Fen often wondered how the world works. Why was the sky blue during the day, but pink and purple at sunrise? Why could he see his breath when Father Invernum visits? Why did the clouds look wispy some days, and fluffy on others? Questions like these, Fen would ask the local Alchemy Practitioner, even if her lessons often went in one ear and out the other.
“Boy!” Fen heard from across the field, shattering his absorption in cloud-gazing. “What are you doing staring at the clouds again?! The damn cows are leaving through the gate!”
In a mildly muddled state of mind, Fen’s head snapped from the puffs to the opening in the fence. Sure enough, a line of very polite cows was escaping the property and were on their way into the village.
“Well, don’t just stare at them now! Get moving!” he yelled.
Panic-stricken, Fen rushed across the frost-covered field, a difficult feat in the dim morning light. Halfway to his goal, he felt his foot turn sideways, followed by the sight of rapidly approaching ground.
Pain and embarrassment. All Fen could do was clutch his ankle, grit his teeth, and clench his eyes shut until the agony subsided. Sweat formed on his forehead, and a chill passed through his spine, and not from the cold ground.
As Fen opened his eyes and the stars in his vision faded, the same man who was yelling at him a few seconds ago was now staring down at him, but with a sorry expression. There was a chuckle threatening to escape the man, and Fen could not help but stare back in mild annoyance.
“Easy there, boy. Don’t worry about the herd. Let’s just get you inside.” Father thought it best to pick Fen up like a child. Though a young man, Fen was much smaller than the average Fobunian youth. Or was it perhaps that Fobunian men were abnormally massive? That he was normal and everyone around him strange made Fen smile. “I’ll get your brothers to go wrangle them up. You won’t be of much use today on the field, so consider this your day off.”
The smile Fen had conjured evaporated, smitten with impunity. A feeling of dread overcame Fen, realizing the debt owed to his brothers. Once they found out why they had to cover for his spill, they’d never let him live it down.The rest of the morning was fairly uneventful. Fen reclined in bed with nothing to do but watch a small spider build its new home in the ceiling’s corner. Perhaps Blythe knew about spiders and how they didn’t get caught in their webs.
He could hear the yells of his older brothers as they gathered the cattle. Being inside doing nothing made Fen feel guilty. He needed to do something. Anything to not feel stagnant, but more importantly, to stave off boredom.
Fen found the pain of flexing his injured ankle bearable. Since walking would be presumably tolerable, he decided to kill some time by limping over to bother the local Apothecary.
The brisk air hit him as he removed the warm wool blanket, and he leaped to the wooden floor below. A stroll through the village was feasible now that the agony of his morning stumble had dulled to a throbbing ache. Fen donned his trusty leather boots and made his way down to the foyer. Stairs, be damned, his adventure into the village shan’t be dissuaded!
Just before Fen reached the front to leave, the door swung open to reveal Father, pleasantly surprised to see Fen back on his feet so soon.
“Ah, I see it’s not broken. That’s good.” Father began removing his work gloves, then he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of coins. “Since you’ll be out and about, pick up some nails from the Smiths’.”
If you can work, then you should; that was Father’s philosophy. Fen smiled and nodded in response while taking the coins from his father’s outstretched hand.
“Aye, now be back before dark; those beasts have been braver than usual. The watchmen spotted them near town the past few nights. Be safe, boy,” he finished with a gentle smile and a pat on Fen’s shoulder. Fen nodded again and headed out the door into the warm midday air, a stark contrast to the morning.
The valley was quaint and quiet. There were rolling hills dotted with houses, a sea of green and gold broken up by winding gravel paths, and all surrounded by tall trees and majestic snow-capped peaks.
A warmth filled Fen as he walked along the path admiring the everyday sights of Czerny. Even though he saw them every day, the rural valley brought him a sense of comfort and security, as if his village would stay locked in time.
The rumbling of burden beasts led by a troupe from the village logging company broke Fen’s reverie in the mundane; a fearsome-looking set of men, but soft-spoken and gentle.
