Thick moss dulled the metallic rapping of Deventh’s glove against the wooden door. The hollow taps of boots on old boards drew nearer until the door scratched ajar, and a pair of beguiling amethysts blinked at him from the dim space within. A smooth, feminine voice accompanied them.
“Deventh.”
“Zéah.”
“You found it?”
“Of course.” He took the vial from his belt and offered it to the woman. She inspected the contents and closed it in her grasp.
“Come in. He’s still holding on.” The door swung open, and Deventh stepped in, closing it behind himself. The woman beckoned him to follow her as she glided down the hallway, floral damask ruffles swirling and blooming at the ankles of her flared dress with every step.
She led him to a room where two beds were occupied with patients, neither conscious; one Fenvar woman, and a young Mezthrin boy who appeared no older than ten. A bubbling cauldron hovered in the crackling fireplace, and racks of dried herbs lined the walls. Bottles and vials–whether empty, full, or spilled over–sat upon a table centered with a mortar and pestle, as well as a tiered counter behind it.
The two approached the bed on the far side of the room, where the young boy lay restless and drenched in sweat, his eyes closed yet flickering, convulsions dulled by medicine to spasms. With tired, sorrowful eyes, Zéah gazed up at Deventh. The warm light of the candelabras honeyed her umber skin.
“Paradise ivy,” she said, her thumb rolling the vial from her palm to her fingertips. “I wasn’t sure if I’d ever get my hands on this again. Where did you find it?”
“In the valley to the east, hugging a spruce trunk. Exactly where you said it would be.”
“Yes, well, I wasn’t expecting it to be quite so available. It’s usually a rare find.” A bitter grimace spoiled her smile, and she spoke softly. “I appreciate this more than anything you’ve done for me thus far, Deventh. I know you said you wouldn’t accept payment, but please let me teach you how to distill this into something useful.”
“Very well. I’ve set aside a few hours.”
“That is all we will need.” Zéah nodded and studied his face, noting his drained complexion and the dark circles below his eyes. “You still look unwell. Your ailment, has it worsened?"
"No," said Deventh. "The memory lapses seem less frequent, but I suppose those can be difficult to observe on one's own. I have found myself able to get a bit more sleep, though."
"Perhaps my treatment is working, if slowly. I would still advise you to stay here under observation."
"Out of the question."
“Understood." Zéah shook her head in disappointment. She motioned to the door, dark curls bouncing at her shoulders with her swift, aggrieved movements. "Follow me, and take those stupid gloves off before we enter the distillery.” Deventh paused, but he obliged and left his gloves on the table, just shy of a puddle of spilled liquid. In silence, they walked a short distance down the hallway and entered another room.
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“Hurry now, close the door,” Zéah said. Bangles clanking on her wrists, she ushered him into the room with urgency. “Can’t have even a speck of dust from outside agitating the product.” Again, Deventh obliged, leaving them with only the light from bubbling glass alembics filled with bioluminescent ingredients, as well as the soft flames beneath them.
Various apparati were set upon a row of tables much cleaner and more organized than in the infirmary, with shelves behind them to hold stock of reagents and bottled products. Their eyes adjusted well enough to navigate among the blues, yellows, and pinks which illuminated the space. The two approached a table with an empty still and a sealed jug on top of it. Zéah thumbed the vial of paradise ivy.
“I’ve been saving this space. Here’s hoping the water is still pure enough.” From the vial, she removed the cork, and from the shelf she retrieved a mortar and pestle. After crushing the leaves and fibers, she removed the cork from the water jug. Deventh watched quietly as she completed the basics of the process–combining the ingredients in the still pot, flicking a small flame from her finger to set beneath it. Once finished, she asked, "Are you ready? This may take the next couple of hours.”
“Aye, still watching.” After moving a step closer to observe, Deventh was taken by surprise when Zéah reached for his hands. Knowing better than to question her methods, he let her take the lead. She guided his hands atop the vessel, keeping her own over them.
“The difficult part,” she said, “is slowing your energy flow to a trickle. The sensation should never be stronger or weaker than what you’re about to feel, thus doing is the only way for me to demonstrate to you. Now, don’t move.” A subtle, consistent tingle, like that preceding pins and needles, flowed from her palms to the tops of Deventh’s hands, and eventually to the tips of his fingers. The flame awakened tiny bubbles in the vessel, and the first small puffs of vapor rose to the top.
“Paradise ivy has two attributes: Toxic, and hallucinogenic. Any haste or cessation can intensify either of these effects. The idea is to imbue all of the vapor with this controlled magic before it condenses. Otherwise you’ll get nasty things, like psychosis, convulsions – Worsening ones, in his case. I don’t want him to leave this world with that as the last thing he knows. If done right…” Realizing she’d nearly let herself falter, she took a deep breath to focus. “Nothing else in the world is gentler. This will lull him into a peaceful dream as he fades away.”
“Intricate,” Deventh said. His stolid tone revealed none of his enthusiasm for learning, though her teaching cultivated much of it. “This is quite unlike anything you’ve shown me before.”
“You’re ready for it.”
“Are we to stay like this for the duration?” Deventh asked, inciting a good-humored scoff from Zéah.
“Is that so bad?" she asked. "No, I would trust you to the rest, if you don’t mind. My emotional state might hamper the results.”
“I’d be honored,” said Deventh. “Go and be with him.” With his acceptance, Zéah reserved some of her magic in his hands to maintain the flow after withdrawing. As he felt it beginning to wane, he eased into channeling his own energy, setting his mind aside to focus for however long it would take.
Zéah stood back and watched him for a moment more to put her mind at ease, in surety that her trust was not misplaced; the progress of her mentee was, after all, a reflection of her teaching. Once she found the confidence to leave him to his task, she slipped away to tend to the dying boy, the door creaking before clicking shut behind her.
Deventh’s focus remained unshaken. He gave no acknowledgement to her departure, and instead descended into a solitudinous peace of mind, where he felt nothing but the steady flow of energy through his hands. Not a single thought dared to interrupt – not even the latent threads of sorrow for his friend’s imminent and inevitable loss.
Free, too, of obligation to his guild, to his many odd jobs, and to everything else beyond the dim glow of the distillery, he savored each passing second, basking in the warmth of catharsis. Here, for a short few hours, nothing else dictated his purpose but for the task at hand.