Chapter 34

Bouncing Bet and Royal Lily

Brewer’s Reputation: 925.

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

Clouds had rolled in. They were dark and thick. Though it was drizzling, there was a strong ground-wind that flipped the leaves of forest floor plants and those of low hanging branches. Insects furiously flew. Mosquitos were enraged, it seemed, and Abigail and I spent half the time swatting the air and smacking ourselves.

We had turned our hike eastward and came upon a stretch of marshland. The drizzle and mosquitoes were so maddening that we brewed a few bottles of shelter attributes. The Repelling Haze attribute was made with lavender tea. I used the tea in a stout.

Abigail brewed the Leaf Parasol attribute in a simple crispy style ale with giant burdock leaves. She pressed a thumb to the neck of the bottle and shook it. Foam spewed into the air where it hovered and collected together. The foam settled into a light gold beer that floated in the shape of a leaf. It was as large as the roof of my cabin. As we hiked on, the gold Leaf Parasol bumped into boughs. It wicked away the dew from leaves.

The ground was soggy. Bubbles rose from earth where we trudged through mud. At a particularly squishy section of earth, Abigail turned to me.

“Smell,” she said.

The air was sweet like white syrup and spiced like vanilla beans. The smell only grew stronger the further we went. Suddenly, after a row of swamp white oaks, we came upon an expanse of bouncing bet flowers. They were pale pink, purple, and white. The petals were scallop-tipped. The calyx was tubular, and some were ballooned.

Midnight black bees, brown shaggy moths, and large blue winged butterflies pollinated the flowers.

Walking into the midst of the bouncing bets was like stepping through a waterfall of pure fragrance. I’d never harvested bouncing bets that were so perfectly bloomed. The persistent ground-wind shook the stalks and flung insects through the air.

…But the fragrance was something to remember. I asked that we pause so I could attempt a golden chapter beer. Using a simple lager recipe with ethereal ingredients, I employed my Alchemical Control skill and used Imbue Memory:

The dark silver sky blended with the clear gold Leaf Parasol and laid down an olive green light around us. Moths flew as silently as owls. Butterflies seemed to pop in and out as they opened and closed their wings. Bees lurched like thrown black pebbles from flower to flower. Thunder rumbled. I could feel it in my belly. Abigail turned to me. She smiled, perhaps because she seemed to love thunder, and it thrilled her.

If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

The fragrance of milky oats, crushed vanilla pods, cardamom tea, and crystallized jasmine hung in the air like humidity. The scent filled my lungs so much that I felt I was breathing a new air. It invaded me so deeply that I considered these flowers. The scents were a calling: “Come to me, sweet things with wings. Find me in the flower. I have made my stalks like arms and reached from the earth for you. I have made sugar for you. Feed in my colors. But come with foreign pollen. Mingle with me. I have made this fragrance so that you can find me. I have made this flower so that you may find me. I give you everything that I am—everything! Come now while we are in the height of summer, for I shall perish soon. I will lay myself down. My buried roots will look like tangled hair. I need you. I know you need me.”

Thunder rumbled and shook the memory. It ended.

Though I brought my Imbue Memory skill to level 513, it still did not turn out to be my most coveted objective: the golden chapter beer.

“It’s ok,” Abigail said.

I wondered if my disappointment could be so easily sensed. I shrugged.

We moved on through the small plot of bouncing bets. The marsh became swamp-ish. An inch of water covered everything. After a sip of a Water Skimmer attribute ale, we pierced through the reeds and cattails. Frogs croaked with their whole bellies. The biggest ones croaked like they were the size of adult elephants. I could have sworn that the contents of my inventory rattled.

We crossed the swamp. By late afternoon, low on mana, we were walking on dry land again. We climbed a hill with a long, slow grade. A creek worked to split the hill. Tall green stalks rose from the banks. They were a few feet taller than me. Purple-yellow royal lilies hung from the high branches.

“Stunning,” Abigail said. “I wonder…” She brought out her Brewer’s Guide to Magic Ingredients and began rifling through it.

While she fell into her book, I stomped through undergrowth and approached the royal lilies. The anthers, like stretched coffee beans, were covered in pollen. I plucked a lily from its stem and the anthers broke from their filaments. The anthers skated off the back of my hand, and the pollen fell in minuscule mounds down my arm. It felt as though a thousand lazy winds had been carded by the hands of fairies, and then lashed together to form a brush. It made floating dandelion seeds seem like airborne weapons when they landed on bare skin!

“Royal lilies,” Abigail said. “‘Imbues beer with one of two hundred and eleven Sustenance attributes. Pour beer into a bowl for royal purple soup. One bowl of royal purple soup is enough to sustain energy for three full days.’ Shall we try?”

“Of course,” I said. “Any specific parts?

“The flowers.”

She waded through the undergrowth. I bent the stalks down so she could pluck the flowers with ease. When she disturbed them, the anthers pitched to the ground. Pollen cascaded down Abigail’s arms and landed like bright freckles. After a dozen more flowers, She was entirely freckled in pollen. When she moved, pollen drifted off like dust in the wind.

We returned to our path, leaving a trail of pollen that floated confused-like in the air, and continued our hike eastward. By evening, we made camp beneath tall, thin pines. Abigail brewed more beer with millet. In one, she imbued it with the royal lily Sustenance attribute. She poured us each a bowl. The beer thickened into purple soup.

We clinked our bowls and drank straight from the rim.

Abigail “mmm’d” and said, “It’s like blue corn porridge. Have you ever had that?”

“I can taste the millet. It’s sweet and salty. Smoother than I would have thought.”