drooped in response and the prince’s annoyance softened. He gave it an apologetic pat.
“If I ever have need of you, I’ll be sure to summon you.” He gently tickled its spine but the caress did little to cheer up the temperamental object. Though he appeared regretful, Wizard Alden remained unyielding as he resumed his packing.
“Can you truly earn such a position with your being a prince?” I asked.
He stiffened. “I can do both at the same time.” But he didn’t sound certain.
That seemed doubtful, especially when a position as prestigious as a magical counsel seemed time consuming enough to distract from his royal duties. “Do Their Majesties approve?”
His resulting scowl told me they clearly didn’t, which meant he was gallivanting off on this adventure without their knowledge. Though my common background left me with little experience in political matters, I had enough sense to know that this decision was a very poor one on his part.
“Doesn’t your position as a prince come before being a wizard?”
It was the wrong thing to say. He snapped his trunk lid shut and spun around to give me a rare glare. “Neither my position nor the life I choose to lead is up to you to decide, Maeve.”
His words returned me to my proper place. I flinched and lowered my eyes. His heavy sigh was followed by approaching footsteps. He cupped my chin to gently lift my gaze, a gesture that left my skin strangely tingly from his touch, as if the magic we both possessed reacted at our contact.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“You only spoke the truth,” I murmured. “Your choices are none of my business.”
“They are when they affect you.” He dropped his touch, leaving me strangely yearning for it again. “I regret that this will interfere with your apprenticeship. Though I’ll be busy, it’ll never be too much to answer your questions, so send as many messages as you need.”
“My skills are too amateurish to guarantee they’ll reach you.”
He considered the matter before withdrawing some parchment from his desk and resting his hand on top as he spoke a phrase in the enchanted language I never grew tired of hearing; the entire stack glowed before the light faded as the charm completed.
“My enchantment will guarantee that any message written on this parchment will find me. If you need any further assistance, my spellbook will be pleased to help.”
By the spellbook’s aggravated rustle, this was an arrangement it clearly didn’t approve of any more than I did. But Wizard Alden didn’t seem to care as he waved his hand to shrink his trunk…but the spell had the opposite effect, causing the trunk to grow larger. He muttered a curse.
I frowned. “Do you truly possess the skills necessary to earn such a prominent magical position?”
Grumpiness once more overcame him at my words. “Of course I do.”
He panted heavily as he cradled his magic and struggled to force his trunk to a small enough size for him to pocket, muttering the incantation through gritted teeth. Tucking the exasperating object safely into his robe, he nodded to himself before facing me with a much calmer expression.
“Every skilled wizard has a few…hiccups they must overcome. Admittedly, I wish I had more time to iron out my own wrinkles, but even though I’m not as prepared as I’d like to be, I’m not going to waste an opportunity that only comes once every decade or so. I’ll give it my best effort with the abilities I currently possess.”
With a flicker of magic he summoned his cloak, secured it around his shoulders, and with a parting wave he was gone. I stared after him, feeling his absence more acutely than I expected. Even though we didn’t interact often, I’d still found his presence comforting, especially knowing I could turn to him whenever I needed him.
I settled at my workbench to stare morosely at my cauldron where my failed tonic still bubbled gently, while the spellbook moped nearby in the place Alden had vanished. Wizard Alden hadn’t been able to finish figuring out what had gone wrong with it before he’d left, leaving me no guidance on how to proceed save for the thick volume on magical theory resting beside my mortar and pestle.
With a heavy sigh I opened it and scanned the table of contents for the chapters on the two potential issues the wizard hypothesized: either the problem was due to the order I’d added my ingredients or it lay with the manner in which I’d done so. I selected the chapter on ingredient preparation first before propping the book up and emptying the cauldron’s contents in order to start over again, this time alone.
* * *
Two unproductive andrather lonely days passed before there was any variation to my routine, time in which I made little to no progress on my tonic. I tried not to panic—after all, Corbin had been doing well during last weekend’s visit—but I couldn’t entirely dismiss the sudden urgency I felt to prepare it, as if some outside force guided my hand, instinct my powers possessed rather than my consciousness.
But no matter how diligently I studied, I could never properly create my brew—either the color was wrong, or the consistency, and once even the temperature.
With an aggravated sigh I drained my most recent failure—this one a dismal brown—and glared at the workbench Wizard Alden normally occupied, hoping he could feel the force of my ire even across our vast distance.
“Some master you are,” I grumbled. “Running off to pursue your own selfish interests and abandoning your apprentice when she most needs you.” But even unleashing my anger without risk of being overheard did little to lift my despondency.
