CHAPTER 19 – POTION MAKING
After a week, the royal family still had not talked about returning to the capital. Queen Adyána kept to herself in the tent and Axion was fully swept up by the enchantment of love, spending all his time with Euphrati. Their bond had grown immensely. They were inseparable and acted as though they had been together their entire lives. Euphrati fit right in with the royal family, a necessary addition after Theomitus’ departure. Euphrati would help the family resume its natural order of four.
Even in Mitakahn’s dark moods and deep depressions he still treated her like a long lost sister, and Queen Adyána looked to Euphrati to save her son from his suffering. This sealed Axion’s love for her. He knew deep down in his heart that she was meant to be with him. It was the only feeling Axion could rely on. Euphrati was Axion’s new foundation. The first step in his recovery and a crucial element in Axion’s eventual taking of the throne. For Axion, he had just lost one of the most important people in his life, only to be replaced by a love greater than any he would ever come to know. Fate worked in mysterious ways.
Mitakahn had also found two new friends who helped him turn over a new leaf. No longer resentful and self-loathing…for now, he found some peace in visiting Echo’s library and exploring the mountains with Chronis. Echo told him more about berserkers and the ancient legends of the land while Mitakahn told him about the Ignaleos Cor and the flaming wings of the phoenix priests.
“You see Mitakahn, the berserker was drawn to you because of your contact with the Ignaleos Cor. It’s your tampering with the Cor that brought the demon north in the first place.”
“What is going to happen to me?”
“History tells us one thing…experience another…all I know is the berserker’s gaze brought it out of you. If we were able to harness that exposure power we can find out exactly what physical contact with the Cor has done to you.”
“You would be able to do all that?”
“Assuming we could kill the berserker to begin with…Yes, I believe there is an extraction potion in Mandrake’s Mandates that involves Eye of Berserker. It’s extremely dangerous but doable.”
“…Mandrake? Oh, I think I remember from my lessons at the academy. The warlocks were once legendary sages, and he wrote an encyclopedia on all of their supernatural doctrine and relics.”
“That might be a bit of an oversimplification but other than that, spot on, Mitakahn. I have Mandrake’s entire collection in my library. There’s a volume on imbuemancy, specifically exposures that can do what that fell beast did to you, only in a controlled state, no side-dish of fear-drinking or certainty of death.”
“Great, so let’s go find and kill that berserker.”
Echo shook his head affirmatively. Mitakahn was relieved. He appeared to be onboard with the crazy plan they just hatched as if they were on the same wavelength. Mitakahn found a piece of his father inside of Echo he was not expecting and with that a tiny piece of his heart was restored.
Mitakahn then realized that he would spend the rest of his life doing this. Slowly replacing the void left with small stitches made from the bonds of all the people in his life that reminded him of Theomitus.
They decided that night to camp in the same stretch of woods where the first attack happened. Mitakahn was no stranger to using himself as bait, only this time he was not alone. Echo was there to watch his back and was quite fond of repeatedly mentioning their silent partner.
“I bet your little friend is up there right now in the trees waiting for his heroic moment.”
“We can only hope.”
“In order to pass the time, would you prefer to hear a story or a song?”
“Is sitting in silence out of the question?”
Echo gave Mitakahn a look of disapproval.
“If you insist…I wouldn’t mind hearing more about Mandrake.”
Echo’s put-out visage quickly vanished with a smile.
“Ah yes, a worthy tale for a starry night,” Echo took a deep breath, “There were ancient times and there were modern times, somewhere in between there was a time when historians found a way to convert all the supernatural legends of MagnaThora into practical applications. No one was more famous for this than Mathias Mandrake. But to understand his story, you must hear it from the beginning.”
Legend of the Warlock’s Veil
They have always been watching. From the other side of reality, the phantoms could always see us, but we were na?ve to them. The phantoms were MagnaThoran gods of old, banished in their time and for all eternity. Every day of the rest of their infinite lives spent on one thought, one promise to themselves… one purpose alone…crossing back over.
