The Potion Diaries 2

by Amy Alward

  ‘Come on . . . you’re tall. You must be good at volleyball.’

  ‘That’s an unfounded stereotype and you know it . . .’

  Kirsty finally ushers us over. ‘Nadya, meet my two travelling companions, Sam Kemi and Zain Aster.’

  ‘Sam Kemi? The young apprentice who won the Wilde Hunt?’ Nadya stares at me, her brown eyes wide with surprise. ‘And I know you too,’ she says, turning to Zain. ‘The Princess’s . . . best friend?’

  I blush under her gaze. ‘You know about us, huh?’

  ‘We might be nomads, but we still hear the news! Can you give me any gossip about who the Princess is going to marry?’ Her eyes twinkle with mischief.

  ‘I’m as clueless as you!’ I say, honestly.

  She frowns. ‘Don’t you know it’s very rude not to offer a Runu tribeswoman a piece of news as you pass through?’

  ‘No! I . . .’ Agh! I rack my brain furiously for some news to share.

  Nadya and Kirsty burst into laughter. ‘There’s no such tradition, Sam,’ Kirsty splutters. ‘She’s just being nosy.’

  I stick my tongue out and my stomach makes another loud grumbling noise.

  ‘Now I’m the one being rude.’ Nadya smiles warmly. ‘Come inside and get something to eat. You have a few minutes to stop?’

  ‘Where’s Zain?’ I ask, realising he’s not behind me.

  ‘Oh, check out your boyfriend,’ says Kirsty, giving me an exaggerated wink. I follow her line of sight down to where Zain has joined the kids at the beach. He’s stripped his shirt off and I blush at the sight of his chiselled abs.

  After a moment, Kirsty gives me a little push in the small of my back and I stumble forward, following Nadya inside the ger.

  ‘Wow, you’re so tall!’ Nadya says as she holds the curtain door open for me. ‘Make sure you duck as you come through.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, narrowly avoiding a bruised forehead as I nearly bash against one of the tent poles holding up the intricate roof.

  ‘It’s not like Kirsty to travel with so many others. Normally she’s a lone ranger,’ says Nadya, who leads me further into her home.

  ‘This is a special mission for her.’

  ‘Oh? I rather thought this was a special mission for you, seeing as it is you who is searching for something, no? Aided by the Princess, no less . . .’

  I stop in my tracks just inside the door of the ger. I don’t know what to do – whether this stranger is threatening me or not. Kirsty seems to trust her, but what does she know? And where is she, anyway? I look anxiously over my shoulder but there’s no sign of her.

  ‘Tea?’ says the woman, still smiling at me. ‘Don’t worry about me knowing that the Princess helped you get here – I have no one to tell but the wind and the grass. It was easy for me to put two and two together when she changed her plans to come here.’

  ‘You probably have high speed internet,’ I say, staring pointedly at the laptop in the corner. ‘You could tell the whole world. And . . . is that a transport screen?’ Who is this woman anyway? I press my lips together.

  ‘Well spotted. I applied for one not long ago and my request was granted, along with our own transport technician. I didn’t get a chance to tell Kirsty and besides, it’s not exactly registered on the official magic streams yet.’

  I can’t keep the question in any longer. ‘Who are you again?’

  She laughs. ‘You can trust me. I don’t care why you’re here . . . only that you don’t cause any trouble.’ Then her voice turns serious. ‘They’re not going to like your group, you know that . . . especially not those two accompanying you. A Talented and a Finder? Maybe if you were on your own, as the descendant of Grand Master Kemi . . . they might hear you out.’

  ‘You mean the centaurs?’

  She nods.

  ‘Have you heard of my great-grandmother then?’ I take the cup from Nadya’s hands, deciding that I might as well settle in and take advantage of the tea.

  ‘Of course I’ve heard of her. She spent time in our village when she was a young woman, learning our ways. That was long before my time, but the memory of her visit remains. Most people from Nova who pass through here are looking to give us advice, not the other way around. But your great-grandmother . . . she was different. She cared about where the ingredients came from and the history and culture that nurtured them. She was an alchemist I admired. Not many come to learn any more.’

  I frown. ‘I didn’t realise.’

  ‘It’s not the norm to do that kind of training nowadays.’ She shrugs. ‘Just like we move around far less than our ancestors did. Time moves on, traditions change.’

  ‘Sometimes for the better.’ I lower my voice. ‘I can’t believe one of the teams in the Wilde Hunt back then killed a centaur for its eye.’

  ‘You can’t believe it?’ She looks at me.

  ‘Okay, so maybe I can,’ I say, shifting under her intense gaze. What lengths would I go to for a great potion like an aqua vitae? It’s a question I’m not sure I want to know the answer to.

  ‘So why the urgency to meet the centaurs? Why now? And why is the Princess of Nova involved?’