So as not to impede a vital export of the village, Fen shuffled off of the gravel path. The men acknowledged the young ranch hand with a simple nod, which Fen returned in kind. He couldn’t help but admire the enormous carts and horned beasts hauling massive lengths of Ironpine as wide as he was tall.
Fen followed the loggers for a short distance until they parted ways. Off in the distance, Fen saw the monolithic sawmill by the river as he headed towards the Smith’s house.
Faint rhythmic metallic blows grew louder, and the sound of raging fire became clearer as Fen approached the village. The first building after entering the village walls was plain and sturdy looking, much like the resident Smiths who lived in it. Surrounding the parcel was a fence made of barked branches varying slightly in height and width, strapped tightly with braided wire to a thick wooden frame. Across the opening archway was a sign with large letters spelling “Smith.”
Just as Fen reached the archway to the house, the door slammed open. The pint-sized doorman had wide manic eyes shining through a tangled nest of hair, which stuck up at odd angles. Fen could not react besides stepping back in shock.
“I’ve been expecting you, Mr. Grainger,” said the little gremlin boy.
“Luka, put your clothes on before answering the door!” a voice cracked from inside the house.
Before the acting adult of the house could capture the mostly naked child, said child evaded capture from calloused hands to the safety of its nest somewhere inside. “You’ll never catch me alive, Wesson!”
A sigh of exasperation left the lips of the bulky young man now leaning into the doorframe. “Sorry ‘bout that, Fen,” Wesson sighed again, scratching the back of his head. He gestured to Fen, inviting him in. “Come on in, the ankle-biter shouldn’t bother us for a while. You’re a bit later than usual. Sleep in today?”
Fen lifted his hand and shook it from side to side.
“What do you mean ‘kinda’?” Wesson asked. “Forget it. You’re here for business or pleasure?”
Now reminded of his purpose for visiting, Fen slapped his fist into his palm, then reached for the pouch on his side. He pulled out one silver and ten copper coins. Wesson gracefully took the money and stuck it in his pocket.
“Ah, why didn’t you say so?” Wesson replied, “Follow me to the shop. There’s something I want to show you while you’re here.”
As Fen followed Wesson through the hallway leading to the shop in the back, he became entranced by the bits of the Smiths’ work displayed on the walls. One such display had multiple nails framed and labeled with a name underneath each one. Samson’s nail had small flecks of surface rust from age, but was otherwise serviceable; decently straight, sharp, head sufficiently sized. Next to that was Wesson’s nail; slightly warped, uneven head, small dings. Third in line was Luka’s nail; perfect lines, but the head is also uneven. At the end is a blank slot labeled Anna. There were other displays throughout the house with identical setups, but varying items.
The dry heat from the forge caressed the young men’s faces as they entered the work area. The sight of a stout woman in a leather apron greeted their eyes, shifting and poking the coals in the forge while a girl slightly younger than Luka operated the forge fan, cranking when instructed.
“More heat, my little love,” the woman called out in a sweet voice that betrayed her appearance. The young girl nodded with a grunt and a face of determination, puffing her cheeks and winding the machine with all the might she could muster. The fan whined as the sparks rose from the forge, and the surrounding air heated noticeably.
While the Smith Matriarch worked, Wesson pulled out a small metal block with “1kg” inscribed on the face from a drawer on the workbench. Along with the block, he pulled out a simple scale from an adjacent drawer and a pail filled to the brim with iron nails from beneath the bench.
“Wesson dear, is that you rummaging through the shop?” Mama Smith asked, still intently focused on her current task.
“Yes, Ma’am. Just doing a transaction for our visitor,” Wesson replied, grabbing a handful of nails and weighing them against the two-pound block.
“Oh, the curious little Grainger boy? He’s a little later than usual,” she noted. “That’s good enough, my little love. Take a rest,” she instructed the red-faced child, who dropped to her hands and knees and sucked in as much air as she could. Mama then pulled out a red-hot knife-shaped object from the forge and promptly dropped it into a container filled with oil. The heat of the knife instantly ignited the oil.
“You would be correct in both, mother dearest. I told him to follow me so he can see your newest venture.” Wesson said, now done measuring the merchandise. He scooped the small mound of nails into a plain canvas bag and hand it to Fen.
