Mirra and Alicia were waiting for me when I got in. Mirra was busying herself with odd tasks, Alicia was making no such attempt. She tapped her foot frantically, waiting for me to close the door so she could unleash her tirade. It’s barely clicked shut before I heard:

“And where by thorn and vine have you been? We were worried sick, Mel! You can’t just take off in the middle of the night in a strange city and—” That’s when she got a look at my face. “What happened? Are you alright? Are you hurt?”

“No. I’m fine.” But I wasn’t fine. I was really not fine.

“Mel, talk to me. What’s wrong?” She went to touch me but thought better of it. She folded and unfolded her arms. “For crying out loud, Mel! Let us help you!”

I know she meant well, but for some reason that was the straw that broke the donkey’s back. I broke down.

“Oh Mel. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. I’m sorry, love.”

I couldn’t say anything back. I just leaned into her chest, arms by my side, and cried.

I’d made it all the way back to the shop, watching, listening, waiting for the voice to call to me again. I hadn’t heard it since the forest’s edge, but still I scanned every corner and checked every alley as I thumped through the early morning streets. It’s the most horrible feeling I’ve ever experienced: expecting danger at every turn, feeling like nowhere is safe.

“It’s alright, Mel. It’s alright. I’m sorry I yelled. It’s alright.”

I’d love to say I bounced back fast. I’d love to say I shook off the horrors, drank deep from my pool of resolve, and regained myself. That’s just not what happened.

Alicia hugged me, Mirra made me tea from our travel rations, and I sat at the counter defeated. When the tea was done, I went to bed without saying a word. Alicia and Mirra didn’t ask any more questions, and I’m grateful to them for that.

The whole day passed in bed, and most of the next one. I couldn’t eat. I could barely sleep. I was afraid.

This curse made me a slave. It wasn’t just my neighbours I had to fear, it was everything. Nowhere was safe. I was hated. I was shunned. But could I run away and hide from it? No, because not even nature offered sanctuary to a druid.

I don’t know who or what that voice was, but the fact it’d found me was terrifying. Glade, even the insects were speaking on its behalf! Whatever its intentions, and I doubt they were good, it’d robbed me of my right even to hide in my own head. I felt like a toy for the world to play with.

Never mind being hanged, I was more afraid of going mad.

Mostly I just lay in bed, staring at nothing and hoping to feel some glimmer of hope. When I did feel, it was mostly resentment. I resented my curse, the voice, my family, and even Iffan for dying before he could tell me what horrors awaited me. Anvil, it would be so good to speak to another druid right now. It would mean everything just to have someone understand. Nobody could see what I was going through, no matter how hard they tried.

I got out of bed when I had to, not when I wanted to. It was a grey afternoon, the sort that mutes sound, as well as colour. My stomach was so far beyond grumbling the idea of food made me sick. My throat was dry enough that my breaths came out in wheezes. Worst of all, after more than a day in bed, I still felt exhausted. So far, my experience of Magalat was largely the four walls of my room.

Downstairs, I found my bag on the counter. I didn’t remember putting it down, but I guess I probably just let it drop to the floor. What a great housemate I make.

The herbs I’d collected had been left out to dry next to my satchel. I’d been a bit careless stuffing the carbleweed in; no doubt that bag is going to reek for months. The plants I’d pulled out at the roots I found planted in small pots outside by the barren vegetable patch. I’m not sure which of my guardians did that. I should have felt gratitude, but anything I was annoyed they’d interfered.

“Too much sun.” I tutted.

I moved the plants inside. There was a spot I had in mind for them, but it was too close to Mopla. The thing disgusted me right now, so I tucked the pots in a corner rather than deal with it.

Then I went back to bed and didn’t come down until the next morning.

Mirra must have heard me coming, because there was a bowl of steaming oatmeal on the counter ready for me.

“When did we get oats?” I said instead of hello.

“You left us a little to trade with. You did a good job with those cabbages,” Mirra said around her softest, warmest smile.

It was unusual to find Mirra so chatty. It would be when I couldn’t stand to speak anyone, wouldn’t it?

I shrugged in response, and moved my oatmeal around the bowl. My body was famished but I felt sure that eating would be a mistake.

“Awfully nice flowers.” Mirra nodded to the drying plants.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

“I think they’re technically herbs. Herbs and weeds.” I sighed. “And berries.”

“Guessing you didn’t pick them to look pretty,” she said.

“It was a stupid idea.”

“Maybe.” Okay, not the reassurance I’d been expecting. “Looks like it’s already done now, though. The hard part is, at least.”

I frowned in response. “It was a mistake.”

Mirra started wiping down the spotless counter. “Just seems to me that it’d be a shame to waste a good mistake.”

That was the entire conversation. Mirra went about cleaning and humming, and paid me no heed whatsoever. She’d said her bit, and that was that. Now it was up to me.

You cunning piece of work, Mirra.

I wasn’t sold on the idea immediately. No, first I spent a lot of time doing anything but going near those herbs. I helped around the house, cooked the occasional meal, and even went to the market with Alicia one morning. I wouldn’t say I was feeling myself again, but a will to survive gave me momentum. In some respects, I grew bored of being afraid.

Only when the herbs were on the verge of becoming useless did I look at them again.

I went to all that trouble and suffered so much for these wilting little twigs that I may as well try and do something with them. What’s the worst that can happen? I’m pretty sure the luxenbraid can’t talk to me — pretty sure — and if I mess up the tonic then it’s no more of a waste than if I just let the stuff rot. Maybe Magalat will have an epidemic of male pattern balding, but my conscience can handle that.

