Chapter 9: Eyebrows, Intent, and Deliveries

Pffft! There goes another one. Damn it, I can smell burnt hair this time. I grabbed a jar of mercury off one of the shelves and checked my reflection. Hard to see in the murky liquid, but a distorted version of myself stared back. I ran a finger along the left eyebrow, trying to see, and feel, how much of it just burned up.

God—Mother of Trees—I hated that acrid stench! “Bless her roots.”

Sulfur and potassium nitrate, that ages-old pair, it was their fault. Yeah, I knew they combusted. That was the point of them. Chem 101 had been one of the prerequisites for my degree, but what it had to do with Creative Writing baffled me. It was a requirement for all degrees, apparently. A well-rounded education, and all that. On that same note, what did Creative Writing have to do with landing a real job?

Lo-and-behold, look at me now! I was writing and mixing volatile chemicals for the same profession. A real job. My old, doubting self should be ashamed.

You see, the [mana] in [Scrivener]s ink needed a catalyst. The sulfur ignites when the [mana] excites its molecules, and the charcoal, another common ingredient in the ink, acts as fuel for the spark, which then allows the potassium nitrate to explosively release oxygen. I’d googled how sparklers worked, that lamest of fireworks (what about black snakes?), when I was bored once. What human hasn’t performed their share of inane Internet searches? I think I’d had some idea of trying to make my own. Yeah, that totally wouldn’t have ended up with me in the emergency room.

The resulting explosion, which didn’t need to be much, let the ink burn through the parchment and release the purposed [mana] from both in tandem. Flash-bang! The magic’s intent was realized. [Torchl!ght] scrolls released a small, stable ball of light that could then either be placed in a stationary spot or directed to follow the user. I say stable, but it’s still a ball of fire. Not a good use indoors, at least in the, ahem, modern elven world. That is what sun-gems were for. A whole other process, and one not in my purview. That was the light-switch/electrician paradigm.

The first step in crafting magic scrolls was the preparation of the parchment. It was true parchment, not papyrus or made from cotton fibers. Making parchment was a lengthy process, one I won't go in to. The scrolls needed to be made from something that had a more energetic life than plants. Something that [mana] had lived in, and grown with. Once harvested, the animal skins—different types for different uses—went through a long journey. It was thought that the careful, detailed process along the way from dead skin to viable parchment was also integral. The effort to keep something useful past its original design gave it purpose. That word, again.

All that said, the parchment needed to be fed excess [mana]. It absorbed the energy like a sponge, waiting for the squeeze to release it all. The [mana] had to be unaligned, too. Harder than a person would think, in practice, which is where a Master came in. Disciplined control was required for pure [mana], without so much of a trace of the crafter’s bias. Don’t think of an elephant in a pink tutu and top hat dancing the time warp, things like that. That way it could amplify the magic in the ink, not dilute it with its own will. So why have an apprentice make the ink? I left my intent all over the fluid (came out dirtier than intended, sorry)(Not!).

For one, the magic imparted to the ink was stronger, more focused. It over-wrote any piddling intent an apprentice could leave behind. The old language all scrolls were written in was more powerful, as well. A long-dead language, some said it had been taught to the ancestors by the Mother of Trees herself. Only [Mage]s spoke it aloud, the basis for their spells. Other uses of [mana]—aside from the mundane, everyday uses—like what [Scrivener]s and [Enchanter]s crafted, tended towards the written words. Better suited to me.

None of this could help with my current predicament. I’d burned through two parchments and one eyebrow. Only one success, so far. It had happened between the two flubs, the good one that is.

“You rushed,” said Master Alric. “One good outcome and it was common quality at that, so you felt overconfident.”

“Yes, Master.” Pretty much right on the nose.

Alric had assigned me to make six scrolls. That meant he was responsible for making twenty-one of them himself. Well, he was responsible for all of them. As my Master, my work fell under his aegis. Since he’d been able to make seventeen yesterday, he would be at a deficit of four with a rerun of the day. And I was one for three. There was only one ‘extra’ left. Alric’s rule of an excess of three was about to be sorely tested(what about all of the excess already built up, huh?).

If he had to dip into his overstock cluttering the shop, I’d never hear the end of it.

(OK, there it is.)

“Clear, consider, control, Book.” He parroted my mantra…the one I’d taken from his teachings. Our manta.

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“Tripple-C, dude,” I said low enough he wouldn’t hear. “C-squared.”

Wait, that was only two. “Cubed”

I took a fresh sheet of parchment, one fully primed by Master Alric. I dipped a steady quill pen in the [ink; common], took a breath, and held it. I inked the word for a torch, pouring meaning into the letters as they took shape. I let the breath out, careful not to let it whoosh and deposit any floating particles on the wet ink. At least no particle large enough to be seen by the naked eye. And elves had phenomenal eyesight.