“Oh, this?” Mama inquired, pulling out the knife-shaped object from the oil. She wiped the warm dripping oil off and handed the rough blade to Fen. Fen gently took the knife with his open hand and examined the work. He noticed subtle ripples and stripes running along the surface of the blade, giving the illusion of water.
“Beautiful, ain’t it?” Mama bragged. Fen simply nodded in response, never taking his eyes off the knife. “Just be careful, it is quite fragile in this state, like glass almost.”
She held out her calloused hand, gently requesting the steel back. Fen obliged. After receiving the steel, Mama placed the knife into a small chamber.
“It’s a Menian smithing technique which produces a steel that is both harder and more flexible than what we currently use,” Wesson explained.
“She’s been practicing from a book she traded from this strange merchant that came in a few days ago.”
Fen had heard from his brothers about an eccentric stranger peddling books and trinkets from other countries. The merchant temporarily set up shop at the town square. Perhaps Fen would pay him a visit on his way to his other task.
“Yes, but the cute witch girl said that the alloy also requires some exotic metals to fight the rusting,” Mama interjected with a sigh, ignorant of what that meant. “Something called chromium. But she said nickel would fight rust as well.”
“She’s been at it since yesterday, but we understand the idea; a hard steel and a soft steel folded many times together make a hard but bendy steel,” Wesson explained. “Anyway, mama’s got nothing for me to do today. You mind if I come along in bothering your girlfriend?”
A vicious heat rose from Fen’s face. How did Wesson know what Fen’s plan for the day was? Sure, he liked to loiter in the laboratory and watch a bit of magic work, and yes, even if most of what he watched was the apothecary going about her work and not the work itself, but Wesson’s uncanny ability to decipher Fen’s inner thoughts was unnerving.
Fen held up a finger and opened his mouth to protest, but quickly shut his mouth when he realized Wesson had caught in his nefarious conspiracy to harass a young woman.
“Of course, I know what you’re doing today, you visit her every time your father lets go of your leash,” Wesson responded with a smug smile.
Fen let out a small huff with a defeated smile. So much for his plan to spend a bit of alone time with the girl. At least with Wesson, the walk would not be boring. Fen tilted his head towards the door and beckoned for Wesson to accompany him through town.
“Just be back before dark, you two,” Mama reminded the boys. Wesson gave Mama a smile and a thumbs-up, and Fen bowed his head as he exited the workshop.
“...They run their economy using bananas. It’s crazy!” Wesson rambled as the two walked through the streets of Czerny. Fen had to stop in his tracks to collect his thoughts on everything his friend was saying.
“Oh right. Well, a banana is a type of fruit that grows all over the trees in this place. Like a kind of berry or something.” Wesson’s descriptions further confused Fen, whose only response was to blink and tilt his head in disbelief. Not only was this mythical country run by sentient apes, but they also ran it using a perishable currency.
“That’s not even the best part. The name of the place,” he paused for dramatic effect, “is Dong.”
Fen snorted loudly. His hands shot up to his mouth to keep him from bursting out loud. His laugh came through his fingers as a sporadic breath, his shoulders dancing at the absurdity of what he was told. A country of monkeys called Dong? This sounded as if they took it from a children’s book!
“Alright, alright. Settle down,” Wesson wound down the energy, though not for long once he spotted a decorative cart a short distance away.
“Look over there!” Wesson pointed. “That’s the creepy merchant with the weird books!”
Fen’s fit broke as he followed Wesson’s finger. Sure enough, a cart with unfamiliar design and colorful tapestries adorning it sat in the empty lot before the Apothecary. Flanking the cart was a squad of heavily armored men, their faces obscured by their helms. Their blued steel armor had fluted sections and intricate patterns adorning the surface. Surely an expensive investment.
The two boys casually approached the mobile shop front, taking in the sight of strange trinkets and the odor of foreign incense.
“Ah, a previous customer has brought me a newcomer with whom to share my knowledge,” a gravelly voice came from behind a sheer curtain. The aura of the establishment sent a chill through Fen’s spine.