Up in the lab, I got to work.

I’d already checked the equipment required before starting this doomed venture, so I knew I had enough to get by. There was some specialist apparatus that can refine the process, but that had looked too smashable for the looters to pass by. The manual promised decent enough results with a cauldron and a few beakers, though, so I should be fine.

To start, I set the water to boil. A few tablespoons of salt supposedly brought the bubbling down to a simmer and helped breakdown some of the ingredients added later. Who was I to question it? In went the salt.

While the water was boiling I ground the luxenbraid to a powder, and lightly crushed the inkberries until I had a lumpy paste. This was sugared, left for a quarter turn, and then dumped into the boiling water.

The carbleweed had to steep in regular cooking oil for an hour before being added to the mixture. Meanwhile, the base merrily bubbled away on a low heat.

Controlling the temperature was the hardest part. Iffan had set up a series of miniature stone stoves, which were quick and easy to coax a fire in, but became astronomically hot if left unattended. I ended up elevating the cauldron on a precariously balanced pair of frames to get it simmering rather than boiling over. If ever I do this again, I’ll have to review this process. My week hadn’t been so bad that I wanted a pot of boiling liquid dumped over my head.

When time was up, I stirred the infused oil into the ointment, clipped about half the carbleweed into the mix, tired, and set the whole thing to cool.

Even with all the waiting for things to boil, heat or cool, it was a surprisingly involved process. I imagine it gets quicker over time.

The next day I carefully ladled the mix into a jug, and then poured the contents into vials. From the batch I’d made I got nineteen vials — believe me, I tried to stretch it to a round number.

The lab is pretty dark — my dark vision doesn’t like sunlight as much as it does moonlight, I guess — so I had to take one of the vials to my room to really get a good look at it.

Frankly, it looked like oily water. It was a bit murky, more brown than golden, but nothing special to look at. Yet, I felt proud of the little tincture. It felt good to make something with my own hands. I’d never been much of a baker, but I got the same kind of kick out of this that others got out of making a cake. Follow the instructions, show a bit of patience, and there you have it: a mullet.

Okay, I didn’t actually know if the tonic worked, but it was a good feeling, nonetheless.

Holding the vial up to the light, I had to laugh. A druid didn’t need to make this. Anyone could have done it. Sure, we were probably better at sniffing out the ingredients, but this tonic was the product of a curious mind. There was no magic, just science. Science and a bit of cooking! That barber across the road could brew his own tonic, he just wouldn’t; it felt to him like the realm of the occult.

Speaking of — the barber, not the occult.

It was outside of work hours when I knocked on the barber’s door. It was a nicer day than the last few had been; the sun got a look in, between clouds that raced about like they were late for work. Just as well, as the barber did not let me.

“Hello? Ah, hello! Mel, was it?” He had hair long enough that I suspected he must be the only barber on the block.

“It was. Still is,” I said. “I have something for you.” I handed him the vial.

“Good gracious. Is that what I think it is?” He held the vial reverently, cupped in his palm like a kitten. “Please wait here.”

The barber closed the door and disappeared into his shop. I guess he’d gone to test it, but Anvil knows how. He didn’t come back with a beard, I know that much.

“Yes, yes,” he said when the door opened again, “I think this will do nicely. How much do you have?”

“Twenty vials.” Oh, wait. “Nineteen, actually.”

“Only nineteen? Dear me, dear me.” He seemed to be thinking, but I have no idea what he could have been thinking about. “I’ll take them all, please.”

It’s not like I had any other buyers. I’m not sure what I would have done with the rest if he hadn’t wanted it all. “I thought you might say that.” I tried to play it cool.

“What are you asking?”

“Uh, excuse me?”

“The price, dear. What’s the price?”

Oh, Glade. I’d forgotten to check the ledgers before I waltzed over here.

“Same as you paid Iffan,” I said, thinking fast.

“Hmm, it’s not really the same quality as Iffan’s, though, is it?”

Ouch. “Do you know another supplier?”

He chuckled mirthlessly. “I guess not.” He thought some more. “Very well, but!” He disappeared again.

I was left staring at a door. “You well?” I asked it.

When the door opened for the third time that conversation, I was dragged through it.

“Hey! What are you—”

The barber thrust three coins into my hand. “Not good to do business in broad daylight,” he said.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Exclusive rights, is what that is. I want to be the only barber you sell your tonic to.”

“What?” I could barely hear him. “Yeah, that too, but… What is this?”

“That? That’s gold, dear.”

I’d never held a gold coin before. It was magical. Rich, shiny, warm. “Gold.” Even the word was beautiful.

“Well? Do we have a deal?”

“What deal?” I said stupidly.

“Do I have exclusive rights on your tonic?” He seemed eager. He seemed very eager. Too eager.

At the time I couldn’t imagine going back to that demonic forest again, so why shouldn’t I promise not to sell tonic to anyone else? It was a bit morally dubious, sure, but this was Magalat; he was trying to swindle me too.

“We have a deal,” I said firmly.

“Excellent, excellent. Bring around the other vials as soon as you can. I’ll have payment ready.”

I walked back to the shop in a bit of a trance. This was a bit above trading cabbages; I’d just cut a business deal.

“What’s gotten into you?” Alicia asked.

I opened my clammy palm. “Are we rich?”