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. Thefunny 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 orangewere 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 tocongratulateyou myself on your success, newcomer. I am sure you must be the absoluteprideof 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 wonderhehad created all by himself.
Chapter6
Midwinter
Over the course of the next days, the amount of new lessons and experiences overwhelmed Kraghtol. Except for Mrs. Urdson’s writing course, every lecture was fascinating in its own way, from the more functional ones like ‘Practical Applications and Laboratory Safety’, taught by instructor Breya Flint, a dwarf teacher with the sensibility of a large rock and the stubbornness that was common to his people, to ‘Historical Alchemy and Ethical Use’ by lecturer Holen Merress. The elf understood it like no other to fill the dry topic he taught with life and thought-provoking questions, often straying from the historical topic at hand for most of the lesson.
All these new impressions left little room for anything else, and Kraghtol often spent his entire day either visiting courses, learning or practicing. Only the next Freeday, he remembered he wanted to send a letter to Merrick and spent the entire morning writing down everything that had happened since he had left Mistpine, leaving nothing out. He had never kept secrets from his foster father, and he didn’t see any reason to start now. Only when he had finished the eight pages, hestopped to wonder what he should do with them. If the wrong person read them, he would be in big trouble, and his lies exposed. Also, there was the matter of money. Sending a letter to a remote village many hundreds of kilometers away wasn’t cheap, and for the last week, it had felt like the coins were running through his hands like water.
No, he would have to give his foster father the letters he wrote in person when he returned to Mistpine someday. He was sure Merrick would understand. However, that still didn’t solve the other problem. He needed to earn money, which was easier said than done. Without the stamina from his hated Orcish heritage, Kraghtol had been so exhausted after each day he had fallen asleep as soon as he had entered his chamber. Given he didn’t sleep very well either, but it was hard to imagine him working hard physical labor after his days at the school.
But what choice did he have? He was not allowed to work on Freedays, and he had no qualifications for less tiring work. Especially healing and herbology, which he considered himself good at, were impossible to get into, because unlike Kraghtol, Krasen from Caemdir was no guild-approved healer apprentice. So, without better options, he spent the rest of the day searching for a place to work in the evenings, preferably in a workshop not too far away from either the school or his room. It took him longer than expected, although the rejections were for different reasons than before. Winter was creeping closer, and with it, the demand for laborers dwindled.
In the end, he found work at a warehouse by the docks, which was neither well paid nor close by, but it was enough at least to almost cover his cost of living. It was completely beyond Kraghtol how he was supposed to earn enough money to pay for his tuition, but perhaps abetter opportunity would arise at a later time. The only trouble was that now he was working a job, he had even less time to look for such an opportunity.
At school, he was quickly getting along with the other students just fine — with the notable exception of Valir el Greylune and his social circle. The noble-born rubbed him entirely the wrong way, and yet, Kraghtol didn’t understand why. It was not as if Valir had made fun of him or even talked to him much, but somehow, just looking at him and his arrogant smirk made Kraghtol’s blood boil more than anything since he had taken the potion. Perhaps, he tried to rationalize, it was becausehecertainly didn’t have to worry about paying for his tuition.Hedidn’t need an illegal potion for his lean, angular face and near-perfect human body. All of that envy was true, of course, but deep down, Kraghtol knew there was more to it. He just didn’t understand what it was. It helped little that Valir apparently didn’t like him much, either. Most of the time, the noble didn’t even speak with anyone but his higher-up friends, but in the rare situation they were paired together or they could not avoid talking to each other, his voice was so filled with the air of superiority that Kraghtol couldn’t help but clench his teeth.