“Don’t be shy,” he, or she, Fen couldn’t tell, beckoned. “My vast collection has something for everyone, even you, halfie boy.”
Fen snapped his head back to see who the merchant referred to as a “halfie,” but the only two in front of the cart were Fen and Wesson. Fen then pointed at himself questioningly, suspecting the merchant referred to him. Wesson shrugged his shoulders at Fen. A dry chuckle reverberated from the veiled window.
“I believe this will be of use to you, boy.” The merchant slowly reached through the curtain, decrepit hand holding a leather-bound book. There were no words on the cover, only a simple drawing of a pointed object with a circle around it.
Fen warily reached for the book. Uncertain, he gently grabbed it and felt the weight of its old paper and leather in his hands. It felt like dry beef jerky.
“Don’t worry about compensating me for the item immediately. One way or another, I always get paid.” The merchant cackled, which sent a fierce chill through the entirety of Fen’s body.
There was something strange about the book in Fen’s hands. For one, there were no words on the cover. When Fen opened the book to gaze at its contents, a wave of confusion struck him. Sure, there were detailed drawings throughout as he skimmed the pages, but the oddest of all was the lack of words anywhere in the book. Wesson looked on with equal confusion, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to understand what he was looking at.
“What’s all this? There’s no words, man! What good is a book if you can’t read it?” Wesson voiced in frustration.
“The words are there, boy, but the author hid them to avoid their destruction,” the merchant explained. “Many mages consider the contents of that book forbidden knowledge.”
Both of the boys’ eyes widened at the revelation. Why would someone entrust an ordinary boy with illegal knowledge?
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“Or, the contents of the book are complete nonsense.” The merchant chortled but promptly settled down. “Regardless, it is written in a special ink which can only be seen in light beyond what the human eye can interpret.”
Fen continued to stare at the book in awe. Sure, the seemingly nonsensical drawings and scribbles could be just that, but the off chance that there could be otherworldly knowledge contained within enticed him to take it. Resolute in keeping the book, he shut the book and bowed his head at the merchant, thanking him for the gift. Wesson deadpanned at Fen’s determination to… do whatever he would do. The merchant’s wide, toothy grin shone through the thin curtain.
“If he’s happy, I’m happy. I’m also sure our resident weirdo will find this exciting!” Wesson proposed, already walking towards the strange girl’s workplace.
As Fen turned and made his first step towards the Apothecary, he saw the windows of the establishment violently burst outwards, pelting the neighboring house across the street with shrapnel. He felt a harsh thump resonate through his chest. The suddenness of the event caused him to cower instinctively. What immediately followed was a ringing in his ears and panic.
He looked up at his friend, but Fen could not hear what Wesson was saying, even though his mouth was moving as if he was speaking. Fen could hear nothing except high-pitched ringing.
Wesson pointed at the Apothecary with urgency and rushed over to investigate. Fen impulsively followed, concerned for the well-being of their eccentric friend. As he ran behind Wesson, Fen’s hearing slowly filled with the sound of people cursing and dogs barking in the distance. The closer the two got to their destination, an acrid burnt smell of smoke emitting from the window frames bombarded them more.
“Blythe?! Blythe!” Wesson yelled through the smokey window. He could see a petite body on the floor, but the smoke obscured all details. The village knew her for a few messy experiments, one of which dyed a flock of sheep blue, but this was possibly the most destructive thing Blythe had accidentally done.
“We’re kicking the door down!” Wesson announced. He then threw all his weight and force under the doorknob with his foot. The door yielded and slammed off the hinges, dropping to the floor violently.
Fen tossed his book to the side and jumped into the building alongside Wesson.
“Come’re, you idiot!” Wesson scolded the unconscious girl upon reaching her. Fen noticed that soot had completely blackened Blythe’s alabaster skin and colorful dress. Her massive hat was nowhere to be found, most likely blown off from the explosion, but it seemed like the blackened mask she wore at least protected her face.
Through coughing fits, the boys simultaneously reached down to Blythe and lifted her by the arms.
