42
San awoke with a headache. His body was stiff and he was cold once more. The drafty room he lay in didn’t provide much comfort, but for the time being it was safe. He had returned Densa to the temple, their interaction with the Hesna Cult had left them both exhausted and in pain. She had left him and he had made his way back to the apartment, only to find that Pavano had been quick in getting Endaha and the others out of there.
Lost and confused, San had made his way to the warehouse where he found Herokov half drunk and watching over the delivered copper pots he had ordered.
“I got no fucking idea,” the man remarked when San asked him where Pavano was. He had a large clay pot filled with cheap wine and took a ladle to it.
There was housing within the warehouse, a small second floor series of rooms that contained small rooms filled with dust and old debris. San took a room and immediately fell asleep upon the bare floorboards.
Nightmares haunted his dreams, dark creatures that skittered and the wailing of the crowd, so deep and painful that it made his ears bleed. He saw Mary and the kids, screaming and sobbing, with blood drenched horrors stalking the earth.
Sleep didn’t want to return to him, so San got to his feet, using the LED headlamp he carried on himself, and exited the rooms. He could hear Herokov snoring loudly in the warehouse, the glimmer of a fire burning and the smell of smoke in the air.
There were several fire pits against a stone wall. They were the closest thing to hearths San had seen in this world, with stone chimneys that rose into the air and out of the roof of the warehouse. Three stood in a row and it made San wonder what they had been used for before.
San pulled over a stump of wood and sat down on it, Herokov was on the floor, arms wrapped around the empty wine container and blissfully asleep. San stoked the fire and tossed a lump of wood into it.
The crackling of the fire brought San’s thought back to the black flame he had seen. The thought of it caused and echo of grief to reverberate through him, his thoughts sliding back toward Mary and the children. San stared into the flames, forcing the thoughts from overwhelming him.
He felt bruised. Not physically, but mentally. The punch of grief that the flame had caused still ached within him, causing San to want to poke at it, to feel what would happen. He knew that feeling as well, it was the same emotion he had felt for the previous six months. A pain that hurt and throbbed, but one that he constantly wrenched to keep feeling it.
“Misery is your salvation,” the words of the Stoneman bubbled up from his memories.
Less than a day previous he had been impressed with his ability to ‘go with the flow’ in the constantly changing events occurring within the Keep and outside of it. Now, San felt the disorientation that it was causing. Too many things occurring and too many threats, with no time to think over them or try and sort them out.
What was that flame? Misery and Grief, he could feel the raw and painful emotion in the air, dragged out from the place where he had buried it deep within him. San shivered. Why would anyone make such a flame?
There was no doubt that the Hesna Cult did it on purpose. Perhaps they were making a statement? He had wanted to discuss it with Densa, but she had been emotionally distant after they had come back to their surroundings. Whatever she had seen had effected her as well.
San couldn’t understand the reasoning behind the act, why were they trying to make everyone feel the grief they had felt in their lives? What was the purpose. Perhaps there was none. Everyone had claimed the Hesna Cult was fairly insane, void worshippers and castrating their priests and followers. Lighting a flame that produce a profound emotional effect in the middle of the city was probably something they did normally.
He rose and walked around the darkened warehouse, pacing and trying to clear his heads of thoughts. He needed to do something, not just sit around and have time to think. Every time he stopped, he could see Mary in the back of his mind, that smile and then the scream. San clenched and unclenched his fists.
A large pile of earth root vegetables forced him to stop moving around. San looked at the imbar they had purchased the day previous. He didn’t remember it being delivered, but Pavano and he had found a farmer who was trying to unload thier imbar for a low price. It was laughably cheap.
He carried a large wicker basket and loaded it with the imbar. He carried them back to the hearth and set up one of the four twenty gallon copper pots they had ordered. There was plenty of fuel and San built the fire larger, providing more warmth and light. He removed his outer clothing, the robes and tunic that were apart of his Merchant disguise, sitting before the fire in the soft undershirt and underpants.
His hands moved easily as he began to dismantle the imbar, stripping off the skin, cutting open the vegetable, removing the seeds and separating the sticky stringy mass within it. The dull work turned his brain off and he moved and worked without a thought filling his head.
“The hell you doing?” Herokov grunted, a redden eye staring at him.
“Peeling imbar,” San replied.
The old man grunted and groaned as he rolled to his feet. He sat down heavily on a wooden stump and rubbed at his face, eliciting another groan.
Light was beginning to enter the warehouse, filling it with a gloomy blue light. The fire was still burning high, having been stoked and fueled through the hours that San was working.
