After the two parted ways, Ozahr walked among the shops, trying to locate the one Elidyr always used—”The White Cauldron.” Others began walking on the streets, wearing similar robes to Ozahr's but none with a pointy hat—clearly not sorcerers. Most of them were students with the emblem of the Alchemist Academy stitched onto their robes.
A group of girls stopped Ozahr while he was looking around. They noticed his injuries and asked if he needed any help, but Ozahr reassured them he was fine.
“If I may ask, though,” he spoke to them, “do you happen to know where The White Cauldron is?”
They pointed him down the street, almost to the edge of town. Ozahr bid them farewell, bowing with his hat to his chest, and left them to giggle about whether or not he was the new teacher at the academy.
At the end of the path stood a small shop separated from all the others with a fenced-off garden. Moss was slowly climbing up its stone walls and vines wrapped around its chipped wooden sign. The shop did not advertise their products as aggressively as the rest of the shops in Erith. In fact, you couldn’t see far into the shop at all from its humble windows. Had it not been for the sign, the shop would’ve looked like someone’s residence.
A few bells lightly jingled when Ozahr opened the door. He was in a narrow, dark hallway with five steps leading up to what he assumed was the main shop. As soon as the floorboards creaked with his presence, a puff of green smoke erupted to his right, rising from a small, round pot standing on an ordinary looking dresser.
“Welcome! Welcome!” An old lady’s voice called from the tiny cauldron before the green smoke took the shape of her floating head. “What are you standing around for like an ash hag? Come in!” She beckoned him like a grandma who hasn’t seen her grandson in years and the smoke fell back into its little pot.
Ash hag…? Ozahr furrowed his brows but stepped forth towards the stairs nonetheless.
The shop itself wasn’t much brighter than the hallway. It was lit by candles burning in various colors atop shelves of glass bottles, containers, and heavy books. In the middle was a giant cauldron lightly bubbling and emitting a faint, white light. Various plants and herbs were hanging off the wooden support beams, drying out. Ozahr was just about to touch one of their dry leaves when someone popped from around the corner.
“How can I help you?” Asked a young man with a broom in his hand, adjusting his round glasses.
“Oh, uh…” Ozahr took a moment to gather his thoughts before pinching the bridge of his nose. “Ugh, the list Elidyr gave me was in my suitcase. Uh—do you know if an old lady works here?”
He pointed behind himself. “Further in and to the right.” The young man watched the customer as he passed by him from the corner of his glasses. His cheek was scratched up. The clothes under his robe—bloodied up. A pearl necklace was hanging off his pack, and of course, there were cheap potions clipped to his belt. When the sorcerer looked back and tipped his hat in thanks, the young man averted his gaze and continued on with his duties.
Ozahr looked between the bookcases until he spotted a ladder going up to the top shelf, and on it, a little old lady reaching for books with her cane.
“Excuse me,” Ozahr called softly as to not startle her.
“What is it, Solace?” She asked without turning around as she tittered on the edge of the ladder.
Ozahr raised his fingers in the air and nudged the book out of its spot with his magic into the lady’s hand. “The name’s actually—”
“Ozahr!” She said excitedly and finally turned around. “I’d know this magic anywhere. You’ve really improved since I last saw you.”
“Why, thank you,” said Ozahr with a satisfied smile. “When, uh… When’s the last time you saw me?” Ozahr was the one who opened his matches to the public, but he didn’t expect someone like this old little lady to attend.
“Ah, I wouldn’t expect you to remember. You were but a wee child,” said the grandma as she quickly slid off the ladder. She was barely half Ozahr’s size, but her little legs were quicker than they seemed. “Come with me,” she said.
Back at the main room, she approached the store shelves and pulled out from a drawer a small vial filled with a brilliant blue liquid that shimmered under the light. When she opened its cork, the smell of blackberries and plums wafted in the air. Ozahr could’ve sworn he smelled something else as well, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. Whatever it was, it was drawing his nose closer and closer.
