Wizard of the Wood

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8

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The past few days had been brutal mentally, but the results were definitely beginning to show. The flower and herb names were still ludicrous and long to him, but at least Rylir was remembering the plant uses; at least, it was easier to remember some of them. If he couldn’t remember, he could, at the very least, make a decent guess.

Rylir half expected Essie to be more involved as he practiced naming the herbs and tending to them in the flower boxes. Interestingly to him, that wasn’t the case.

Essie’s demeanor had relaxed only once in these past days and tense for the rest. Perhaps she was giving him time to learn on his own while keeping tabs on him mentally? That must be it, right? Sadly, Rylir did not think this was the case. He suspected why she seemed distracted and not quite like herself.

These past few mornings, Rylir had felt himself startle awake due to a loud sound, often a shout or a scream.

All from Essie.

A few times, he was able to discern the words, but his main concern was the state she was in after she woke up. In a word, she looked exhausted.

There were dark circles that were barely discernable forming under her eyes. When Rylir work up, she was always working away, scribbling sigils and notes onto her thick stacks of parchment. She wasn’t irritable, but it was obvious something was weighing on her mind.

Rylir felt compelled to ask her what was going on, but he could not bring himself to do it. Essie was the private type and did not willingly volunteer information about herself. Rylir didn’t want to display bad manners by prying into his host’s privacy. At the same time, nearly two months had passed since the two of them met in the woods that fateful day and he knew almost nothing about her.

It wasn’t for lack of trying, and it certainly had to do with the intimidation factor of her being able to snap him in half in between two of her fingers without a second thought if he said the wrong thing; not that he thought she would do it.

He had asked different things, like how she learned magic or what brought her to this place here in the mountains of Fanged Ridge. Her responses, as always, were almost straightforward and blunt.

“I have always been able to use magic. It was something I was undoubtedly born with, and my mentor made me stronger.”

“I like the mountains.”

“Snow is beautiful, and the cold doesn’t bother me.”

“Sigils are a way to make sense of the world. The layered patterns describe what words cannot.”

“Why would I waist time staring at the sea that is contaminated with fecal matter from aquatic and sentient creatures when I could admire the freshly fallen, untouched frozen water just outside of my front door? Less travel and far more sanitary.”

Needless to say, her responses were not looking to connect or engage, but rather functionally answer his questions.

On the other hand…

She had asked him about his family the other day.

Perhaps things were changing.

Rylir decided he would ask when the time was right and when she seemed ready to talk.

Besides.

She wouldn’t lie to him, and he wanted to be ready for whatever response she gave him. She would be straightforward and truthful as she always had. She hadn’t lied so far; and if it were important, she would tell him, right?

Of course right.

Rylir dismissed the very notion that Essie would be dishonest with him. Was she even capable of such a thing?

*“She’s a good person. She’s only ever helped you. Besides, what reason would she have to lie? I’ll bet I could ask her just about any of those weird jars on the shelf by the fireplace and she’d tell me. I’ve wondered what was in those ever since I’ve been here. She doesn’t use them. She never takes notes on them. They just sit there.”* Thought Rylir to himself as he carefully tended to the leaves on the aloe plant in front of him.

He glanced to his right, taking in the immenseness of the room, and watched as Essie continued to scratch symbol after symbol onto her parchment. The strands of snowy white hair were tied back today, hanging loosely in a low bun. Her eyes, tired and squinting at the still drying ink, were captivating. Even exhausted, she was still determined and driven, all while being effortlessly fascinating.

The young man’s eyes hadn’t been watching Essie for more than thirty seconds when her ice shard like eyes snapped up and met his gaze. Rylir’s heart leapt into his throat, and he immediately averted his eyes, feeling incredibly awkward that he was caught glancing at her.

“Something troubling you?” she asked, ignoring his discomfort and his attempt at disguising his actions. Rylir scratched the side of his face, accidentally smearing a bit of moist dirt onto his cheek.

“Not really. Sorry. I… wasn’t staring,” he said quietly. “At least, I didn’t mean to.”

“Very well,” said Essie. She placed her writing implement back into its holder before she leaned forward, fingers extended. Rylir instinctually braced himself to be picked up or for her to use the tip of her finger to redirect his gaze so she could read his features. Instead, she gingerly touched the soil of the aloe plant he was tending to.

“Did I do it alright? I tried not to add too much water,” said Rylir. He heard Essie hum in acknowledgement, and she sounded pleased. Her fingers lifted, dwarfing his own body, and gently hooked under his chin. The tender touch of her fingertips was like that of a feather. Carefully, she redirected his gaze so he would look her in the eyes. Heart racing and breath hitching in his throat, he looked into her features and, for a fraction of a moment, saw a hint of a smile in the corners of her lips.