“I swear half her weight is in her chest,” Wesson commented under his breath as they hauled her out of the destruction. A small gathering had formed outside the Apothecary, worried and irritated villagers coming to aid.
“Now she’s done it. Quit staring and get some water, there’s probably still embers!” Ordered a tall bald man wearing a cloth apron. “Last thing we need is the building catching fire!”
The crowd sped off to gather water buckets to help smother potential fires. Meanwhile, the two boys checked over the smoldering girl.
“She’s still breathing, but she won’t be too happy at what happened to her hair,” Wesson stated. The same soot coating her and her property covered Blythe’s normally pristine copper hair, now heavily singed.
Fen reached down and lifted the thin and flexible mask obscuring her face. His fingers wiped off some of the soot from the mask, which revealed to be constructed of some type of pliable transparent material. The mysterious mask material, however, did its job of protecting her glasses and gentle face, soft cheeks, rosy lips, and- wow, the rock over by that tree looked fascinating. He kept her out of his sight until the heat in his face calmed down.
Right as Fen turned back to Blythe, her eyes shot open, and she abruptly sat up, startling both boys. She blinked a few times, then pulled out a pencil and small notebook from the pouch on her belt. She stared blankly in front of her as if lost in a trance. Before Wesson could open his mouth, she swiftly stuck a finger over his lips to hush him.
“Hold that thought,” Blythe ordered. Wesson furrowed his brows and crossed his arms in annoyance. She turned her attention to her notebook and began to scribble notes fervently. The tip of her tongue peeked out between her lips as her eyes raced over the pages, her pencil dancing across the lines. Then, as suddenly as she began, she snapped her notebook shut and shoved it back into her side pouch.
“Are you done now? ‘Cause I’ve got one thing to ask.” Wesson’s hissed in irritation. Blythe smiled and nodded at him, showing her willingness to hear her friend’s question.
“What the hell was that?!”
Blythe and Fen flinched. She nearly destroyed the entire building, which would have likely taken the adjacent buildings as collateral, and here she was acting like her failed experiment was par for the course.
“Well,” Blythe began cautiously. “I’d like to say this was a live demonstration on why you shouldn’t use ferrous tools for mixing charcoal, sulfur, and saltpeter. But, it was actually an avoidable accident caused by my negligence in not using brass as instructed,” she finished in a sheepish voice. Her manner of speaking was peculiar to anyone outside of Ver; Blythe pronounced her “w’s” like “v’s”, her short “i’s” like “ei” or perhaps “ai”, her short “i’s” long, her “r’s” came from the back of her tongue, and a few other quirks not easily describable besides being “that weird way that Blythe talks.”
The two boys looked at each other questioningly. Perhaps the other understood what Blythe’s ramblings meant. Sure, every other word that poured out of Blythe was familiar, but they made no sense to them when put together.
“But what’s the purpose?” The first question came from Wesson. He was very familiar with charcoal, it being a staple of his family’s line of work. He knew sulfur as the smelly yellow rock around the hot springs. The third mentioned was unfamiliar to Wesson.
“Well, when you mix the ingredients in the proper ratios and burn it, it goes ‘poof’,” she emphasized by fanning her fingers.
“That’s one hell of a ‘poof’ you made. Blew the windows right out of your house.”
Fen offered Blythe a hand to help her off the ground, which she gratefully took. She then dusted herself off as she stood up and looked up to observe the results of her madness.
“Well, by the looks of the outcome, I’d say the ratios of my ingredients were, as you say, spot on!” A proud smile plastered itself across Blythe’s face. She took the protective mask off her head and ran a hand through her hair. In trying to regain a bit of control over her mane, crispy bits of her hair broke off from the ends with every comb. “Shame that I probably lost all the materials that my baby sister graciously gathered for me,” she sighed.
“You still didn’t answer my question. What’s the purpose of… whatever it was that you blew your house up with?” Asked Wesson, more directly this time. Fen nodded in agreement with Wesson’s question.
“Well, you know how the harvest festival is coming up soon?”
Both boys nodded slowly, not liking where this idea was going. “I thought I’d make some fireworks to celebrate. You know, big bright sparkly flowers exploding in the night sky!” Her eyes were sparkling at the thought.