“You were quite out of it when Elidyr called me,” said the old lady. “If you’d like to retrieve your memories from that time—” She offered him the potion, free of charge.
Ozahr looked at the vial. The smell was getting stronger, overcoming the dozens of hanging plants with its sweet scent. He blinked a couple times and held onto the lady’s hand to close the potion, and at once, the smell disappeared.
“I think I’m alright,” Ozahr said softly. “But thank you.” He no longer had a doubt about when the lady visited him, but nonetheless, he still couldn’t remember that day. “I came for Elidyr’s supplies, though I lost the list he gave me. I don’t suppose you know his regular order, do you?”
“Oh, of course, I have it all arranged in a basket. Let me find it for you,” she said as she started rummaging through the drawers behind the shop’s counter.
“And uh… Do you happen to have something for magic fatigue? And… bandages, perhaps?” Ozahr asked.
A hand reached to the counter and put down fresh bandages and a container of disinfectant salve. It was the shop’s helper who Ozahr talked to earlier.
“Solace, was it?” Ozahr smiled at him. “Thank you.”
“It burns less if you put the salve on the bandage first,” Solace said dryly before turning around to sweep the floor some more. Despite looking absorbed in the stray pieces of dirt around the pots, something was clearly bugging him because he quickly added, “Did you know there is no potion for magic fatigue? Whoever sold you that—” He looked at the half-empty potion on his belt, “lied to you.”
“Wha—lied?” Ozahr frowned like a puppy. “But I bought them here in Erith and all.”
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“Indeed,” Solace nodded in understanding. “You know, the human brain has as many as one hundred billion brain cells, and yet the academy only requires you to have about five to be admitted and become a certified alchemist?”
Ozahr didn't get a chance to digest the joke before the old lady croaked again. “Ah, here we go!” The grandma put the little basket on the counter. She squinted at Ozahr for a moment before lifting his hat up with her cane. "Where did you get scratched up like that, child?"
She just now noticed? I was limping inside the store the entire time. Ozahr smiled in reassurance. "I'm fine, really. Or, I hope. I might still have a glass shard or two stuck somewhere.”
"Oh, dearie!” The grandma gasped. “You’re walking around like this? No, no, no—Solace, take a look at him, would you?”
Solace furrowed his brows. “Right this way,” he said unenthusiastically and took Ozahr to a back room where his personal lab was. It was full of plants, vials, and books, much like the shop. It looked like a very organized mess with every shelf and drawer stuffed to their full capacity, but nothing was scattered around haphazardly.
“I can put the bandages on myself,” Ozahr said as to not bother Solace with more work, but as soon as Solace closed the door, he put his hand on Ozahr’s chest and an orange light burst from his palm. Ozahr felt it very faintly—a warm glow seeping through his robes.
Solace didn’t look much like a sorcerer. He was reserved, dressed like a scholar in a brown blazer, and of course, he didn’t wear a pointy hat over his impeccable, side-swept chestnut hair. To think one of the rarest magical abilities would belong to someone so ordinary seeming was unthinkable.
Ozahr took a moment to recover from the foreign, yet pleasant feeling. “Hold on, you're a—”
“Healer?” Solace asked. “Somewhat. I mostly grow plants, but I acknowledge the history behind this type of magic. However, that doesn’t mean I’m going to heal what you can walk off, especially as a sorcerer. Luckily for you, I didn’t feel any glass or other foreign objects lodged anywhere, so most of your injuries should heal within a couple days. Though…” Solace took a step closer, lifting his head to take a good look at Ozahr's face.
“Oh no, what is it doc?” Ozahr asked. “Am I going to die? Tell it to me straight.”
“Where did you get those scratch marks?” Solace looked at his cheek.
Ozahr pursed his lips. “About that… They were either from decorative metal claws, or from the real claws of a dragon. It was a bit hard to tell in the moment.”
Solace blinked a couple times. “Dragon?” He asked flatly.