There were small pockets of concentrated magic between the realms, cosmic thresholds. Although there was never a breach from the phantom side, man proceeded to unwittingly get closer and closer to finding a way. In Epitaph City treasure-hunting nomads brought MagnaThoran artifacts together under one roof for the first time in history. They studied the weapons and jewels and found patterns in the comparisons and contrasts. Runes and spells were discerned from the science behind the magical treasures. Man tried to bring the phantom realm to life in the real world by translating what they learned into their own language. Two sides of the same coin, what were doorways to the phantoms were merely objects to man.
People forget that the warlocks were not first. After the age of gods and the age of crucifire kings there was a vacuum of power. Criminals challenged the major houses of the kingdoms and called themselves warlords. The nomad historians decided to take action for the good of all MagnaThora. They finally unlocked the secrets of the cosmos and in equal response anointed their order the warlocks.
The first gem they were able to crack was the Oculus Veil. Anyone who used the veil could commune with the phantoms of the NetherRealm. Eventually the warlocks were able to bind their spells with supernatural forces, enchanting MagnaThora with legitimate magic.
After a couple of years, the warlocks from Epitaph City grew into a following bigger than any one kingdom. They held dominion over all magicraft, distributing its power deliberately. They alone handled the source of their supernatural connection. The warlock masters kept an unearthly secret only privy to themselves and a select few.
Master Mandrake was a bookworm, a warlock through and through. He remained in the safe confines of libraries and published his mandates for the annals of history, quickly bringing the legend of the warlocks to the forefront of civilized society.
Sadly, this is a tragic tale, one which has a predictable ending. The truth behind the science of the magic was lost in a world that was both amazed and amused by cheap parlor tricks. It was never taken seriously and after a time the novelty wore off. Now a warlock is no more feared or respected than a snake-oil salesman.
● ● ●
It got late into the night before they knew it. Mitakahn was too distracted by the story to notice the dying fire. The flames were now as small as rolling embers on the floor. And the color had turned into a maroon shade unfit for a natural flame. A familiar feeling took a hold of him. It could only be described as… well… It was pure dread. In the wake of the diminishing fire, Mitakahn caught a glimpse of something horrifying on the other side of the fire-pit…plump, glowing, yellowish-white eyes. It was a berserker.
The demon wolf stepped into the light of the quieting fire. It was not just any berserker. The firelight confirmed it, revealing the gash on its head. This was the same berserker that attacked him. Mitakahn wanted to scream so he could warn Echo, but when he opened his mouth a soundless air meagerly escaped. He was frozen. The fright and fear stilled his heart. Fighting to keep consciousness, Mitakahn’s heart pounded within his chest. His body was desperately trying to act, but his mind was shutting down.
Fear was spreading throughout his body like an accelerated version of the late king’s disease. Mitakahn wanted to think about how miserable his life had become and wallow in his self-pity. But when his sight fell upon his unsuspecting companion, concern for his well-being flooded his mind. Mitakahn’s true feelings shot back up from inside his chest, vanquishing his victimization. Mitakahn no longer gave into the temptation of the berserker’s dark magic.
Mitakahn could feel a tingle in his fingertips. He moved his left hand and stretched his fingers. Movement! He jumped to his feet, unsheathed his sword, took a deep breath, and yelled from his diaphragm, “ECHO! LOOK OUT!”
The berserker gnarled at Mitakahn’s vocal defiance and Echo was suddenly aware of the situation. The berserker leapt at Mitakahn and he quickly defended its attack with a sword parry and a dodge.
Mitakahn was thrown off his feet but bounced right back up again. Echo followed Mitakahn’s lead and took off running back towards camp. The berserker was distracted by Echo’s scurrying for the moment when Mitakahn jumped on the opportunity. He struck down with his sword, nearly missing the beast entirely, and sliced off its tail. The berserker did not flinch.
It turned back around towards Mitakahn, and he felt the cold chill return to his spine. The dark wolf howled, and the clouds parted, revealing the full moon. Upon the moon’s face shining down on them, its tail re-grew completely with unnatural speed. Mitakahn took a step backwards bewildered and started to trip on his clumsy heel.
