Chapter 17

Barley as Big as Lemons

Brewer’s Reputation: 3,200.

Dream Cutter Stone Shard Quest: 13,300/15,000 shards.

“How about stoneware mugs?” Abigail said.

She produced two mugs that could hold 2 cups. I discovered that they were hefty. They were smooth and looked to be made out of a single stone. Each must have been carved of time and water. The handle was thick and my hand wrapped around as if like fingers could hug.

I poured my beer for each of us. We clinked our mugs and drank.

The beer was a sure improvement in quality. Enough to bring my quality tier to 96/100 Lesser Honorable. Two more!—and I would have reached the last quality tier in silver rank. The foam crumbled like a mirage of fresh shortbread. A mirage, because that’s how quickly it melted. The roast dominated the hazelnut colored foam. I could have just roasted chestnuts on a fire, the roast tasted so fresh. Small flavors of coffee appeared on my tongue as intermittent and as icy as falling snowflakes.

The beer came soft like a ribbon of satin. There was texture to the beer, a haze that was as soft as pollen in the wind. There were notes of ground bark from ebony oaks, aged and roasted dandelion root, scorched chicory root, and black coffee. All this was carried on a cream of toasted oats—that’s what made the beer so silky, satiny. Notes of dark chocolate tufted the stream of beer that moved into me like an obsidian river.

But the tastes of ethereal water and ethereal yeast offered something different. Those flavors weren’t so tactile.

I first tasted the air of scentless laundered linen hung to dry on a crisp autumn day in Lunstad. The massive mangled oak, which crept outside my window every night, held the end of the clothes line between two twig fingers. I was but a lad in that vision. I leaned out the window to listen to dark purple leaves clatter down the boulevard cobbled in blue and gray stones. My father’s hand landed upon my shoulder like a hawk and a heavy book. He ruffled my hair and pointed out the dusk that screamed orange.

Then I tasted the slate scented wind that drove horizontal rain. In that vision, I chased down a tumbleweed—no, a tumbling umbrella—down that same boulevard. A young woman cried out when the wind had wrestled the umbrella from her wet hands. I ran so fast, that I kicked up splashes of mud. Droplets hit my face and my clothes. After I battled the elements, I returned the umbrella. The young woman smiled, shouted above the din of the storm, and ran off.

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Abigail had her own visions brought on by the tastes of ethereal water and ethereal yeast.

“When I was a little girl, the springs in Salindune would get very dry. Walls of wind would come through the city and change the shapes of the sand dunes. Everyone knew to seek shelter…it wasn’t often the sandstorms were so strong; you had to seek shelter. Well one time I thought I could make it home in time.”

“You got caught.”

“Oh it was scary. I couldn’t see anything at first. I thought that was bad—the storm got stronger and thicker and I had to shield my eyes from the sand. But something funny happened. I remember how loud the wind was. And the sand hurt my skin. I turned my back to the storm and I raised my arms and I threw my head back and I started laughing. Hawkin, I felt so free!”

Abigail looked off into the darkening woods. But her eyes seemed to replay her experience. She shook her head. She grinned.

“How could I forget that?” she said. Then, “I think we would have been great friends.”

“If we’d grown up in Lunstad?”

“If we’d been friends in Salindune!”

“Lunstad isn’t all that cold. The stone just feels cold.”

“Well Salindune is warm and the city is one big family.”

“I could have used a friend,” I said.

Finished with my beer, I plunked the stone mug on a coaster of grass between dandelion heads. I lay back to watch the twilight sky. There was a star already.

“I’m going to resume my shard quest with a maize cereal beer.”

“One hundred percent maize?”

“And I’m going to brew fifteen and half gallons at a time.”

“Would you like an Ethereal Label wrapped barrel?”

“Would that be all right?”

“Where will you store it?”

“On Gift Number One, of course.”

I sat up and employed my Forge Ethereal Label skill. I wrapped the ribbon of chimeric colored material around and around until I completed a near perfect barrel shape. Abigail deposited the barrel into her inventory and sipped on a beer. She vanished.

The wilderness ws quiet. The sky was clear and dark blue. The lone star found a companion. Within minutes, more stars emerged.

The flames of our fire died. The embers glowed when a breeze with legs strolled through. But I did not rekindle the fire. It hissed. It crackled. It offered some warmth in Abigail’s absence.

We had to brew more goblin spit beer. I had to clone brew more Ethereal Dungeon beers. But most of all, I had to reach gold rank. My only purpose was to brew golden chapter beers. I was saving my lemon sized Saint Maxt barley just for those kinds of beers.

I fetched one kernel of that massive barley from my inventory. I rolled it in my hands up against a background of stars.

I sat up, employed my Brewer’s Harvest skill, and watched my mana begin to drain. The lemon sized barley began to sprout. Leaves began to grow into blades of grass. The stem shot up as tall as a mammoth sunflower stem. It thickened to the size of my forearm. Giant kernels formed, and I harvested a handful of Saint Maxt barley. Brewer’s Harvest reached level 1660. I used those kernels to grow more. And those to grow more. I stopped when half the meadow was filled with stalks of Saint Maxt Barley.