The boys were too dumbstruck by the absurdity of the proposal. This wasn’t some small experiment. By the sound of it, Blythe planned on more of the same, but instead of blowing up her house, she would send the explosion into the air.
“And that’s a good idea, why?” Wesson asked slowly.
“Well, not saying it’s a good idea, but it should be a fun idea.”
Fen snorted in amusement, and Wesson facepalmed.
“Let’s just get everything cleaned up. Fen here, I guess, bought some weird book, and we want to see what your thoughts on it are.”
Fen fetched the book to show Blythe and opened the book to show off its wordless pages. Upon seeing it, the sparkle in Blythe’s eyes increased tenfold to a mischievous level.
“Well, this looks fun!” Blythe was bouncing in excitement. She may not have known what was in the book, but that’s what made it so fascinating to her. Maybe it had some long forgotten magic, or tales of a faraway land past the oceans, maybe even insight into mankind’s origin?
A large bald man placed a hand on Blythe’s head, breaking the conversation between the three. She squeaked in surprise and hesitantly turned to look at the man’s face. She prepared for a scolding, but the bald man wore an amused smile, suggesting that was not the case.
“Alright, girly, looks like you’re fine, and the building is still standing. Thankfully, you didn’t kill yourself in the accident.” He sounded more relieved than anything else. “I couldn’t help but eavesdrop a bit. You were talking about doing some type of demonstration for the Harvest Festival, no?”
“Well, it was supposed to be a bit of a surprise for the evening of the festival, but I kind of- um- blew it?” She giggled like an idiot at her pun.
Everyone within earshot face-palmed at her joke. She truly was the dumbest smart person in Czerny. The bald man sighed before turning his attention to the folks assisting in ember control.
“I think these kids have it handled from here, everyone. Let’s get out of their way so they can clean up!”
“Merci, Monsieur Baker! Merci à tous!” Blythe bowed to the crowd. Though no one knew what the words meant, the message was obvious.
The individuals who came to aid all wore different expressions as they passed by the three, but could describe none as angry. Annoyance on some, certainly, though expected after having the peaceful afternoon broken.
“Well, let’s get to work, shall we?” The embarrassment of the accident was settling into Blythe’s mind, and she would rather hide from the public than stand in the middle of the street at the moment.
“Wait, why do we have to help clean? You’re the one who blew yours- Ow!” Wesson looked to his side and saw Fen’s scowling face. Instinctively, he rubbed the spot on his arm where Fen walloped him. Wesson sighed.
“Alright, I’ll help, sheesh, but only if you make me something.” Wesson didn’t care what she made, he just wanted things.
The trio didn’t know what to expect when they entered the building. Every square inch of the interior had a layer of soot, and there was a smell of spoiled egg and must. Both of the boys instantly wrinkled their noses at the strange smell. Blythe was unperturbed by the experience.
“Well, you two focus on picking up stuff off the floor, but first,” the air surrounding them began tingling their skin. Blythe’s eyes began sparkling as her breathing got deeper. She held an upturned hand in front of her, fingers wide apart. She took in a sharp breath and snapped her hand into a fist.
“Kunpremi!”
In an instant, all the soot in the room, including what was on her person, shot into a ball in front of Blythe. Her outwards extended fist began shaking from strain while the black ball began shrinking. Eventually, the now marble-sized ball fell to the floor with a thud as Blythe released her hold on it.
“Well, my part is done. Your turn, boys!” Ordered Blythe. When she wobbly turned around, her face was paler than usual. This did not go unnoticed by Fen and Wesson.
“Hey, you feeling alright?” Wesson was concerned. Amazing as it was to witness magic use, there was always some side effect to the user. At least, it seemed that way, since Blythe was the only magic user either of the boys ever knew. And this time, she looked worse off than usual.
“Me?” Blythe pointed at herself. “Well, maybe a bit under the weather, but nothing too severe.” She sniffled and rubbed her nose.
Blood.