Before he could turn to run he lost his balance and toppled over. The berserker was in no rush. It took gentle steps toward Mitakahn, trying to entice him back under its spell. Mitakahn began to feel drowsy. As if it fed more on his bad feelings than it could on his flesh. Getting light-headed, he lost the ability to react quickly. The berserker’s carnivorous fangs, now visibly drooling closer and closer to Mitakahn, delivered an icy fear. Mitakahn was helplessly falling victim to the berserker’s control again.
He tried to get up, but he was rendered inert by the time he got to his knees. And alas, he found himself back in the same position, knelt down before the wicked berserker, powerless. Mitakahn’s head swung like a ball slowly dangling on a flimsy axis. His eyes rolled back inside his head, and his mouth hung open. He was fully paralyzed. The berserker stood in front of Mitakahn, with the fire now roaring behind it in a maroon-red glow from the evil energy spike in the atmosphere, ready to feed.
“Mitakahn!” screamed out Echo, sword drawn shaking nervously.
The tension had broken between Mitakahn and the berserker. And Mitakahn could regain his movement. He slid his knife slowly from his belt as the berserker began to turn around towards Echo. They were unwittingly playing a successful game of alley-cat and cobble-mice, causing the berserker to keep changing his mind over its prey. Stolen story; please report.
Mitakahn plunged the dagger into its gut, but the berserker did not stir, it did not squeal, it did not kick. It simply pulled itself off the blade and ran towards Echo, kicking over Mitakahn in the process. The berserker instantly caught up with him and tackled Echo to the ground. Mitakahn watched from beside the fire as the wolf sunk its gruesome fangs into Echo’s back.
“NO!” yelped Mitakahn as he searched around for his knife. Knowing that even if he did stab the wolf, no good would come of it, Mitakahn was at his wit’s end. He screamed; screamed for help, screamed for someone, anyone, but no one came. To his pleasant surprise, a screech from the sky echoed back at Mitakahn.
One which gave Mitakahn strength.
He threw his dagger with all his might, and it sailed across the night sky. The knife landed its point in the dark wolf’s back, cracking its spine in half. The wolf stumbled to the ground and twisted itself free. With a turn of the neck, it snapped its spine back in place and lunged at Mitakahn. Its patience was spent. It was no longer going to toy with its prey. Mitakahn, now weaponless and his companion defeated, stood waiting for the berserker’s masterstroke.
The now roaring maroon fire was parted down the middle and in flew a glimmering silver bird. Chronis, the Silver-tipped Hawk, flapped his wings, abruptly redirecting the fire into the berserker’s face and propelled his winged feathers forward. Out shot silver feathers pointed and sharp. The silver feathers flew through the air like arrows and cut clean through the dark wolf’s skull. The Berserker stopped dead in its tracks. The flames faded back to a normal orange-red flare.
Mitakahn raced over to Echo’s side. He was on the ground, lying as still as a corpse. Mitakahn expected the worst. He turned Echo over. Chronis landed on the other side of Echo, as if he was also checking to see if he was okay. Echo was awake, in shock, it didn’t look like he was in pain, but his back was already stained blood-red. He got himself up with the help of Mitakahn and mumbled.
“Are you hurt?” asked Mitakahn.
“I will be okay.”
“You told me that people who get bit, turn.”
“I will never let it get that far.”
“I’m going to hold you to that.”
“We need to gather what we can.”
“Tell me what you need, and I will get it,” Mitakahn offered.
“The tail, a claw, the heart, both eyes, two bask of blood, and however many of those silver feathers your little friend dropped. I have a feeling they will make excellent mixing instruments. Once we get back to my library I will brew your concoction as promised.”
Mitakahn carefully extracted the items Echo requested. He propped the carcass atop a bucket they brought with them and split the matted leather fur in twain. The rank red drained out of the fell beast and into the bucket, much more than two bask. Mitakahn threw the eyes and the claw in the bucket, along with the heart which he took extra special care in removing. He dangled the tail around his neck and helped Echo get to his feet. Chronis swooped down and latched onto the bucket with his talons. He slowed to a near halt and struggled behind them keeping the bucket in a level hover.
By the time they returned to the village it was nearly dawn. Chronis got the bucket down the stairs and released it onto the dark oak table. Immediately gathering his full strength back, the silver squall dashed over to the windowsill and perched on it, watching them intently. The first thing Echo did when they got back to his house was take out a small bottle filled with golden liquid and remove his shirt.