  I speak slowly, choosing my words with extra special care. I don’t want to reveal too much, especially not to this stranger. ‘It’s my belief that my great-grandmother Cleo left something behind in Runustan. Something really important.’

  ‘Oh?’ One of Nadya’s neat, sharply-threaded eyebrows raises in my direction.

  ‘But I’m not the only one looking for it. There are others. That’s why the Princess is involved. We need to keep the fact that we’re here as secret as possible. We don’t think the other party knows we’re looking yet, but it’s better if they never find out.’

  ‘I understand,’ she says. ‘Well, I will try to help as much as I can.’

  There’s a commotion behind me as Kirsty and Zain walk in. He’s put his shirt back on (to my disappointment). ‘Hey, you haven’t been corrupting my girl now, have you, Nadya?’ says Kirsty.

  ‘Corrupting?’ I ask, with a frown. It’s hard to imagine the beautiful, sweet-faced Nadya corrupting anyone.

  ‘You haven’t told her?’

  Nadya shakes her head.

  ‘This woman has a PhD in Advanced Synth Mixology from one of the top universities in New Nova. She’s looking into how she can work with the communities here to develop new ways of administering synths now that there are almost no Runu alchemists left. She’s a very important lady, don’t you know.’

  My eyes open wide as I see Nadya in a new light. ‘You’re like . . . my hero!’ I splutter, and she laughs.

  ‘Well, maybe when you’ve finished your studies, you can come back here and work with me.’ She must sense my hesitation because she adds, ‘You are studying, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well—’ I begin, but Kirsty interrupts me.

  ‘Her family don’t exactly approve of the synth industry.’

  ‘My grandad especially,’ I add.

  ‘But the son of ZA is your boyfriend, no? How do they allow that?’ Nadya turns her dark brown eyes on me, and I feel stripped down. ‘Somehow, I’m not sure your great-grandmother would have felt that way about progress. Synths are the way of the future, and she was a woman well ahead of her time.’

  ‘Well, I can’t exactly ask her to clarify that right now, and my grandad is dying so I’m not about to question him,’ I snap back, and immediately wish I hadn’t.

  ‘I apologise if I overstepped,’ she says.

  ‘It’s fine,’ I say. I know it’s not fair, but I’m annoyed at Kirsty for talking over me and at Nadya for presuming to know more about my family than I do.

  But what bothers me most of all?

  The fact that she’s probably right. But unless I can save my grandad – and my country – I’m not going to have any kind of life at all.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Samantha

  THE CONVERSATION WITH NADYA LEAVES me feeling shaken. My family has always been my solid foun
dation. Even though everything could conspire to make me feel like a fish out of water: my mixed-race heritage, my old-world skills, my lanky frame, my obsession with grades – my family have always been a reassuring constant.

  I’d known that my great-grandmother was different – and now her missing potion diary was a tiny chip in our family history that was threatening to turn into an enormous crack. Her portrait in the mountain lodge near Mount Hallah had been surprise enough. It had thrown into doubt everything that my grandad had told me about alchemists – how they were homebodies who only experimented in the lab, not suited to grand adventures. Alchemy rewards the scholar, not the explorer.

  ‘You’re quiet, Sam,’ Zain says, after we’ve been back on the road for some time. I’m in the back seat this time.

  ‘Just reading,’ I say, gesturing to the book on my lap.

  ‘Well, you haven’t turned a page in at least ten miles. So either that’s a very complicated page or—’

  I stick my tongue out at him, then I close my eyes. ‘Oh god, this drive is making me want to puke.’ The road around the lake is unpaved, and we’ve been juddering off potholes for the past half hour.

  ‘Oh no! What about a game to take your mind off it?’ I roll my eyes. ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, sure! It will be fun.’ His face brightens, and I can’t help but laugh.

  ‘I haven’t seen you this excited since you heard the new Talented Spy movie was coming out.’

  ‘Correction: I haven’t been this excited since I asked to take you to the new Talented Spy movie and you said yes. One day.’ He winks and I laugh.

  ‘One day,’ I repeat. Then I throw my hands up, conceding.

  Zain bounces in his seat. ‘Okay, let’s play twenty questions. Kirsty, are you in?’

  ‘Why the heck not? It’s not like there’s much else to do on this drive.’

  ‘You should be careful, Zain . . . I know you don’t like to lose and I’m really good at games,’ I say with a laugh and a wink of my own.

  ‘You’re on. I’ll think of someone and you guys guess,’ says Zain. ‘Okay, ready.’

  ‘Is it a woman?’ I ask.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Fictional?’ says Kirsty.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, I have a good question!’ I lean over the seat. ‘Am I going to meet them at the Laville Ball?’ I ask in a husky voice, waggling my eyebrows.

  Zain scowls. ‘Dammit, yes!’

  ‘Ooh, that narrows it down,’ says Kirsty.

  ‘Is it . . . Damian?’ My first guess is the most famous popstar in Nova – if not the world.