With a dark mutter I stomped to the supply closet to retrieve the necessary ingredients to start over, only for a sudden knock to deviate my course. A courier stood on the other side of the door, bearing an envelope inscribed with a familiar hand. My spirits immediately lifted.
“Message for Miss Maeve, Apprentice to His Highness.”
I eagerly accepted it. It’d been nearly a week since I’d heard from my family, whose lack of magic forced them to send their messages via the post rather than the magical circle, making each few and far between.
My smile in anticipation of reading of my family’s adventures and seeing Corbin’s most recent drawing faltered the moment I noticed the roughness of Mother’s usual neat penmanship, as if my name had been written in a hurry. Heart pounding, I tore the message open. It contained a single line.
Corbin is very ill. Fear cinched my chest, trapping my horrified breath. Corbin!
For a moment I could only stare at the horrible words, which shook with my trembling hands. All at once my strength vanished and I collapsed to the floor, clutching the now crumpled letter to my chest.
Corbin…
This wasn’t the first time he’d suddenly taken ill, and the memories of the past moments only escalated my fear. The panic searing through me compelled me to action while also leaving me paralyzed, as if Mother’s news had cast a spell that rendered my limbs frozen.
Eventually worry for my beloved brother urged me to my feet and up the stairs, where I took every coin I’d earned from the pouch in my room and hastily scrawled a note: Get whatever medicines he needs at the apothecary.
I set both these at the center of the transporting circle Wizard Alden had set up and touched the outline with my powers. It illuminated and reached its light up to swallow the note and money.
Yet despite having offered whatever assistance I could and trusting our village apothecary’s capabilities, my anxiety lingered, especially with the vast distance separating me from my brother. Leaving home to learn magic felt unbearably selfish when he lay sick without my being at his side to nurse him or comfort him as I always did.
This thought haunted me as I struggled to distract myself with my studies, but all I could think about was Corbin’s flushed face and heart-wrenching moans as his illness seared through his fragile body. My helplessness surged. I tried to reassure myself he’d get better like he always had in the past…but what if this time he didn’t and we lost him like we had Father all those winters ago?
Fear fueled my desperation. I quickly abandoned my usual tasks and began frantically searching the books Wizard Alden had left behind for something—anything—that could help my dear brother, a search made more difficult considering I possessed little information about what afflicted him. Midst my rummaging, the spellbook eventually stopped its daily dose of sulking and wandered over to examine the uneven stacks piling up around me.
I knew it’d be foolish to attempt an unknown spell when I still struggled with the most basic of tonics, but panic blinded me to sense. What good was possessing magic if I couldn’t use it to help the one I loved the most? Corbin’s well-being was of far greater importance than any of the magical parlor tricks Wizard Alden had taught me.
I stilled when I caught sight of a faded title of a tome of simple healing spells blending into the shelf, as if hiding from prying eyes. I held my breath, hardly daring to hope as I shakily pulled it out and flipped through its contents, finally settling on: A brew to escalate the body’s natural healing.
Some of the anxiety cinching my heart eased as I scanned the listed ingredients, all of which I recognized, and all on hand in the general supply…other than the filipendula, which I’d have to pick from the batch of herbaceous flowering plants growing in the nearby forest.
I took a steadying breath to calm my rising anxiety. I could do this. Even if it took me an infinite number of attempts, I’d make a tonic for my brother to help him get better. Then I’d abandon my apprenticeship and walk day and night until I arrived at home to tend him myself.
I gathered all the other ingredients before stepping outside to forage the remaining one. I found a clump of filipendula plants growing along the forest trail closer that I remembered, a fortuitous find considering time was of the essence. I carefully gathered a small basketful and returned with quick, agitated strides.
Inside I found the spellbook hovering over the recipe with a studying air. After a moment’s deliberation, I tentatively approached to graze its spine. “You’re the only other magical being of my acquaintance. Won’t you help me prepare—”
It darted out of my reach before I could even finish my earnest plea. I sighed. It appeared the spellbook still didn’t like me. While its assistance would be of great help, if I prepared my potion with a level head and to the best of my abilities, I’d undoubtedly succeed. I rolled up my sleeves and set to work.
Despite the brew being at a slightly more advanced level than the others I’d attempted, this one seemed slightly easier…or perhaps my magic sensed my desperation and was lending me its powers. At least I had some assistance despite my master’s absence and the fact that his familiar currently hovered in the corner with its usual determination to ignore me.
I painstakingly prepared the ingredients and added them one by one—the perenalcone sap, the apifilliam roots, the cepharantha bulb, and finally the filipendula, carefully minced and stirred in the juice of armelina fruit. I lifted this final concoction to add it to the potion when the spellbook suddenly stirred and hastily flew towards me, spreading its pages out to block my hand.