His hands and knife were a sticky mess, the juices and stringy mass were scattered across the floor around him. San looked down at his hands, grimacing at the filth covering them.
“You have access to water here?” San asked.
“Aye, out back.” Herokov muttered. He picked through some of the imbar San had chopped up and chewed on it.
There was a large reservoir of water within a clay and stone tank, possibly several hundred gallons that was fed from the aqueduct that snaked its way through the industrial section of White Tower.
A simple spigot filled water into a bucket and San spent several freezing minutes washing his hands and arms in the cold jet of water in the cold morning air. His underclothing were splattered with juices and debris and he cleaned them as best as he could.
He filled up several more buckets and brought them back into the warehouse. Herokov was unenthusiastically chewing on imbar when he returned. Although imbar was high in sugar and very sweet, it was cloying and fairly chewy. It also did not make a meal. San understood it was also added to livestock feed to give them a little more caloric boost in the winter, thereby the remains after he filtered the imbar could still be eaten by livestock.
“You make that drink out of this?” Herokov asked, spitting out a glob of mashed imbar. It bounced off the stone heart and plopped into the fire, where it sizzled and burned.
“Yeah,” San said. Herokov watched uninterestedly, nudging his empty wine pot with a foot.
“This place was my son’s,” the man said after a long moment. San paused as he added water, watching the man for a moment. “He wanted to be a Merchant, the first in our family of dirt grubbers. A far back as you can look, back to the days when the Empire first came here, my family’s been nothing but dirt grubbers. We never got a komai, we never were Landed, just grubbers looking to make enough sars to survive the winter.”
San settled down on a wooden stump to listen to the man, not saying anything as he did so.
“Turatio was different. He had drive. He had a goal. I gave him all the sars I had and he came here to find his riches, apprenticed to some traveling merchants from the Empire. Came back three years later with more sars than I could have made in ten years,” Herokov smiled at the memory. “He was an Honored Citizen, a Merchant, and the line of dirt grubbers that was my line was finally ended.”
Silence filled the warehouse.
“He’s dead. Died taking cargo to Suvanna, four years back now.” Herokov tossed the remains of the imbar into the fire, where it sizzled. “The Sin Soltario Barony, one of Suvanna’s lapdogs, led a raid against Savanis trade. Burned caravans and hamlets along the Trade Road. All of this because the Baron didn’t want to pay an extra few sars a year to maintain a bridge on Soltario/Savanis border.”
Herokov paused again, using his foot to kick the wine pot across the floor. The clay pot clattered and rolled, stopping against a far wall unbroken.
“A few fucking sars,” Herokov muttered. He sighed heavily. “If I ever meet the Baron, I think I’ll kill him.”
San was silent for a moment and then spoke. “He’s dying, I think. Broke his leg and it got infected in the fight against Suvanna.”
“Good,” Herokov said flatly.
“I was there, I saw the Head Healer amputate his leg.”
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Herokov chuckled mirthlessly.
They sat there in silence as the fire crackled.
The side door to the warehouse clanged open. Herokov and San snapped up, San reaching for the sword he always kept near, and saw that it was Pavano, Elgava, and Azios.
The older man’s eyes widen with surprise at San and Herokov and then split into a grin.
“Lad, we were looking for you,” he announced. “Lady Komai said that that woolly fucker Panchavi was looking for us.”
San noted that Elgava was wearing new clothing, a gambeson and a wide brimmed hat. She had her gloved hands on an arming sword and the other on a dagger. Pavano had his spear with him, the head covered in a bit of cloth and a short sword at his hip. Only Azios was unarmed and he didn’t look pleased by that.
“I’ve been here all night. I went to the apartment and it was empty.”
“I told Bostarion to wait for you there,” Elgava said.
“I didn’t see him or anyone.”
“That old grumpy fuck,” Elgava muttered. “He’s been sour since he came back from the keep. Haven’t seen him all night too.”
“Is he in trouble?” San asked.
“Probably drinking his woes away,” Pavano said. “He gets moody the more time he spends in a city.” He looked to Herokov and San. “Glad we came here first. We were going to get Havatair to find you. Didn’t expect to come across you half naked with Herokov.”
“Fuck you, Pavo,” the other man said half heartedly.
“Couldn’t sleep,” San said, settling down on the wooden stump again. He began to feel the chill in the air, realizing he had been half dressed for hours. “Making a wash.”
Pavano grinned at the sight of the water filled pot.