“I don’t expect you to believe an outrageous story about a shape-shifting woman who turned into a dragon, but that is indeed who I fought, yes.”
Solace’s still expression didn’t seem to change. “Similar stories have been documented in books, though I was always skeptical of their accuracy.” As he talked, Solace brought his hand to hover over Ozahr’s cheek. His orange glow spilled from his palm again and brushed against the wound, closing it up and healing all the tissue around it.
Ozahr touched his cheek, surprised to find it completely smooth once again. Solace, on the other hand, held his and lightly winced.
“What’s the matter?”
Solace patted his own cheek. It seemed perfectly fine on the outside, though he could barely touch it without wincing again. “Nothing. That’s just the cost of my magic. I get the pleasure to feel what you feel, but without the actual injury, thankfully. Dragons still count as wild animals, you know—a scratch like that could’ve gotten infected. Why were you fighting a dragon in the first place?”
“Weeeeell, y’see…” Ozahr told him his story while Solace took notes in one of the leather-bound notebooks that were sitting on his desk. When Ozahr reached the part about his bargain with Redmondel, Solace looked up from his notes and furrowed his brows.
"What could a dragon possibly want with a phoenix?" He mumbled more to himself than to Ozahr.
"So the phoenix exists?"
"It's hard to say." Solace turned to his bookshelf and flipped through some old looking journals. "Dragons might've been documented here and there, but the Phoenix… Did you know there was only one? Most scholars couldn't even agree on what it looked like."
Ozahr reached into his robe and pulled out the piece of paper he found in Redmondel's library. "How about this depiction?"
Solace carefully took the piece of paper and stepped to his desk where he could look at it under a magnifying glass. With a glowing finger, Solace touched the paper and delicate plant fibers began growing out of it.
He adjusted his glasses and turned to Ozahr. “That's a curious parchment you have there. Do you know where it came from?”
Ozahr shook his head.
“I do,” Solace claimed instantly. “This paper is made of extinct plants that only ever grew at the edge of the spiral lands.”
"You're telling me my only lead is at the edge of the world?"
“Not quite the world, only the intact lands still connected to the spiral.” Solace approached his bookshelf again and took out an atlas with a fraying spine that was starting to show its strings. He flipped to an image outlining the rough climate borders along the arms of the spiral. “Do you see the yellow region here?”
Ozahr took a closer look and slowly enunciated the words on the page. “Sham-ha-ra… Is that some sort of desert?”
“These days, yes,” Solace explained. “But it used to be much more. Have you heard of the archeological digs that were halted some 70 years ago due to massive casualties?”
“No, but go on,” Ozahr was much more interested in world events when they weren’t written on a sad excuse for a newspaper that was The Cadmia Harbinger.
“Well, long story short, the very brief mentions of the Phoenix in books always included descriptions of a particular ancient civilization. I’ll spare you the arguments of the academic world on where they theorized this civilization used to be, but after a lot of trial and error, and many, many digs, they found signs of an old kingdom in Shamhara.”
“You sure know a lot about this,” Ozahr commented. He didn’t realize he signed up for a lecture from an expert.
“Yes, and the Academy hates that. Anyway,” Solace continued, “any time something of value was uncovered, there was an unfortunate accident leading to a lot of archeologists and scholars dying. In the end, the Academy deemed the mission too dangerous to continue and shut down all operations in Shamhara. You know, like the cowards they are.”
“Something tells me you don’t like the Academy in Erith very much.”
“Yes, I believe I've now adequately expressed my disdain for them.”
Ozahr couldn’t help but laugh, despite Solace reinforcing the fact he was dead serious about this matter. The remaining details of the story were just bits of history that were not particularly helpful to Ozahr’s mission—how was he to bring proof the phoenix was still around when his only clues were buried deep under sand?
“Well,” Said Ozahr as he slapped his knees and got up from the comfy chair Solace offered him during the story, “I suppose the lost kingdom of Shamhara is as good as place as any to start my search.”
“Good luck,” Solace said plainly.
