“You are not going to believe this,” I said from the top of the stairs.

“Am I not?” Alicia called back.

“Carrots actually do improve night vision!”

“No! Never!” I could tell she was humouring me, and I didn’t care.

“Apparently they’ve been used for centuries,” I harped on, undeterred. “You have to mix them up with a few other odds and ends, plus a whole heap of assenlarp, but still.” Nothing. “Carrots!”

“Carrots,” Alicia confirmed.

“This is the news of the century!” I announced to the world, galloping back upstairs to continue my reading.

To be fair, Alicia was well within her rights to be less than enthused. By my own count there had been six cases of “news of the century”, nine incidents of “world shattering truths being unearthed”, and at least a dozen “once in a lifetime discoveries”. What could I say? I was passionate.

It didn’t happen right away, but once I got going, I was like a rolling haybale. Alicia had sent me down a path that was as addictive as biting your nails, and twice as annoying for everyone around you. I was gleefully getting carried away; even I could see that. I had found my new drug — pun intended.

The seeds of my new obsession had been planted a little while ago, though — pun not intended, but I’ll take it. When I got to Magalat I had been so focused on survival that I hadn’t really noticed what was blossoming inside of me. I thought I was just getting by, and maybe I enjoyed making money just a little bit, but I had done so much more than that. I had stood up for myself, taken care of family, learned new skills, helped people, formed an identity! I woke up most mornings feeling like I knew who Mel was. I wasn’t just an accidental druid, I was fast becoming — dare I say it — a functional human being.

Suffice to say, I was pretty proud of new Mel. Between the support of Mirra, Alicia, my clients, and Fealux, I started to feel like I did have some value. So what if I was a half-baked druid? I’d be the best half-baked druid Magalat had ever seen.

Humility is still on my ‘to learn’ list.

“Mirra, Mirra, look!” I said, prodding a page with a picture of a sunflower hybrid.

“Mm?”

“You can splice plants together to make whole new breeds! Grafting, they call it. This sunflower was mixed with a maginot to make an oil that is not only good for your joints, but also relieves constipation. Isn’t that great?”

“Seems that way,” Mirra chuckled.

When I wasn’t knocking up new teas, I had my nose in a book. Mirra and Alicia took on the bulk of the market work while I lost myself in research. I tried to juggle both, but customers didn’t take kindly to shop assistants collecting their payment over an illustrated tome of ‘tinctures — how to spot a fake’.

I appreciated the lightened workload, but that did mean I was left with nobody to share my discoveries with but Clive, who was a professional downer. As a compromise, I went on market days to the stables, where I could share my discoveries with Hinny.

“Did you know that you can cure headaches with willow bark? Isn’t that insane? There’s one in our garden back in Braxus! I had no idea it was so useful,” I gushed.

Hinny made for a good soundboard. If she could speak, she never did. This was great news, because she couldn’t tell me I was annoying the hair off her. The stables were always quiet, too. There was normally just the one jovial attendant about, and he spoke to the horses too — not a druid, talking to horses is apparently just more sociably acceptable than talking to chickens. As long as I brushed her coat and fed her some veg, I had the perfect research partner in Hinny.

“Do you think I could mix my pep tea into this arthritis cure for a serious pick-me-up?” I showed Hinny the page. “I guess you’re right, I shouldn’t rush right in. Let me check all the ingredients first.”

This was a good indication of how my more ambitious alchemical sorties were going, in that they weren’t.

After my soul-searching and bottle-emptying evening with Fealux — plus a healthy period of recovery — I marched straight over to see Glen and Daniel. I told them all about my near miss with the smiling cap, and begged their forgiveness. For their part, they couldn’t understand why I was so upset about something that hadn’t happened, but for me it was a grave error that could have, no, would have been, had sheer luck not intervened. It was a wake-up call; even when you’re playing with herbs and spices, you’re still playing with fire. The Glade and the Anvil are equally capable of making and destroying.

Of course this was a difficult thing to convey to the couple, especially once they had sat me down with tea — my own blend — and sandwiches. Nothing saps the gravitas out of a moment like tea and sandwiches.

