“Pinch of tarmic, burn and boil it, then a dash of cherry and plucked ashberry,” I hummed, my spoon tapping the kettle’s lip. The ingredients dropped inside with a plop, and even though my sense of smell was completely muted today, I knew the tea was coming along well. The salivating shoggoth clinging to my back was evidence enough.
I took some dried fruits from the bowl, and Aami reached a tentacle over my shoulder. I slapped it.
“Ow,” she said.
“Later,” I replied. “I’m making Vivian a cup of schaa and you’ve been sneaking bits from the table for ten minutes now. No more snacks.”
“But I was the one who gathered them.”
“And that’s why you get something better than raw fruit. You get tea.”
She wriggled in agreement, “Tea smells nice.”
“Mm. I can’t smell.”
“That’s sad.”
I slapped a stray tentacle that was reaching for the bowl again.
“Ow.”
----------------------------------------
‘You’re off-key again,’ Venti wrote, and I stopped singing. The bird chirped out a sigh, then tapped the paper with the tip of an ink-stained talon. ‘You sure you wanna learn singing, Rowan? You suck at it. You’re like a wailing infant with a torn-up throat.’
What was up with this bird’s excessively gruesome metaphors? I gave her a look.
“You know, I hope Vivian runs out of paper soon. You were a lot cuter when you couldn’t tell me what you were thinking.”
Venti scoffed, ‘And thank the Ancestors for that. I was getting tired of being the cute mascot to your dumb ass. At least the Fae treated me with respect. You think the two of us are close friends. It’s gross.’
“You’re getting way too good at being mean nowadays.”
‘It’s tough love. I hurt your feelings ‘cause tortured artists make better music. Now shut it, frog-croak. Try again.’
Rolling my eyes, I tried to fake a glare, but I ended up smiling instead. For all her sass, Venti was surprisingly patient. Two hours. That’s how long we’d been practicing for. And despite her constant barrage of rebukes, jabs, and taunts, she never once lost her temper. Her corrections were constant. Helpful.
I rubbed the tiny bird’s head with my hand, and Venti paused. She looked up at me. I gave her my best smile.
“Thanks for the help, buddy.”
I got pecked in the eye.
----------------------------------------
Much of the next week passed in the same way. Practice, improvement. Idle life. Little slices of relaxation and conversations under the rain. Then sessions of study, teaching Vivian, practicing my Weave, and learning the lute. Singing. Playing my bansuri. Constant, unending work. So perhaps, when looking at it from that perspective, it could be said that I was busy.
But really, I was just bored.
Travel was long and boring and dull. The rains were heavy, and there was no sun. As Vivian’s house traveled from tree to tree and swam over bodies of water, I found myself glaring out of the hole in the house’s basement, staring daggers into the night’s storm clouds.
One month—that was how long the Drowning Rains lasted. Thirty days of rain unending, followed by another two months of light drizzles and intermittent storms.
And so far, we’d only managed to get past half of that first month.
I stood up from the lip of the hole that Venti had blown into the cellar two weeks ago. I turned to face Vivian behind me, who as always, was tinkering with several ingredients that we’d collected along the roads. The collection of pots and glasses she brewed with simmered with all kinds of concoctions. One of the more unstable ones even trembled, unsteadily bouncing over the fire.
“How much longer to Felzan, Vivian?”
She replied without looking up from her mortar and pestle, “What does that tri-point compass say?”
“52.23-HR,” I said, frowning down at the compass. The three arrows jabbed towards the same locations as always, and the green arrow pointed northeast. Straight towards Felzan. “We’ve traveled quickly using the house over the last two weeks, but…”
“I haven’t got a way to make it go faster, boy. Felzan is still a month away. You wait.”
“What about towns, then? Aren’t we supposed to stop by some of them?”
Vivian motioned outside to the outer regions of Caereith that had been completely swallowed by the flood, “Does it look like there are any towns to visit out there, child? No—unless you want to take a detour and spend a week traveling to one of the outer territories, you’ll have to wait until we reach the Heartlands.”
“The middle of Central Caereith?” I asked, incredulous, before sighing. Of course. All the major cities were there. Being the part of the realm where mountains literally piled themselves over each other, it was the only section of Caereith that wasn’t fully swallowed during the Drowning Season. Most cities were up, up into the clouds. Atop mountains and plateaus sliced flat by magitech engineers, peering down into the roaring river-valleys between the overlapping peaks.
My hometown had been within the vicinity of the Heartlands as well. Its buildings were planted over the Stone Ribs; spires of massive, curling stone that hooked themselves into the earth. We barely flooded during the Drowning Seasons, and now, seeing the effect of the rains on the rest of Caereith, I found myself thankful for growing up in such a high-up place.
