Chapter 261: A Sindhian Beginning
A Sindhian Beginning
Pelday morning, Mistress Rana did as promised. When Martel arrived in the workshop, she simply gestured for him to follow her through the back. For the first time, he ascended the stairs to enter her laboratory.
In some ways, it looked like he might have expected from the apothecary downstairs, though the size still impressed him. The walls were filled with shelves containing ingredients of every possible kind. Powders and liquids stood next to all sorts of jars holding the oddest items. A lot of it seemed harvested from different animals – at least Martel hoped it came from animals – including different organs. One glass bottle held three feathers. To Martel's chagrin, any labels were written in what he guessed to be Sindhian. contemporary romance
Besides the impressive array of ingredients, the large chamber also held a fireplace and several worktables, complete with a number of tools. The last thing of note had to be a great book placed open on a small writing desk; a number of other volumes stood on a shelf above.
"Come here."
Martel joined Mistress Rana by the worktables. He glanced over the items present. In many ways, both tools and reagents looked similar to those used on the floor below.
"What is the difference between alchemy and apothecary work?"
"The former involves magic?" Martel guessed.
"Simply put, yes. Any fool can grind powders and stir ingredients to make a salve. But with the gift of magic, so much more can be done," Mistress Rana explained. "Here in Aster, alchemy has usually been done by adding spellwork to the process. You wish to make a healing potion, you pour healing power into a liquid able to bind magic. A crude manner."
Martel listened intently.
"Sindhian alchemy is more refined. Spellwork is used to draw magic from the ingredients, thereby allowing them far more uses and effects." She picked up some leaves that Martel recognised as foxglove. "In the hands of an apothecary, these can make a tonic to strengthen the heart. To a Sindhian alchemist, along with other reagents, these simple leaves have the power to cure someone at death's door."
Martel's eyes widened. This was exactly the knowledge he wanted, the kind that seemed worth pursuing.
"But to do so, you must approach this simple plant as a Sindhian. Few people have the ability to actively use magic, but everything in this world possesses magic passively." She placed the leaves in his hand. "The first thing you must learn is how to draw this magic out. It sleeps like a seed. You must make it blossom."
Martel reached out with his magical sense. It told him that the leaves were dry. It would require barely a thought for him to set them aflame. When it came to the element of fire, his magic responded. But he doubted that would help him with this; on the contrary, it seemed like his sense of magic worked against him. "I don't know how."
"Of course not. It will take you a long time to shed your Asterian training. First, we shall open your mind towards the magical possibilities something as simple as a leaf might possess. Next, we open your heart to the same." She took the foxglove from his hand. "I will assign you further work. For this bell, your only task is to observe everything I do, without asking any questions. I trust you can do as much?"
"Yes, mistress." For the next two hours, Martel watched in silence.
***
Martel barely heard the bell ring, and he felt reluctant to leave the laboratory. Even if he had only observed, his imagination was aflame with considering the possibilities and promises vested in this alchemy. Martel could never be a healer; unlike someone such as Maximilian, who had received this gift and done nothing with it, Martel would never know how it felt to heal someone grievously injured or even dying and restore life to them. He still remembered how it felt when Master Kelsos had cured him of consumption. The complete reversal of his physical state, the immediate disappearance of pain and discomfort. Martel would never have the power; but through alchemy, he might nonetheless be able to do the same.
Distracted by these thoughts, Martel momentarily forgot what lesson came next. As he suddenly remembered, he scrambled to get there in time. The other acolytes laughed derisively as they saw him enter the Circle of Fire.
He still gasped for breath as Moira arrived, and she likewise gave him a look of disdain. "Be mindful of the time, boy. Stop panting like a dog, we've not even begun."
"Sorry," Martel mumbled. He felt the urge to explain himself, against his better judgement. "Mistress Rana began teaching me alchemy today. It took me a while to get here from her workshop."
"Alchemy," his teacher sneered. "What use will that be?"
"It can provide powers our own magic can't," he said in defence. "Having a healing elixir seems very useful on the battlefield."
Moira gave a shrill laughter. "You think the legions will provide a laboratory for you in the army camp? You were born with a talent for destruction, boy. That is the only power that matters where you are concerned."
Martel clenched his fists, trying to think of the best retort.
Without sparing him a second glance, Moira turned away. "Enough chatter. Harriet and William, you spar against each other. Edward, you're up against the alchemist here."
***
In between classes, Martel left the school for an errand. Thankfully, not as far as the copper lanes; he would have no trouble making it back for his second lesson in fire magic, this time without running or gasping for breath. He only ventured to the merchants' district, walking until he found a peddler of firewood. Entering the small courtyard in front of the trader's house, he saw great logs stacked to one side and workers piling some of them onto a cart. A clerk appeared, giving the young visitor an inquisitive glance.
"I am Master Martel of the Lyceum," he said. Wizards impressed people, he had learned.
The clerk inclined his head. "How can I be of service, master mage?"
"I wish to buy firewood, as you can imagine. Five silvers' worth."
"Very well, good master. Delivered to your school?"
"No." Martel gave as good a description as he could of the derelict house in the copper lanes and the route thereto, including its inhabitants. "Now, simply because they are children, do not expect you can get away with anything. If the firewood is not delivered, or the amount is light, I will know." He straightened his back, trying to look intimidating while hoping that a layman's imagination concerning magic would do the rest.
"Never, master mage. We pride ourselves on our good practices. Good firewood at good prices, my master always says."
"Very well." Martel handed over five eagles.
"It shall be delivered today, good master."
"See that it is."