“You did very well. Executed in near perfection,” she said encouragingly, voice velvety and soft. Several long moments passed before Essie curled her fingers and pulled her hand away from him. It was completely unexpected, thoughtful and endearing.

It was enough to spark a momentary courage in the herbologist in training.

“Well enough to ask a question?” he asked, which made Essie’s eyebrow quirk curiously.

“Two points. The first is that you have technically already asked a question. Second, you rarely ask questions of relevance. What is this question about, if you don’t mind my clarification,” stated Essie, folding her fingers in front of her and resting them on the desk. Rylir chuckled awkwardly and grinned, scratching just behind his ear once again.

“You’ve got me there. I just… I just wanted to know what was in those jars. The ones on the shelf by the fireplace. You don’t really use them,” said Rylir. Essie stared at Rylir curiously for a moment longer before sighing.

“Very well. There is no harm in curiosity. Come along.” With that, Essie reached her hand forward and held it open for Rylir to step onto.

“Um… I can make it over there and climb up. You don’t have to…”

“And yet this is the most effective and time efficient manner to accomplish the goal,” countered Essie. “I understand being carried makes you uncomfortable, but the alternative is more time consuming and physically taxing.” Her hand inched closer to him. Rylir sighed, knowing Essie wouldn’t yield easily. Instead, he gave her a reluctant look and stepped onto her hand.

His entire world spun as Essie turned and stood simultaneously before she stepped up to the shelf. Footing slightly unsteady, he fumbled his step and tripped over the pad of her finger as he stepped onto the shelf, bracing himself against the surface of the jar in front of him. With the slight jostle of the jar, the clear liquid inside sparked to life with a faint cyan glow.

“Go on. Which ones do you have questions about?” she asked. Rylir calmed his breath before stepping to the side and pointing to the jar that had just saved him from completely falling flat on his face.

“Um… well… what’s this?” he asked.

“Noctiluca scintillans. It’s a dinoflagellate that illuminates when disturbed,” said Essie. When she saw the confusion on his face, she explained further. “It’s a type of algae, like moss, that grows and lives in water.”

“And it glows? On its own?” asked Rylir, staring at the clear liquid with the small blue-green specks in it.

“That is correct,” confirmed Essie. Rylir pointed to another jar, then the next and then the next. Each name and use were more fantastical and outlandish than the next. It surprised Rylir, but he was actually having a good time getting Essie to name the plants and explain what they were.

It wasn’t until he shoved one of the jars out of the way that he felt his entire body seize and a cold shiver run down his spine. There in the very back of the shelf was a jar that contained a dozen or so mushrooms. They were about half his height, but that wasn’t what bothered him. What bothered Rylir was the green dust, like spores or pollen, inside jar. The caps of the mushrooms were a decayed grey color, and there were gaping pock marks in the stem.

It didn’t look menacing, but Rylir knew better.

He would recognize that green dust anywhere.

It was the same – it had to be.

“Any others?” asked Essie expectantly. Rylir, feeling incredibly nervous, glanced back at Essie before fixating on this jar. Maybe she didn’t know what it did? Maybe it wasn’t what he thought it was?

“Um… yeah. What’s this?”

“That? Sephungi morsptirus. It’s a rare mushroom and doesn’t usually grow around these parts. It’s mostly kept for superstitious reasons, known for luring out spirits and driving out evil, but that’s hardly the case. It’s generally harmless. The stems can be pressed into poison wounds to draw out the serum. The spores and caps are what make it an incredibly toxic mushroom. The symptoms if you breathe too much in can cause blindness, upper respiratory infections, bleeding through the respiratory, oral, and nasal passages eventually coagulating the blood in the veins and leading to death. Nasty stuff if it grows in clusters.”

Every word – every symptom – made Rylir’s stomach churn. He wanted to collapse to his knees. He wanted to vomit, the bile building in the back of his throat.

It was the same.

It was all the same.

His home… His family…

He felt his entire body trembling as he glanced back at Essie who, to his own mortification, looked slightly confused.

“Then… why… why do you have it?” Rylir tried to keep his voice from trembling. Essie, in a stunned silence, looked distant to the small man.

Essie felt just as confused as Rylir felt.

Why did she have it? Anytime she saw it in the woods, she collected it…

Why?

And how did she know what it was and what it did? She never used this kind of mushroom in her potions.

“I… I don’t know…” she said, voice just above a whisper.

As they stood together in a tenseness so tangible they could reach out and touch it, Rylir turned back to the glass bottle.

Essie looked surprised, yes; however, it made Rylir wonder about the giant Sorceress of Fanged Ridge.

Did she know why and was reluctant to tell him? Or did she genuinely not know? He suspected the later, but he wasn’t sure now.

She wouldn’t lie to him, right?