Her eyes widened at the sight, as did the boys’. Blood began leaking out of her nose, and she took that as a sign to excuse herself to take care of the issue.
“Well, I’m going to lie down for a bit,” said Blythe, now holding a hand under her chin to mitigate the blood dripping onto the floor. “You two just focus on getting things off the floor and putting them wherever you think they go. I’ll worry about it later.”
Fen looked Blythe in the eye as if asking if there was anything he could do regarding her current ailment.
“Well, if you want to do something nice for me, Fen, start some water for tea,” Blythe suggested. She smiled to tell the boy she would be fine, but seeing her blood-covered grin was disturbing.
“Shoo-shoo then. We got it handled.”
Blythe wobbled up the stairs, presumably to her private room.
Fen and Wesson spent the next few hours picking up materials and parchments strewn about the store. Before the two boys realized how much time had passed, the sun was just past the horizon.
“Hmm, soh-dye-um- sow-dee-um? Yeah, sodium hih- no. Hye-drox-ide. Sodium hydroxide!” Wesson looked at Fen for affirmation in his pronunciation of the label on the small powder-filled bottle, but Fen was staring out the window and into the dusk-lit village.
“Don’t worry, bud. Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve had to spend the night.” Wesson gave Fen a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll walk home with you and explain to your pops first thing in the morning.”
Fen smiled at Wesson and gave a quick nod. The sound of a kettle singing rang from the kitchen. Fen leaned the broom he was using against the wall and skipped into the kitchen to take the kettle off the stove. Before Wesson could say a word, Fen trotted up the stairs to fetch Blythe.
He knocked on the door but heard no response. He knocked again, slightly firmer this time, then heard a stir followed by light footsteps which stopped short of the door. When the door creaked open, Fen could see Blythe’s dimly lit face.
“Oh, Fen, sorry I took so long. Girl’s gotta do what she has to do.” The cracks in her voice did not go unnoticed by Fen, nor the halfhearted attempt at a dismissive smile. As she stepped out into the hallway, Fen also noticed her eyes were slightly puffy. But the most obvious thing? Blythe’s waist-length hair was considerably shorter, now barely above her shoulders. At least the warm copper color was back.
Fen pointed at his hair, then at Blythe’s.
“Oh, this? I saved what I could. It’s been a long time since I’ve had my hair so short. Quite liberating, actually! Does it look strange?” Blythe began playing with her short hair nervously.
He quickly denied that assumption by shaking his head, followed by a thumbs-up and nodding.
Maybe it was a trick of the eyes in the dim lighting, but Fen swore he could see a tinge of pink bringing color back into Blythe’s face.
“Well, how about that tea, yes?”
In response, Fen gestured dramatically down the stairs. After all, ladies first.
Blythe giggled into her hand at Fen’s antics, but played along. She gently pinched the side of her dress and curtsied. “Merci, Monsieur Grainger.”
Downstairs, Wesson was picking up random bottles and trying to read the labels. Oblivious to the two walking in, he yelped and nearly dropped the small bottle he was holding when a slender hand tapped him on the shoulder.
“Potassium nitrate. Or colloquially known as saltpeter,” Blythe explained. Upon hearing the word ‘saltpeter’, Wesson felt uncomfortable holding an ingredient that caused the house to blow up just a few hours prior. Blythe noted Wesson’s flinch. “It’s not going to explode. That one is a very stable compound.”
“You make it sound like you have even more dangerous powders in here,” said Wesson, slowly handing the small bottle of potassium nitrate to Blythe.
“Oh, I do,” Blythe started while reaching for a small bottle labeled ‘C6HN3O8Pb.’ “And I’m pleasantly surprised I didn’t lose some of my experiments.”
“Wonderful, that makes me comfortable.” Wesson recognized the label as one he almost dropped while cleaning.
“This one is lead styphnate. It has an explosive reaction to fire, impacts, and friction.” She explained further while gazing lovingly at the orange powder.
“And what do you plan to use that for?” Wesson asked, wondering how close he came to death.
“Well, I just followed an experiment from a book I got from that charming old merchant; it’s called The Pulver’s Guide to Powders”
Fen looked up from his tea preparation at the mention of the old book dealer. Wesson and Fen momentarily locked eyes.