I frowned. “What’s gotten into you?”
I tried to reach around it but it only darted into my path, causing me to lose my hold on my minced filipendula so that it tumbled to the table, sloshing some of the precious mixture over the bowl’s edges. I glared at the book.
“What did you do that for?”
No response, save for its continued flapping. I grumbled a few unsavory words as I envisioned the great satisfaction I’d get from ripping out some of the interfering spellbook’s pages.
These fantasies fueled my movements as I hastily salvaged what I could of the ingredient, chopped up some more filipendula to make the measurements even—which once more caused the mischievous spellbook to flutter frantically about. I seized hold of it to prevent its continued interference; it wriggled about trying to escape, but my grip was firm as I dumped the final ingredient into the simmering cauldron.
Poof!
The moment the ingredients made contact with the potion a puff of green smoke billowed up, enveloping my senses. Tingling began in my fingers and toes before spreading up my arms and legs to encapsulate my entire body, leaving me lightheaded.
The feeling gradually faded along with the fog, allowing my surroundings to drift back into focus. I slowly opened my eyes and blinked. At first everything was blurry, but gradually my vision sharpened, though everything looked different somehow, the colors brighter with several unique hues.
I tried to stand but my legs wouldn”t cooperate. Dazed, I looked down. The ground was much closer than it’d been only moments ago. A pair of webbed feet and long muscular legs stretched out in front of me. Puzzled, I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them to look again. The legs were attached to a short, plump body covered with mottled, green skin. I lifted my hand and wiggled my fingers; four crooked, green fingers twitched.
Suddenly I understood: this was my body. I’d been turned into a frog, a fact only confirmed by the spellbook’s clear horror as it stared down at me from above.
Panic of a different sort seared through me much more quickly with my smaller body. In all the times I’d messed up my past potions, none had ever backfired in such a drastic way as to transform me. How could this have happened?
As if sensing my unspoken panicked question, the spellbook frantically turned its pages before angling itself towards me so I could see the spell printed at the top of the page: How to Turn Your Enemy—Or Your Friend!—Into an Amphibian.
“But I didn’t follow that spell!”
At least, those were the angry words I tried to speak; instead the only sound that emerged from my new throat was a disgruntled croak. I flinched at the timbre of my voice, strange to my ears. Naturally the spellbook didn’t understand—not that it’d have answered even if it had—which left me to solve the mystery.
It scooted itself closer, encouraging me to study the recipe more closely. I did, only to notice that it was nearly identical to the healing tonic I’d just tried to brew…save for a single ingredient: dryas.
My breath caught in my throat. No…impossible.
My magical transformation confirmed it wasn’t impossible. Yet I refused to accept I’d made such a foolish mistake, especially after all the times Wizard Alden had impressed upon me how similar dryas and filipendula were to one another and that I was to ensure I never, ever mixed them up.
I really needed to get better at listening.
The part of me that still didn’t quite believe my own idiocy compelled me to further investigate the matter, but the ingredients were still piled haphazardly on the workbench towering high above me and out of reach. I released a frustrated growl that manifested itself as another helpless croak and tried to jump.
I underestimated the power of my new hind legs and with a single hop my body lifted enough for my small, four-fingered hands to graze the edge of the table and hoist myself up. From there I hopped towards the grass-like pile of what should have been filipendula…only for me to discover that it was indeed dryas, which looked almost exactly filipendula except for the small white flowers blooming at the tips.
I groaned, and after taking several minutes to curse myself with my new frog tones for making such a foolish mistake, I forced myself to focus on the matter at hand.
It didn’t matter how I’d gotten into my current predicament, nor did I have time to dwell on the consequences from my rushed spell. The next step was to deduce how to reverse it in order to turn back into a human as soon as possible. After all, Corbin was waiting.
After deliberating where to begin my search, I settled for the spellbook, considering it contained the frog transformation spell so would likely also have its reversal charm.
Luckily the spellbook was in a much more cooperative mood—whether because of guilt or pity I wasn’t sure, or perhaps it feared its master’s ire when he learned his apprentice had been turned into a frog under its watch. Whatever its motive, it allowed me to clumsily flip through its pages, which I had to be careful not to tear with my moist skin and lack of thumbs.
My heart lifted when I discovered the reversal spell hiding in the back of the book…only for it to sink upon reading the words scrawled across the top: requires mastery level in spell-casting.
For a long moment I could only stare in horror, my helplessness threatening to engulf me. My brother was ill, I had no way to reach him or help him, I’d been transformed into a frog, and the only wizard I knew with the skillset to change me back currently attended a competition miles away with no way for me to reach him.