I couldn’t imagine myself living in a sunken world like this.
I sauntered over to Vivian’s workstation.
“Which of the five exercises are you doing now?” I asked.
She ground aluminum dust into a mixture of red iron and rust, “Metal activation without magical components,” she replied, frowning. “But I don’t understand how I could possibly bring out innate properties without a touch of manual mana-charging. Especially not with conflicting components like red iron and aluminum in the mix. Bah. Are you sure this is possible, boy?”
I leaned forward and watched her work, yawning lazily. “Coat the tip of that pestle in Gwyrh’s Solvent, variant three. Add a spoonful that’s three parts acettin, six parts kallik, and two parts gyneseed extract to the original ratio.”
Frowning, she did as instructed, setting the unactivated metals aside to work on her pestle. Quickly, she tried to make the solvent, but she was slow. I reached for a recycled mug and began working on a separate component—one that she would need after the metals were activated. Vivian glanced at my hands in interest, watching me work at a speed that was many times that of hers.
I glanced at her, “Want to guess why we’re using Gwyrh’s Solvent for activation?”
“It’s something that’s used to break down resistant components, no?”
“Yes. Explain why we’re using variant three on metals.”
She frowned, thinking in silence as we worked. When she looked up, Vivian was hesitant, “I suppose this related to the Inherent Particle Theory? Gyneseed extract siphons and acettin stimulates. But what’s kallik for?”
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
I nodded. “It’s a control component. Charged gyneseed combusts when added to iron oxide because the inherent mana particles activate rust’s second innate property. Powdered kallik alters the solvent to suppress heat-based activations.”
“Because it has an innate negative charge,” she blinked, realization dawning. “So the metals don’t activate in a destructive chain. This would be impossible with magical materials.”
“And that’s why we’re using mundane ingredients for now. You aren’t ready to use my mother’s techniques on materials with that many active-reactive variables.”
Vivian shook her head, “This kind of alchemy is suicidal. It’s like dancing on a razor’s edge. One mistake, and—”
“Hellooo!”
A voice suddenly barreling down from the stairs, and I felt Aami tackle me from behind. She coiled her tentacles around me in a sudden hug. I stumbled. Dropped the mug. The mixture I was preparing spilled over the table and hissed, flowing towards the fire and—
;̵̨͛'̸̡̩̰͛̈͝.̵̩̅̄̆;̵̣͑̂'̶̧́̀ͅ.̶͙̳̙̋,̷̜͒;̵̨͛'̸̡̩̰͛̈͝.̷͙̈̃̆,̵͓̀̑;̷͕̭̤̈́̂̅'̶̹̩̆̀̅.̵͉̝̮̒͋͋.̶͉̫̊̃͌ͅ,̸͓͆̾̆,̶̹̲̓.̸̛̝͔͉͐̐,̸̥͙̕;̶͓͎̒̄̈́'̵̹͉̑͜;̷̧̗̫̉̈.̷̠͕̃͆̒,̶̗̗͛͜'̵̱̄̑̑'̷̪̊̾;̶̭̼͛̇͠
The wind swept forward just as the tip of the pool caught fire. It scooped the liquid up, containing it inside a tight ball of air, as the mixture began burning with a deep, blue fire. I whispered, chanting Galesong with my voice, and I threw the liquid outside of the basement.
Blue flames bloomed in the darkness. They crashed down into the water with a splash, like a solid object, and I watched the fire sink into the water without being extinguished.
I sighed and turned my eyes to Aami.
“I told you not to tackle me when I’m working with Vivian,” I said, giving her a stern glare. “Did you not learn the first time after you accidentally melted a tentacle off with acid?”
“Sorry,” she said, flowing up to my shoulders. “I thought you were just supervising her.”
“Boy, remind me again why we let the aberration inside the basement at all?” Vivian asked, frowning at us. “That thing is too careless to be allowed near the materials I gathered. Why do you tolerate it?”
“Sorry,” Aami said, suddenly shrinking. She went quiet.
“Not it. Her,” I corrected Vivian, then nodded. “But you’re right. I shouldn’t have dropped that, anyway. I’m out of practice.”
At that, I rolled up my sleeves and offered her my arms.
Vivian stared at me.
“What is this?”
“It’s…” I stopped, frowning at myself. I’d offered my arms to her on reflex alone. Shaking my head, I pulled my sleeves back down. “No, it’s nothing. Just a learning technique from back home.”
“Is it required to learn this style of alchemy?”
“It would be awkward to use it on you.”
