Putting the newly strengthened connections to the back of his mind, Jeb did still notice a difference in his mental state. He was driven in a way that he hadn’t been in years. In a way, he felt as though he had regained some of the innocent youthful curiosity that had been taken when the Census Master had kidnapped him.
Jeb attributed at least some of the change to the fact that his bees were never listless. Each had its task, and each bee did its best to complete the task. Even though Jeb contained far more desires and impulses than even a full Hive, he still knew that it would not hurt him to be a little more intentional in his next moves. So, rather than chase down any of the Druids and be led into a next project, Jeb sat down in the grass to plot out his next steps.
Almost without meaning to, he picked up his lute and began to play. As his fingers sought out the center of each pitch, he felt his own mind centering itself. Jeb had come to the Enclave for a myriad of reasons, even if he had not intentionally laid them out. Rummaging through his cloak, he found a scrap of paper and a pen set that someone had given him for his graduation.
Grinding ink by hand and carefully mixing it with spirits was still a novel enough experience to Jeb that he took his time carefully choosing a color. Even though he was only jotting down a quick note to himself, Jeb found himself doing his best to make the ink perfect. When he had finished, he dipped the nib of the pen into the deep dark green well and began to write. Even his writing had taken on a new level of intention.
I hope that this, at least, fades, Jeb thought to himself, knowing that he could only be so attuned to every one of his actions for so long. To his dismay, that thought caused him to suddenly fully recognize everything about how he was sitting, from the gently blowing wind to the individual press of each blade of grass on the bottom of his robe.
Forcing himself to tune out everything, Jeb let his mind wander and considered what goals he could, should, and did have for the rest of his time in the Druidic Enclave. As much as he was enjoying his time living among the Druids, he was growing more and more aware that he would have to leave in time. If nothing else, he would want to go home to see his sister’s first child, whenever that happened to be. A part of him knew that there would also come other, more permanent demands on his time. The problems of the future, however, were for his future self to deal with. For now, he would-
Jeb looked down at the now full sheet of paper. He had become so focused on not monitoring himself that he had not noticed the small acts of Magic he had performed, growing the paper as he continued to sketch ideas onto it. Many recalled his venture with Declan and Margaret what felt like a lifetime ago. What little he knew of Alchemical Brewing had come, if indirectly, from the Druids. He vaguely recalled Professor Quicksilver mentioning something about the Druids having control over their yeast in a way that most Brewers did not. Now that he was in the Circle of the Swarms, Jeb had an inkling of an idea as to what that control was.
He stood, Creating Sand to dry and set the ink on the page and moved to the Circle’s center. A number of Druids were there, going about their daily tasks. Jeb quickly found Char, and flagged her down.
“Good morning, Jeb,” she said amiably, “is there something that you need?”
“Kind of?” Jeb hedged. “I know that you presented something you had Brewed when the Enclave celebrated me unlocking Druidic Magic.”
“Are you wondering how our Brewing practices differ from your own?” she asked, catching the thread immediately.
Jeb nodded, and she shrugged.
“I have nothing else going on today. It would be my pleasure to show you how the Circle of Swarms, at least, Brews.”
With that, she turned and walked down a hallway. Jeb hurried to catch up, slowing down his pace to match hers as they continued down the long corridor. Elegant tapestries lined the walls, and Jeb watched a story unfold through the hallway. It seemed to be a claim about how the System had been created, but Jeb wasn’t entirely sure. There were glyphs that had been lovingly stitched onto the tapestry which were clearly meant to be letters and words. Unfortunately, Jeb’s Gift of Gab did not extend so far as to let him read them.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“And here we are!” Char said happily as they walked past the end of the tapestry. “This is our Brewery. I know that you have also worked with Distilling before, but I honestly do not know where we house our Distillers.”
She opened the door, and Jeb was immediately hit with the smells of Brewing. Sugary malts and bright hops blended together with the underlying taste of yeast in the air. Jeb felt some knot of tension in him slacken. Even if he had not been consciously aware of it, part of him had been missing his experiences Brewing.
“Char?” a large man with a long and wild red beard said, setting a cask down, “what are you doing here? Your Brewing slot isn’t for another three weeks.”
“I know,” she replied, “but our visitor,” she gestured at Jeb, “was interested in learning about Druidic Brewing.”