“Is that ether?”
“Yes.”
“Ether is the most coveted substance known to man. It stops aging and with enough of it you could live forever. How did you come across it? How did you get any of this?”
“Usually by the same means, I read about it in a book and then I find the item.”
“Just like that, huh?”
“Just like that,” he smirked.
Echo prudently let loose one drop of ether from the bottle. It hit his hand and he immediately bounced it to the gash on his back where the berserker got him. He rubbed the ether into the wound. Before Echo closed the bottle he lifted it over his head and tipped it sending a drop tumbling into his eye. The bottle went back on the shelf. Mitakahn watched Echo’s eye flash gold as he blinked in the ether.
Echo cleared his throat, preoccupied with setting up for their experiment. But Mitakahn knew what would happen next. Like a gasp of wind rolling sand up a dune, the open wound on Echo’s back closed itself. The red irritation lit up from within and cleansed itself back to a vibrant flesh-tone matching the rest of Echo’s back. It looked like the sun had briefly shown inside Echo. He was completely healed without skipping a beat.
“And to think…all the time my father spent wasting away, all of the doctors and medicines we tried…that a cure was just up the road in the mountains.”
“The ether is not a cure-all, especially if you try to put it up against a disease of untraceable origin. There is no reason to think it could have saved your father. Do not put that burden on yourself, prince.”
Echo put on a bluish gray tunic with a silver ribbon weaving the collar to the center of his neck and chest. He found Mandrake’s volumes on the second shelf from the bottom in a bookcase that spanned the entire lateral wall of the basement. He plucked the correct volume from its place and fingered through to exposures.
“Where is it,” he mumbled to himself, “C’mon, c’mon I know I saw you somewhere…”
Mitakahn watched him walk the book back to the table.
“Is your name even really Echo?”
“I have had many names, most people do. Even your family, the Arkenoir house, was once known as the Arkenorths.”
“Trivial facts about my own kingdom will not dissuade me from my investigation.”
“And just what are you investigating, Mitakahn?”
“Have I not been clear?” he looked around as if there were other people in the room, Chronis squawked back at him, and he continued, “Your true identity.”
“My mother named me Cohen. My father gave me the surname Quill. But that name means nothing to you. What about this name? Ephearian.”
“I thought I heard you mention it in the legend of the warlocks. I know of it. I’ve studied the Ethereal prophecy.”
“Then it is I who wonders why it took you until right this moment to finally realize the relevance of such an order.”
“I am no ephearian and neither are you. The ephearian are extinct.”
“It is not a social club, Mitakahn. You have come into direct contact with the magic of MagnaThora, unlocking the first of three doors that makes an ephearian.”
“How do you know so much?”
Mitakahn tried to recall his lessons from third year history. But that seemed like a lifetime ago. So much of his memory got washed away after the funeral, much more than he bargained for. It would take Mitakahn awhile to get it all back. Sadly, he could not remember the other parts of going ephearian, or even what an ephearian was really. All he had to do was ask and Echo surely would’ve told him but in this raw stage of newfound persona Mitakahn struggled to get out of the way of his own ego. Echo was quick at work, anyway, merely giving Mitakahn the business to entertain himself while he gathered the ingredients.
“Now, I am no master, just a mere home-schooled student but exposures are basic enough. Not simple imbuemancy but not as complex as restoratives. They are about as complicated as it gets without involving ether.”
Echo rambled on without looking away from what he was doing.
“Exposure potions are fairly cut and dry. The one we will use draws out any hidden potential from within the drinker. To our benefit we know exactly what we are looking for, the only thing is…the Ignaleos Cor is random in its nature, so we can’t know for sure what to expect.”
“What’s the potion called?” Mitakahn asked with peak curiosity.
“Trillion’s Syphon — two larpin seeds (grounded), pinch of komodo myrrh, gragnyre fleece, one part cherub blood, eye of berserker, and three parts morticomb dry spirit.”
“The concoction is highly flammable, but that’s the point,” Echo explained, “Put a spark to the gragnyre and the whole thing lights up. What’s left I can cut with orchard ale.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Mitakahn, if we do this we don’t know what is going to happen. You have to be absolutely sure you are up for the challenge.”