“I’m guessing you two met him already?” Blythe asked.
“I had met him before. Got a cool smithing book from him. Fen here got a weird one just before your house blew up.”
“Oh, is that where you got that book, Fen?”
Fen nodded, then dropped off a platter with teacups and sugar at the workbench where they were talking. He then went back into the kitchen and brought back his ‘gift’ from the merchant, which he opened up on the bench. Wesson then explained what the merchant had told them, how author hid the writing. The three sipped on the strange-smelling tea as they continued.
“In light beyond what the human eye can interpret,” Blythe slowly parroted what Wesson told her.
“So you have any idea what that can mean?”
“Well, the human eye can interpret a small section of the electromagnetic spectrum as color. That’s how we see everything. Immediately, anything beyond that would be ultraviolet light. I’ve heard of spies using an ink that is invisible unless under direct ultraviolet light.” Once again, most Blythe’s monologue went in through one ear and out the other.
“The hell’s an ‘ultraviolent’ light?” The word sounded exciting, so Wesson had to know.
“Ultraviolet,” Blythe corrected, taking a sip.
“That’s what I said.”
“It’s a color we can’t see, at least not directly.”
“Oh, why didn’t you say so?”
The stupidity of mankind never ceased to amaze Blythe. “You’re right. I seem to have forgotten who the scholar is.”
“So then, what do we do?” Wesson asked.
“Well, I have a hypothesis. All we have to do is expose Fen’s book to ultraviolet light.”
“Duh! Even my dumbass could think of that!” Wesson pointed out, though Blythe doubted it. “I’m asking where do we get this ‘ultraviolent’ light?”
“Well, my first idea is filtering everything except ultraviolet from sunlight; that would be option one. If I knew light magic well enough, I could theoretically produce pure ultraviolet light, but the problem is, it is hard to control something I can’t see.”
“So, any other options?”
“Hmmm, I read somewhere that there are lamps which emit UV light. It’s possible that whoever wrote Fen’s book used one of these lamps while writing.”
The young adults contemplated possible ways to decipher Fen’s book. There was no urgency, but the curiosity nibbled away at their thoughts. What could be so important to warrant such a way of encoding?
“Well, I don’t think we can do much about it standing in my laboratory. Why don’t we reconvene tomorrow and experiment?” Blythe suggested. Fen leaned against the counter with his eyes shut in thought, nodding as the conversation went.
“Sounds like a plan. Maybe we’ll get some prophetic dream and solve this little mystery, who knows?” Wesson agreed with the suggestion because he couldn’t think of a proper way to excuse himself and Fen. “Come on, bud. Let’s get some shut-eye.”
Fen was still rhythmically nodding his head, eyes shut. He was asleep on his feet, and the teacup beside him sat empty.
“Jeez, what’s in that tea?” Wesson asked, a little concerned at the effects it had on Fen. He snapped his fingers in Fen’s face, eliciting a groggy reaction. Fen’s bloodshot eyes cracked open for a second before slowly closing again.
“It’s a blend of chamomile and a- um- special medicinal herb I’m working on. Though I think it’s a bit too strong for Fen.” Blythe hypothesized.
“What about you and me?” Wesson hoisted the barely conscious Fen onto his back. “I mean, we all had the same amount.”
“Well, not exactly. I watched Fen serve himself a second cup. But besides that, you’re almost twice his weight, and I may have developed a tolerance from experimentation with it.”
Usually, Blythe’s typical tone when explaining science-y magical things unnerved Wesson. How she seemed to disregard common sense at the expense of safety. But this time, it sounded as if whatever spell Fen was under was nothing to worry about.
“He is going to wake up, right?”
“He’ll sleep like a log. Maybe have a rough time waking up, but he’ll wake up feeling refreshed!”
Wesson gave Blythe a quick farewell, then made way to the Smith house carrying Fen on his back. Now past dark, the streets of Czerny were much more vacant. The only signs of life besides the two boys were the occasional watchman, lights from buildings, and the occasional stray cat.