Another held breath and we get to the tricky part. Before the silvery ink could dry, physically binding itself to the parchment, I melded them into one. Binding their [mana]. If it worked, then when the user invoked the scroll, the parchment would fuel the ink and those bonds would break in an explosion of magic. The intent would be released, taking its intended form.

A form that I had placed. As every individual was unique, different crafters’ work erupted in their unique ways. The same basic functionality or there would be no point, but with effects slightly off from another. The hue of a [torchlight] could be a different shade either way along the spectrum. The flames could be taller, squatter, or sputter distinctly. I hoped mine wouldn’t manifest as a neon sign pointing towards me. It would flash words like otherworlder, or human in disguise! Or just point and make that sound like in ‘Invasion of the Body Snatchers’. I had watched a ton of old movies with Dad, and that one had been old even from his perspective.

The next breath I held was one of anticipation. Apprehension. Then it happened. The letters shimmered, passing from left to right in a trail across the parchment. A parchment no longer, as the entirety became a scroll of [torchlight].

Master Alric placed a fleeting hand on my shoulder, might have even squeezed it a little. Two down and four to go, with one spare freebie parchment. For me. My Master still had to make up a shortage of four.

We were going to make it.

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And we did. I flubbed on two more scrolls, giving me a deficit of one freebie. I thought I would have to replace it, what with my Master’s attitude. I was stunned when he told me, “It’s the cost of doing business, Book. And the cost of a Master for his Apprentice.”

I had to stop thinking the worst of him. It flared up from my own insecurities, coloring my perspective of the universe. I’d always been that way, even before we “crossed that damned field.” Don’t know why, but saying it made me feel better.

The delivery to the Artisan’s Guild was anti-climatic after all the build-up. It really was only a shipment of flashlights. They did ask us to take the delivery over to the Adventure Guild. For an extra fee, of course. One insisted upon by Master Alric. I would have done it for free, and that was how it ended up. My Master’s time was too valuable, it turned out. Never would’a thunk it. Lucky me, I was paid in learnin’.

The tone was all me, Alric would never clip his words, ‘Bless his roots’. Did I just blaspheme, twisting the benediction? I’ve never been overly devout, but I had never believed in magic before, either. Hoped, desired, and spent too much time imagining, yes. But not actually believed (sure).

“Bless your roots, Mother.”

Master Alric was headed back to his shop on Parchment Lane, jingling a full coin purse. I figured he had no worries about being mugged, him being a Master and all. I was sure he had some defenses on his person. Probably had scrolls hidden throughout his robes. It was more ‘muggers beware’. How could I help, in any event? I wasn’t that type of cyborg!

I don’t think.

The Adventure Guild wasn’t far. Most of the guilds were located around a shared courtyard. The cobbled square was chock full of statues, fountains, and what I took for memorials. People gathered in clusters. There were groups of [Mage]s in flashy robes, with wands tucked in belts and staffs on their shoulders. What could only be warriors, clad in a variety of metals and leathers, some furs too. Then there was the opulence of artisans, Master crafters of all disciplines, both magical and mundane. Diplomats and bureaucrats. Each pool of congregates mostly sticking to their own kind. “High school never ends…” I sang beneath the hubbub.

Only closer to the bulletin boards was there a mixed crowd. Adventuring party’s, looking for jobs. Quests and bounties were a real thing. Other notices called for new party remembers. Some long-term, and some for specific adventures. “Team Stryker needs a [Healer]…The Gosshawks require the services of a front liner…A Bard trio is looking for another soprano…”

Tess and I could be ‘Team Castaway’, or something with more grit. ‘The Human Stains.’ Which is what a [Courier] and an [Scrivener; Apprentice] would end up as.

I finagled my way through the crowds, the heavy canvas satchel full of [torchlight] scrolls clamped to my side. Just needed to drop them off, and then Master Alric had given the rest of the day to me. We’d earned a little downtime. He wanted me to practice holding [mana] through the night, increasing in small increments to develop my capacity. Also, making friends with it. My words, not his. Maybe I could throw a barbecue and we could mingle. Become besties. Other than that, I was free til One-day came back around. That was two days off for me. We were back to the Maste's regular, scheduled program.

Once delivery of the order was at its final stop, the next thing on my mind was an inexpensive food vendor close to the apartment. I’d earned a little treat. I could pick up dinner for Tess and me. And if I happened to have a snack between the vendor and home, well that was that. I did need the calories, after all.

As I was daydreaming of spicy cheese puffs (an orange never to be found in nature), I caught a glimpse of a familiar shade of red hair and pale skin. It was the girl, young woman, from “Harmsson & Tak; *enchanted tailors*”. I had been wanting to meet more elves and make some friends aside from Tess. She already had a growing circle of her own. Fitness types, the same old jocks, and hangers-on. I also needed to get out of my head and have some conversations outside of work.

I reversed course and started making my way over to her. I didn’t know her name, name tags weren’t a thing here, but I planned to find out.

She wasn’t looking at the adventure notices, was she? Surely not.

I had no reason to worry.