Vivian scoffed with a ‘bah’ and turned away, returning to activating the metals. I watched light begin to shine inside of her mortar, indicating the aluminum’s activation, and Vivian dumped it into the brewing pot.
I watched her work, remembering back when I worked simpler materials with mother. Back when every mistake I made was rewarded with a whipping. A welt on my arms, for each potentially fatal error.
‘Pain is a good teacher,’ mother used to say, back when she reasoned with my crying, younger self. ‘It’s temporary, and it leaves a strong impression. To us, pain is better than a mistake. Mistakes cost you limbs. They cost you lives, and that’s a burden you aren’t ready for. Repeat the mistake, and I’ll whip your arms twice. Now get back to practicing. Metal activation again.’
Brutal. Straightforward. Effective. That was what mother was.
To this day, I still wasn’t sure if I should thank her or hate her for it. My limbs were intact, but my childhood was in tatters. I was always the loner. Always the weird prodigy with the welts and bruises on his arms.
Many of the other children chose to stay away from me for that reason.
I shook my head. Those thoughts were better left alone.
“I’m going to go upstairs and practice the lute,” I told Vivian, setting the materials I held back down onto the table. I turned to leave, “After metal activation, work on reactive components. I want you to memorize all the bio-reactive interactions between the metals we have available.”
“Can I practice singing with your lute, Rowan?” Aami asked. I nodded.
“Sure. I’ll show you one of my favorite songs. It’s called—”
“—Boy,” Vivian said, and I stopped at the base of the stairs. I turned to her with an eyebrow raised. She had her small, hunched back to me as she worked, and the sight of it brought several old memories back to my head. A silence dragged between us for a short moment, with only the sound of her pestle’s grinding filling the air.
And then she spoke.
“I loved my daughter,” she said, her voice unreadable. “I did many things for her. Good things. Bad things. Even wrong ones. But I did them for her.”
I paused for a moment, “Sounds like she was lucky to have you.”
“No,” she replied. “I was lucky to have her. And not a day passes where I don’t regret not being able to tell her that before she died.”
“I’m sure she knew that you felt that way.”
“A mother can hope.”
The air between us fell into silence again. Then rasping, grinding, the stone of pestle scraping against mortar, mashing ingredients in between. I stared at Vivian’s back, unsure whether to leave or not.
“Practice that lute, boy,” she finally said. “And play me a good song, once you’re passable.”
I released a breath. Nodded, “I will. Are you sure that I can have your lute, though? Just like that?”
“An old woman like me won’t use it. It’s better in your hands than not. But if you so much as scratch it, you’ll be the next thing going into this mortar, understand?”
“Absolutely,” I said. My eyes swiveled to the dark rains outside, then back to her. I turned and placed a foot on the stairs, “Good night, Vivian.”
“Bah. Old women have no good nights. Sleep well, boy.”
And so I climbed up the stairs.
The living room was dark. And like always Venti was perched above the fireplace, her eyes closed. Sleeping. As I passed, she cracked an eye open and chirped. I gave her a light smile.
“Good night to you, too.”
Another chirp.
I left her to sleep as I entered my room with Aami clinging to my back. With a sigh, I plopped myself down on the bed, sitting down next to the window. Aami crawled off me and sat by my side, wriggling up next to me. She worbled around, swaying left and right, bumping against my shoulder as she hummed a little tune.
She was awfully cuddly, for something that looked so horrifying. It was somewhat amusing to me. Humming along, I opened the lute case at the foot of the bed.
“I’m going to play Moonchaser,” I said.
“Okay.”
Aami continued humming and watched as I set the lute over my thigh. I strummed once, then plucked at the strings. Tuning. Getting the sound just right. Next to me, Aami bobbed and swayed, wriggling her tentacles around. One idly tapped at the frame of the bed, knocking a little beat. Moonchaser.
A song about Merden. One about an alternate account of the legend—where he didn’t perish after touching the sun, but stopped his chase for empty wealth.
One where he decided that the moons were better left in the sky.
My fingers slowly drew over the strings, and I began to play. One slow pluck at a time, getting used to the rhythm. The little tics and hops between the strings. The positions of my fingers and the feeling of the strings pressing against the calluses I earned. Over the next minute, I sped up. Matched the beat.
And the two of us played a song. One that produced a wonderful sound.