“I’ve brought the yeast,” Azios said, as he held a small woven net holding the jars of yeast San had created.
“Well, I got ready for a fight for nothing,” Elgava said. She stalked across the warehouse and sat by the fire, yawning. “Wake me when something dangerous is going on.”
“Where is Endaha?” San asked.
“She and the children are alright, lad,” Pavano said. “They’re in a spot where they’ll not be noticed and overlooked.”
“She’s at a whorehouse,” Azios said, face reddening.
San looked at Pavano questioningly.
“Just for the time being,” Pavano said quickly. “We were going to get the quarters here fixed up to hold her and the children. Then they can move in, Panchavi won’t attack this place if you’ll and I will be here more often than not.”
San nodded slowly. He shrugged, there was no harm for her to be there. He looked to Azios, who again reddened.
“Caught that lad trying to steal sars,” Elgava said from where she lay. “Too much time with that Pavano’s making him degenerate.”
Azios reddened again and looked elsewhere but at San.
“Right,” San hid his grin. “You’re a bit too young for that, Azios.”
“Ah, I was younger than him when I had my first lass,” Pavano said. “Course back in those days, we had to grow up fast.”
Elgava and Herokov gave a snort.
“What will it take to make this place livable for the others,” San asked.
“I’ve got some people I know. It’ll be done before Midwinter’s Reprieve.”
“By tomorrow night?” San asked.
“Aye, there are some who want to get every sar they can to drink the night away,” Pavano grinned.
“I’ll need next month’s rent in advance,” Herokov said.
***
“Panchavi and his boys don’t know me or Elgava,” Pavano said as he set out a small breakfast of hard bread and cold sausage and cheese. San was thankful for the food, realizing he hadn’t eaten since the morning before.
He found it interestesting that back in his world he’d be hungry only a few hours after eating, yet in this world he could go an entire day without a meal. The trip back from the batto cavern had been one with scant meals, so he supposed that he had gotten used to it somewhat.
“Fuel, imbar, some tools, and building materials,” Pavano said, noisily chewing on some cheese. “Not going back to the keep today, lad?”
San shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose I could try to make something to…” San cast a look to Herokov, “help the Baron. Something to clean his wounds.”
Herokov didn’t say anything, focusing on his bread and wine.
“The ol’ magic?” Pavano asked.
San nodded, chewing on the grainy bread.
“We’ll be making moonshine?” Azios asked.
San nodded to the young man. “I’ll need help.” Azios eagerly nodded.
“The faster we get done, the faster I can sleep,” Elgava muttered, getting to her feet. She dug into her teeth with a splinter of wood, spitting out a glob into the fire. “At least we’ll know where you are now.”
Elgava and Pavano left while Herokov muttered about needing more wine and then staggered after them. San and Azios sat in the warehouse as the fire crackled.
“She’s worried about her brother,” Azios said.
“Elgava?”
“Yeah, they’re supposed to announce who’s still in Sentari and who’s dead today,” Azios said. San noticed he looked less worried than he usually did. Kovass Exonaris was alive and well in Sentari lands. He had been left behind to reinforce the Sentari troops in case Suvanna tried something over the winter.
San clasped Azios on the shoulder. “He’ll be back soon, buddy. Then the komai can flourish once more.”
Azios nodded, grinning.
They finished the rest of the food and began to work. The hearths had iron racks they set the copper pot on, pushing coals underneath the pot and some wood to get it to boiling. San reset his watch, looking to see how fast the water and imbar came to a boil from straight cold water and cold copper.
Helping the Baron. The thought moved within his mind, pushing itself to the forefront of his thoughts. He supposed he could just do his own thing, make some Courage for the Barony and pretend that he couldn’t make anything else, but as it was, gaining the favor of those in charge would keep him safer. San was under no delusion that he could keep everyone safe, this city was too big, there were too many things that could happen, and he was only one person. There were monsters in the world and within the city itself, both inhuman and human.
Getting the Barony on his side, either with the Baron or the Heir, would go a long way. If he made himself invaluable to them, then he could guarantee the safety of the Exonaris. Would Panchavi or even Ilagio go against him if he had the Baron’s backing? San didn’t know, but he looked at the copper pot and flame.
Self preservation and gaining favor from the Baron weren’t the only motivation to test out what he could do, there was also curiosity. He had gained a new flame from the Old Kingdom Fortress, the Cleansing Flame. The dream he had back in the woods came back to him, a great forest fire that burned all the evil away. Cleansing was in the name, surely that also met it could do more than just remove evil…
He would have to ask the bookseller about magic and the theory behind it. Of course, he would also have to learn how to read the Imperial language, of which he realized there were about five different dialects.