The man turned his gaze to Jeb, and Jeb felt effervescent. It wasn’t necessarily a pleasant sensation, but the bubbles that seemed to be rising up within him were at least not unpleasant. The taste of smoke and peat wrapped around him before it and the bubbling sensation faded. The man nodded, clearly content with whatever he had learned.
“Are you the Republican that has the whole Enclave talking?” he asked, gaze fixed above Jeb’s right ear.
“I assume so,” Jeb replied honestly, “but I cannot say for certain.”
He held out a hand to the Brewer.
“My name is Jeb.”
The man took Jeb’s hand and gave it a firm shake, “They call me Philip. As you might have gathered, I am responsible for scheduling the Brewing for our Circle, along with a few other minor administrative tasks.”
Char rolled her eyes and swatted playfully at the large man.
“Philip is our Chief Brewmaster,” she said, correcting him. “When I learned to Brew, he was the one responsible for administering the final tests to call myself a Brewmaster.”
“As I said,” Philip continued, nodding, “minor administrative tasks.”
Jeb smiled at the man’s humble response.
“Can you tell me about Druidic Brewing?” he asked.
Philip finally looked him in the eyes, and Jeb saw his face light up in delight.
“It would be my pleasure! What do you know about Brewing generally?”
Jeb recounted how he had gained the Skill, choosing to leave out the fact that he no longer had it, and what he had done with it. When he began to talk about Alchemical Brewing, however, Philip swatted his hand through the air.
“Bah. What the Alchemists know about Brewing is hardly worth the paper they printed it on.”
Jeb looked at him expectantly, curious about the strong opinion.
“Let me guess, all of the ‘Alchemical Brewing’,” the sheer disdain in the man’s voice almost made Jeb laugh, “guides all told you that in order to produce a desired effect, you needed to enforce your will on the ingredients?”
“They did,” Jeb hesitantly agreed. “Should I take your tone to mean that there’s a better way?”
Philip let out a deep sigh, though whether of disappointment or relief, Jeb could not say for certain.
“Yes. Come with me.”
He turned and began walking without waiting to see if Jeb would follow. Char gestured for him to follow Philip, so Jeb hesitantly followed the man. As excited as he was to learn about Druidic Brewing, Jeb wasn’t entirely sure if he thought Philip was entirely sane.
“What turns your wort into beer?” Philip asked when the two were overlooking a cauldron of rapidly cooling malt and hop extract.
“Yeast?” Jeb said, hopeful that things were not so different here as to make that answer untrue.
“And what do you know about yeast?”
Jeb looked at the man.
“Is there something in particular you want me to say about yeast? If not, I can think of any number of things I know about yeast. There are two main varieties of yeast used to Brew, separated by whether they ferment from the top or the bottom. Within each of those two varieties, there are countless-”
Philip cut him off, “Yes, yes, all that is true. Most fundamentally, though, yeast is alive. It is far easier to convince a living thing to change than to force the unliving.”
Jeb’s doubts, though still unassuaged, were at least pushed back.
“How do you control the yeast when it ferments, though?” Jeb asked.
Philip looked at Jeb as though he was a simpleton.
“You do realize that we are within the Circle of Swarms, correct?” he asked slowly.
Jeb frowned.
“I’m already bound to one Swarm, though. I have no interest or desire in Binding another.”
Especially not now that I’ve finally come to a true understanding with it, he silently continued.
Philip’s concerned look did not fade at Jeb’s refusal.
“That is completely understandable. You did, however, ask how I would control the yeast, not how any given person might.”
“Other than Binding a colony of yeast,” Jeb amended, already seeing the next potential conversational trap, “how might one force yeast to enact one’s will?”
“There are as many ways to control yeast as there are for anything else which lives,” Philip answered with a tone that made it clear he was reciting some ancient text. Taking pity on Jeb, he continued, “in general, however, the Brewers in other Circles tend to use the same colony of yeast through many generations of Brewing something with the same Magical effect. In time, the yeasts most willing to cause it dominate the rest.”
He turned around and added a vial of yeast to the wort in front of him. It rapidly frothed before settling down. Using a ladle, the Brewmaster carefully picked up yeast from the bottom of what Jeb had to assume was fully Brewed beer. He decanted it into another vial, then turned back to face Jeb.
“Was there something else you needed?”