'̵̹͉̑͜;̷̧̗̫̉̈.̷̠͕̃͆̒,̶̗̗͛͜'̵̱̄̑̑'̷̪̊̾;̶̭̼͛̇͠.̷̰̥̱̽̀̒'̸͈͘,̷̱̈́̅'̸̝̫̈́͋.̷̢̍'̷̯̥̋ͅ'̷͇̝̖̓̆̈́;̶̡͖̙͐̆'̶͓̣̑̐;̶̫̋̓'̶͉̲̈̾.̴̫͐,̶̻͐̈'̴̟̰͋̑.̵̯͓̀.̴̩̓̆͝,̶̥̭͇̽̄̈́;̵̯̂̒̃.̵͚̞̾͊;̶̡̙̓̔͝ͅ'̷̹̂,̷̜͒;̵̨͛'̸̡̩̰͛̈͝.̷͙̈̃̆,̵͓̀̑;̷͕̭̤̈́̂̅'̶̹̩̆̀̅.̵͉̝̮̒͋͋;̶̭̼͛̇͠.̷̰̥̱̽̀̒'̸͈͘,̷̱̈́̅'̸̝̫̈́͋.̷̢̍'̷̯̥̋ͅ'̷͇̝̖̓̆̈́;̶̡͖̙͐̆'̶͓̣̑̐;̶̫̋̓'̶͉̲̈̾.̴̫͐,̶̻͐̈'̴̟̰͋̑.̵̯͓̀.̴̩̓̆͝,̶̥̭͇̽̄̈́;̵̯̂̒̃.̵͚̞̾͊;̶̡̙̓̔͝ͅ'̷̹̂,̷̜͒;̵̨͛'̸̡̩̰͛̈͝.̵̩̅̄̆;̵̣͑̂'̶̧́̀ͅ.̶͙̳̙̋,̷̜͒;̵̨͛'̸̡̩̰͛̈͝.̷͙̈̃̆,̵͓̀̑;̷͕̭̤̈́̂̅'̶̹̩̆̀̅.̵͉̝̮̒͋͋
It was a hum and a whisper; the ticking of the clock; the creak-cracks of aging wood. The sound was of weathering stone and eroding cliff faces, of blooming flowers and plants sprouting from the soil. It was the stalactites in the caves. The limestone melting beneath the rocks. The corals growing in the sea. It was the slow, patient sound of a drifting cloud and the quiet thrum of icebergs looming over the waves.
The song was all of these things. It carried with it a weight that Galesong didn’t. A history. It contained the hint of the Singing Tree’s spirit, of the smile of the man inside. The smile of a man that had lived through many, many things.
It was the sound that allowed all pains to lose their ache.
I fell into it, releasing a slow breath. The air left my lips and curled, swirling, gently moving at a slower pace. The sounds around us slowed. The aching creaks of the trees dragged out into groans, and the whispers of the leaves turned into a long, rustling hiss. I experienced the eternity of a single moment.
“Your music always sounds so nice,” Aami whispered, closing her eyes and listening. Enjoying the song. “It makes me think of a lot of pretty things. It makes me think of the sun. Warm and bright and happy. It reminds me of the kind of person I want to be.”
“What about the moon? Do you not want to be like it?”
“The moon is too cold. And it’s surrounded by darkness. I want to be next to the puffy clouds and the big, blue sky.”
“Mm. In that case, I want to be like the clouds. Weightless, free. Drifting wherever the wind takes me.”
“I can be the sun,” the shoggoth hummed, swaying back and forth. “And you can be the clouds. Venti can be the blue around us. But maybe not. She’s kind of mean.”
I smiled, “She is.”
“Do you think I can learn to be bright, Rowan?”
“Hm,” I hummed, pausing. I opened my eyes and looked outside as I played, watching the foot of the dark silhouettes of the distant mountains approach. We were nearing the outskirts of Central Caereith, now. The vast corners of the Heartlands. I leaned against the wall and watched the shades grow larger. “If there’s anything I’ve learned growing up, it’s that you can learn to be anything. You just have to try your hardest.”
“I will. I’m going to be the best person I can be. And I’m going to meet people—make friends, just like you and me.”
“That’s good. I’ll be right there to cheer you on.”
The shoggoth laughed, “I know.”
I nodded, and a comfortable silence descended over us both. The song continued, at a loop, as the world outside slowed to the sound of my song. I watched the rains fall one inch at a time, and over the horizon, I watched the first crack of lightning bloom from the sky. It branched through the clouds, cutting through the vapors. It colored the sky white.
The streaks of white lit the world below, and I caught the glance of something in the distance, crashed into one of the trees. Kilometers away, a small thing in the darkness. If not for the lightning being slowed by my song, I wouldn't have noticed it at all.
I saw the silhouette of a bow rising from the treetops, then a mast—tall as any tree in the forest, sporting tattered sails snapping against the wind. I saw its left wing, tucked safely against the thing’s side. I stood up, my eyes widening.
That silhouette in the distance, I knew what it was.
It was an airship.