Glen assured me that there was no rush at all, and that he was grateful I was even trying to find a cure for his incessant snoring. Daniel apologised for being so moody on market day, and confessed he had been overly dramatic. Both were in agreement that I had done enough, and they wouldn’t mind at all if I called it a day and simply said it can’t be done.

It was just me who couldn’t let matters lie.

In the weeks that followed I tripled my stock of herbs. I gathered plants and seeds anywhere I could. I had Fealux bring me some sample ointments and salves, etc., and even managed to get in a couple of new books to compliment my already huge library. Waiting on Fealux was frustrating, as he was often gone for unpredictable lengths of time, but the result was that by the time the third wheel had rolled forward to a new moon, I was knee deep in research material.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

I had recipes galore at my fingertips. I knew how to blend eye drops that soothed itching, lotions that calmed inflammation, balms that removed foot fungus. I could brew remedies for morning sickness, mash up a weight-loss paste, and mix together an anti-sneezing powder — go figure. I was well armed and well informed.

The only thing I hadn’t done, was actually mix something.

“Impressive shopping list, you’ve got there,” Alicia nodded towards my recipe file — some of my best penmanship, it must be said.

“I can’t wait! I’m going to fill this place with useful stuff. You’ll see.”

“No time like the present,” Mirra murmured from behind a giant sack of aubergines.

“Not yet. There’s one thing I have to do first,” I said, hoping it sounded mysterious.

“Find a cure for snoring,” Alicia guessed. Okay, so not that mysterious.

“If I can do that, then I know I can trust myself to make the rest of these.” I waved at my growing wish-list.

“Is it not wise to make something you know works, before diving into the unknown?” Alicia had her hands on her hips.

“Wise? Yes. Logical? Also, yes.”

“But?”

“But I need to do this. I need to prove to myself that I can do the work, take this seriously, and give people a reason to trust me.” It seemed so painfully obvious to me.

“There’s your reason right there, Mel.” Alicia prodded the top page. “People will trust you the moment they find that they can reliably come to you for” —she read the page— “lice shampoo. Hm, maybe put aside a batch for Hinny, too.”

“I just want to feel ready,” I said.

Alicia and Mirra exchanged a look. “Whatever you need, Mel. Just know that you’re putting this pressure on yourself. Nobody else is.”

“I know, A.A. Thank you.”

The thing about feeling ready for enormous steps, is that you never do. There’s always one more page to read, one more side-effect to consider. You could very easily grow old waiting to feel ready. It took me a half-turn more to realise there was such a thing as ready enough.

“Mel!” Daniel half-exclaimed. “What a surprise. I’m sorry, we weren’t expecting you.” That’s fair, it was close to midnight. “Um, do you need something?”

“I… I have something we could try.” I held out a small vial of milky liquid.

I knew how I must look. The skin on my face felt heavy, and I suspected my spine would hate me for the slouch I wore like a cloak.

The past few days had been a nightmare of “should I, shouldn’t I”. Finally, I had gone ahead and done it. Then I’d redone it, and redone it, until I was nearly out of ingredients. It’s hard to express how tiring the process was. The mixing had been tricky, but the soul-searching had been a labour of epic proportions.

For all my work and research, I had this: one phial of cream-coloured goo that left stains on the glass. I hoped to the Anvil it was the right goo for the job.

“Ah,” said Daniel. “It’s time then, is it?” He looked as nervous as I felt. “Come in, come in.”

“Thank you,” I replied, but barely made it across the threshold before I stopped again.

“Please, come through to the dining room.” Then aimed at the stairs, “Glen, it’s Mel. She’s brought us a little something.”

“Mel?” Came the response. “Oh, I see! Coming!”

I was starting to suspect I had been thinking about this moment a lot more than they had. Makes sense, they’d probably given up on me. Glade, I almost had.

“Some tea, perhaps?” Daniel offered.

That reminded me. “Yes!” I rummaged in my satchel. “Not for Glen, though.”

He chewed his lip. “Not sure I follow.”