“The Cleansing Flame,” San intoned and the fire surged.
San checked on the yeast as Azios used a pitchfork to toss the imbar skins into a wooden crate. The young man began cleaning up the warehouse without being told, working efficiently and without a break as San watched over the boiling imbar wash.
Without a thermometer, keeping the boiling liquid at a steady temperature was difficult. Especially with the copper pot, as it transferred heat far easier than a cast iron cauldron. San added and removed coals and stoked the fire in the hearth, using his judgement to not how long the liquid was boiling.
The imbar chunks slowly began to break apart, not dissolving, but the starch breaking down in the heat and causing it to become a sort of thick slurry. A sweet vegetable smell rose from the steam and even though he had just eaten, San felt his stomach rumble.
He wondered if this world had cheese cloth. He would need to strain the liquid to remove the chunkier bits of the imbar from the wash, then add more water to prepare it to pitch the yeast into.
The Distillers Yeast and the Unshakeable Strain were the only two types of yeast he had, other than the bread yeast and ale yeast, which he had yet to rehydrate. He supposed he should do that before it became to late to salvage those yeasts.
The Unshakeable Strain had been made from the knowledge that Winter’s Lament had given him. She had wanted him to make Courage or something along those lines. She had wanted him to craft something not seen before.
What did the alcohol want? What could it become? He wondered about that as the wash began to boil and he removed the coals and fire. Azios and he brought in more buckets of cold water, San Filtered them and Sanitized them.
San set his hand over the imbar wash and closed his eyes. He thought about the wash and what it contained, the sugars that had been released and the starches that were in the remaining pulp. There were methods in his world of getting the starch to fully disolve, but none existed in this world.
“Filter,” he said. He held his hand, palm upward, and cursed as hot and dry chunks of imbar began piling upon his hand. It was the same when he Filtered water, removing the dirt and debris from it, while leaving them completely dry and their normal temperature.
He tossed the hot handful of imbar to the floor, waving his hand about as the skin stung.
“Crap!” he yelled. Azios watched him concerned and then laughed. “I think I need to wear a glove or at least wait until it cools down.”
Azios peered into the pot and nodded. “It’s only half full, I can add two buckets of water into it.” He followed those words by doing so.
San winced at his reddened hand. The wash had been hot, somewhere in the neighborhood of one hundred and eighty degrees, hot enough to cook most meats. He looked at his hand, seeing that although it was tender and red, it didn’t look like it was bad. He had scalded himself plenty of times while making beer back home and chided himself for not taking proper precautions. He was half naked and running around with arms bare and wearing light cloth.
“Safety first,” San said belatedly. Azios crinkled his brow and finished dumping the last bucket of water into the imbar wash.
San removed half of the Unshakeable Strain and prepared it to pitch. The icy cold water from the reservoir dropped the temperature of the wash and San wrapped his hands in some Sanitized cloth. Azios watched him and then scooted back as if the pot would explode.
“Filter.”
The mashed imbar began to form on his palm and San dumped it off into a bucket beside the pot. It took a few tries, but he managed to clear the wash of the imbar. He looked down into the pot, seeing the golden hued liquid before him. It smelled sweet and had a hint of bitterness that gave it a tang.
He pitched the Unshakeable Strain into the wash and followed it with a yellow gem. Azios watched unblinkingly as he moved the copper pot off the hearth and then held his hand over it.
The Unshakeable Strain was already changed by mana, it was open to the idea of becoming something else. He recalled to the day he had spent first distilling back at the komai. The time had flashed by in a haze, the drive to create and brew had nearly consumed him.
San pushed his will into the yeast, giving shape to what he wanted it to become, what it already did, but more so. Alcohol killed bacteria; at high enough percentages it was used as a disinfectant. He could make ti so again, not just through proper distilling, but by using his Power to shape it into something that was easier to make and could do more. He could make an alcohol that was shaped by the cleansing flame.
He felt sweat dripping down his face and an dull ache in his chest as mana began to move out of him. Azios stood by him, watching, and was there to help him when San staggered, feeling exhausted from the effort.
“Ow,” he said.
The Purity Strain
The words seemed to echo in his head. He looked to Azios and grinned.
“I made a new strain,” he said.
The young man smiled back, looking at the pot.
San sat down on the floor and then felt the word begin to spin. “Oh,” he said and then there was darkness.