Ozahr was surprised when Solace didn’t voice any concerns or objections to the idea. “You really think I can find the Phoenix there?”
“Absolutely not,” Solace did not hesitate with the reply.
“Oh, goodie. And how long do you reckon before I can create portals again so I can go fail my mission?"
Solace looked at the marks on Ozahr's arms which were steadily fading by now. "Twenty four hours, if I were to estimate it on the safer side. Or—" he said with a raised finger before Ozahr could sigh in defeat, "fifteen seconds, if you manage to bring me something from the archeological digs."
"I'm sorry, what?" Ozahr leaned forward. "How am I supposed to heal in fifteen seconds?"
"Simple," Solace shrugged. "Just promise you'll bring back an ancient piece of historical civilization."
"Alright," Ozahr said a bit reluctantly. "I promise I'll make an attempt."
“Good enough.” Solace got up from his chair, took off his blazer, and pulled up his white sleeves. "Very well, then. Turn your palms up."
"I thought you said magic fatigue is incurable."
"Not at all," said Solace with a little smile, the first real expression that surfaced on his face. "I merely said no potion in the world could do it."
His palms lit up in bright orange, as if he was holding the rays of the sun in his hands. Solace grabbed Ozahr's arms and blue sparks began flying around the room. Their magic intermingled, forming faint ribbons of green among the flying blue and orange lights. Ozahr could hardly explain the sensation—all the fatigue was gone, nothing stung or burned. Ozahr felt like he just stepped out of a bubble bath.
The light slowly disappeared. Unlike Ozahr, Solace hunched over and grabbed his sides, muttering under his breath, “Did you make snow angels in the glass, holy…”
Ozahr tried to help him out, but Solace just shooed him out of the room. “Find something useful for my research,” he said. “And tell Baba I’m taking the day off!”
The door quickly closed and Ozahr stood in the dim hallway, still checking his limbs and sensing no trace of pain or fatigue.
“Solace, dearie,” The old woman called from around the corner.
Ozahr peaked back into the shop. “He’s taking the day off, Baba.”
“Oh, but what about the tea I brewed for you two?”
“Unfortunately I must go as well, Baba. Shamhara awaits,” said Ozahr while looking into the distance in no particular direction.
“Shamhara, you say?” Baba unwrapped her shawl and fished out an amulet from her sweater. “In that case, let me give you my good luck charm. It’s a long journey, you don’t want to be caught in the jaws of a sand worm.”
“A what now?” Ozahr dropped the hero pretenses for a moment. While preparing for the unkind climate of the desert would be a wise choice, Ozahr had no time to waste, so he hoped the lucky charm from the master alchemist would suffice.
The amulet she pulled out was far too large to be elegantly worn as jewelry. It was a gray looking oversized coin, and despite how flat it was, it weighed like a good stone or three. It just barely managed to cover Ozahr’s palm.
When he brought it closer to his face, the metallic smell was not entirely pleasant. “Looks like it has something drawn on it… Well, had.”
“500 years would be unkind even to the most precious objects,” Baba closed Ozahr’s hand around the amulet. “It’s priceless. You better not lose it.”
Ozahr’s eyes widened and he tried to push the amulet back onto Baba, but her hand resisted his efforts. “I’m not sure I want to take a precious, irreplaceable artifact with me.”
“You’ll need it. You’ll see,” Baba reassured him. “I will deliver the basket to Elidyr and let him know you’re helping Solace with his research.”
“Oh, thank you.” Wait, when did she learn about the deal I made with him?
“And make sure to never look into a Phoenix’s eyes. It’s bad luck,” She warned him. “Now, go! You don’t have much time.” Baba shooed him out of the shop, reassuring Ozahr that she packed some real potions in his bag, along with a few cheeses she’d been aging and a simple map.
"Well," said Ozahr to himself as he walked in Erith to a more isolated street where his magic won’t disturb anyone, "I've got a map, I've got magic, how hard could creating a portal across the seas be?"