“It’s for you and me, so we can stay awake. My strongest blend yet.” I felt him study the bags beneath my eyes as I said that.

“Ah. Staying then, are you?”

I felt a surge of embarrassment. I’d come over unannounced and then insisted that Daniel and I share a sleepless night trying not to disturb his husband. I probably should have called ahead first.

The doubt crept back in. “Well, if now’s not a good time… I just want to make sure there aren’t any adverse, um, reactions. You know?”

“Adverse reactions.” Daniel sounded out those words very carefully.

Glen appeared at the bottom of the stairs then, wrapped in a white dressing gown that could double as a duvet. “Daniel, stop interrogating the poor girl! Please, please, sit!”

I was ushered into the dining room and tea was prepared — pep for Daniel and I, midnight for Glen.

“So,” Glen began again once we were all seated, “tell me what we have here.”

“It’s nothing special.” I shrugged.

“But my dear, I’m sure you worked very hard at it,” he prompted.

“Well, it was no trouble, really.” His eyes urged me to go on, so go on I did. And go on. And go on. “… So to summarise, it’s really nothing more than dehydrated scalpwheat, a pinch of rust bush, a few dozen herbs in small quantities, and a whole heap of mint.” I frowned at the vial. “It really was a ton of mint.”

Daniel was nonplussed. He only wanted to know one thing. “And you’re sure it will work?”

“The recipe is essentially an extremely watered-down muting tonic — short-term effects only — mixed with a sleep aid and ingredients known to open the air passages.”

“So, that’s a—”

“I think so.”

“Excellent.” He finally looked excited. “But most importantly, is it safe?” Okay, so he wanted to know two things.

Well, Mel, time to take charge of the moment. These people need reassurance. They need to know they can trust you. They need you to be bold. They need you to be confident.

“Probably,” I said.

Daniel’s face fell.

“But wait! I have rousing salts, and throat lozenges, and, and, and—” I had a whole bag full of tricks for every conceivable mishap. Why couldn’t I just say that?

“Mel, Daniel,” Glen said, calm as a puddle on a windless day, “please.” He looked me in the eye. He had such a gentle face. “Mel, are you happy to try this.”

My tongue felt thick, but I managed to nod. I nodded assertively.

“That’s all I need,” Glen said.

“But—” Daniel began.

“No buts! We asked her for help, and she is here to help. We’ll not shy away now.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “As you wish. You had best believe I will be watching over you though.”

“I have no doubt.” Glen smiled. “Shall we, then?”

“Before we go ahead with this,” I said, “any history of heart problems?”

“No.”

“Seizures?”

“No.”

“Sudden and unexplained bleeding from the eyes or ears.”

“N—No.”

“Itchy toes?” I asked.

“Mel?”

“Mm?”

“Give me the vial.”

Eventually, the goo was consumed. Glen lay tucked up in bed with Daniel and I watching over him like a pair of gargoyles. Unsurprisingly, it took him a long time to fall asleep, even with all the drugs in his system.

I checked his breathing and heartrate frequently. My training in the field of medicine is non-existent, at best. This led to a few moments of panic when Glen’s pulse slowed to a rhythm fit for sleep. I checked my notes, though, and finally convinced myself it was fine.

Every ten minutes I was over Glen like a child in a cake-shop window. I studied, checked, sat down, prayed. I was so absorbed in this routine that I didn’t even notice the obvious.

“He’s not snoring,” Daniel said. Then again, with a small laugh, “He’s not snoring.”

The grin I wore then could have touched the ceiling.

The night was painfully long, but for all the right reasons. Daniel and I watched Glen have a peaceful night’s sleep, and then wake up refreshed and cheerful in the morning. If anything, he was a smidge confused, but I decided that had more to do with a strange girl sitting at his bedside than anything else.

My snoring cure had worked, and Glen had survived the night. My biggest success story to date, was getting someone to fall asleep without dying; it felt like I had scaled a mountain.

I skipped home, despite my fatigue. I really couldn’t have been happier. It was such a relief to see Glen safe and sound in the morning. I shouldn’t really have been surprised that he was. After all, I’d been just fine when I tested the medicine myself.