“The way I see it… if it gets me any closer to figuring out what killed my father, there’s no choice to be made.”
“I admire your devotion to your father. Even in death you still hold his vigil.”
“It’s all I have left.” Mitakahn looked down.
Echo looked away, searching for something to say.
“Well think about it this way, prince. You are just accelerating the process of something that would happen to you sooner or later. Since you stepped through that portal you now walk a different path.”
“And yet my brother has felt nothing.”
“You also told me your cousin Cipher admitted to a change. It affects every person differently, some later than others. In my studies, subjects exposed to the Cor who develop latent effects from the magic have a much more potent reaction. By activating it now, perhaps you will be splitting the difference.”
“So, you’re a gambler too,” Mitakahn said without making it a question.
“Still trying to puzzle together my sorted past?”
“Echo, you spoke of my father’s death just before as if it was no big deal, that level of discretion I can appreciate but with all due respect I can’t trust anyone when it feels like death is personally out to get me.”
“You do not need to fear me.”
“I find your inability to be upfront suspicious. That is enough reason.”
Echo did not want to push the prince any further, so he focused on bringing the ingredients together. He grinded the larpin seeds in the mortar and held it over an ironclad cup tapping the back and spilling the seed dust into the cup. He pinched the komodo myrrh and threw it in. With a bottle of cherub blood in one hand and a bottle of morticomb dry spirit in the other he measured out the doses by eye.
Echo took a min-clothe from the bench and rolled it out on the table. At the center of the roll were the two silver feathers Chronis assassinated the berserker with. He used them as utensils together in one hand. The pointed ends lifted the berserker eye from the bucket to the cup. He stuffed the rest of the cup with gragnyre fleece letting it poke out of the top.
Echo scratched the pointy end of the silver tail feather up the length of the other one. The resulting spark grabbed a hold of the fleece and burned all the way into the cup. As soon as the spirit ignited, the flame swallowed the contents of the cup. Echo stuck a metal feather in and stirred the viscous fluid together. As it fused it smoldered and foamed. He let it breathe while he went upstairs to get the orchard ale. He came back down with a freshly tapped bottle.
“Here, try this.”
Mitakahn took a sip. It was quite enjoyable, hints of grove-apple over a strong hoppy taste, bittersweet and easy to drink. Mitakahn took another sip and Echo yanked the bottle back, he poured the rest of the ale into the cup with the potion and stirred it one last time. It was ready for ingestion.
Echo slid the cup over to Mitakahn who just stared at it.
“Good luck.”
Mitakahn picked up the cup, still refusing to break eye contact with it.
“Epitome of grace.”
Mitakahn closed his eyes and lifted the back of the cup before he felt the ale hit his mouth. He swallowed most of it not even noticing the change until the after-taste hit the back of his tongue, making him cough. Not just one cough but a fit-full. The coughing took a hold of Mitakahn as if he was choking, but he breathed freely. It was his body physically mistaking the struggle to maintain consciousness for choking.
With his chin being forced up into the air Mitakahn could feel his eyeballs rolling back and his eyelids closing. He fought to keep it from happening. He tried to kick his eyelids open, make a muscle out of them. The coughing subsided and he was able to snap his eyes wide awake only to find a blue earth, reminiscent of the gem-portal.
Echo watched the two blue flames in the center of the room dance while they stole the light from the rest of the basement. The flames were fueled by Mitakahn’s eyes. The power was overwhelming Mitakahn, he couldn’t tell if he was excited or nervous about what was happening to him. Once he figured out how to stop letting it grow he tried reeling the sensation back. His attempts were successful, and the flames quieted down to his pupils.
“Mitakahn?” Echo checked in, “Are you okay?”
“I think…I’m gaining control.” Nope.
Mitakahn released a cerulean charge into the bookshelf, shaking the books on the rack. It startled Chronis on the windowsill who then quickly proceeded to make his leave of the basement. Mitakahn was able to curve the effervescent shockwave into the ceiling. The blue flare doubled tenfold, forcing its way out of his head, throwing him backwards onto the floor with a bang.