  ‘Nope!’ Zain looks all too happy for me to be wrong, and I pout.

  ‘Is it Carlos Remani?’ Kirsty asks, referring to the prime minister of Espano.

  ‘No – I think you guys need to ask some more questions. Maybe you’re not as smart as you think.’

  ‘Stefan of Gergon?’ I say.

  Zain slaps the dashboard. ‘How did you do that?’

  I smirk. ‘Just good at games, I told you!’

  ‘And hey, you said not fictional. I’m fairly certain Stefan’s crown is basically a joke now,’ says Kirsty.

  ‘How would anyone know?’ I say, shrugging my shoulders. Gergon has been a black hole for the past year. Almost no one goes in or out, and the Royal family – with the exception of the youngest, Prince Stefan – have not been seen in public for months. The Prince is a reminder of Gergon’s former power: in pictures he appears handsome, strong and intelligent, and he was on the list as one of Princess Evelyn’s prospective suitors . . . but no one knows much more about him, and he disappeared following the Wilde Hunt.

  ‘Well, that’s what I’ve heard on the Finder grapevine anyway.’ We play a few more rounds, and then Kirsty sticks on the only music disc in the car and we all end up singing loudly to Midwinter holiday classics – even though we’re months away from the festive season. Something about the impossibly long car drive has driven us all loopy. The passing scenery has returned to its hypnotic monotony.

  As the hours pass, even talking and singing lose their appeal. The sky has darkened so intensely that it’s almost impossible to see beyond the headlights. Zain has now taken over the driving and we travel in tired silence. My head wants to nod into sleep, but I pinch myself to stay awake. If we miss the gathering, this whole journey will be for nothing.

  We climb the sharp crest of a hill – I can tell by the way my stomach lurches that it must be a big one.

  ‘Stop the car,’ says Kirsty.

  Zain obliges, then kills the headlights. Kirsty opens the glove box in front of her and pulls out two black cases. She hands one to me. ‘Night vision binoculars. I’ll head outside and see if I can see anything – you stand up and look through the sunroof. You’ll have a better vantage point. Look for any source of light – like a campfire or a torch. It could be big; it could be small. The size of the herds has been unreliable for decades and there’s no recent documentation on how big the gatherings are at the moment.’

  I take the binoculars from the case as Zain opens the sunroof. I stand up, the fresh air filling my lungs. The sky is full of stars. It’s still something that always gets me whenever I’m in the Wilds – on top of a mountain, out in the middle of the ocean, or in the middle of the Steppe. On Mount Hallah, I felt close to the stars. Now, here, they feel incredibly far away – and I feel impossibly small.

  Through the binoculars, the world takes on a greenish, alien tinge. I make out the rocky terrain, huge boulders seemingly out of place in the grassy plain. When I turn the glasses on Kirsty, her face is cast in greenish-grey. Only the whites of her eyes are bright, like the stars.

  I lower the binoculars for a second, a shiver running down my spine. I look up at the sky, still slightly freaked out at the thought of dragons flying overhead. Here, with my head popping out of the sunroof, I’m perfect prey. It’s similar to the creeping dread I feel when I go swimming somewhere if I can’t see the bottom. Mum blames my book-fed imagination. But I can’t help it: when I’m in water, my brain conjures up images of sharks with rows of pointed teeth, krakens with curling tentacles, jellies with stinging strands.

  I only hope I don’t develop quite the same fear of the sky, or else I might never be able to go outside again.

  The dragon radar hasn’t beeped in hours, I remind myself. It’s okay.

  I lift the binoculars back up again. Straight ahead of us, I spot the bright white flash of eyes. But they’re not Kirsty’s.

  It’s a centaur.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Samantha

  KIRSTY’S BACK IN THE CAR in a flash, and I drop down into my seat. My fingers grip the edge of the leather, my knuckles turning white. I can just about make out the outline of the centaur, and it’s a terrifying and unsettling sight. He stands well over seven feet tall. His arms are crossed so his huge biceps bulge, almost unnatural-looking in their bulk. His human-esque torso merges seamlessly with his bottom half, which is all horse. He must be young – his beard is not far grown off his chin. Apparently older centaurs have beards that run all the way down their front, like a mane.

  When he stops a few feet away from us, Zain moves to put the headlights on. Kirsty stops him with a touch. ‘Just follow him – can you see well enough?’

  Zain swallows and nods. I don’t like it when he looks nervous too.

  Kirsty leans out of the window. ‘We are looking for Cato. Are you of his herd?’

  The centaur makes a sound that is somewhere between a grunt, a whinny and a word. Kirsty’s face blanches. ‘Is he speaking Kentauri? I haven’t heard that in years . . .’ She tries again. ‘I understand you don’t want to speak our language, but if you speak more slowly, maybe I can understand you . . .’

  The centaur repeats the sound as Kirsty puts her fingers to her temples and squeezes her eyes shut. ‘He’s telling us to leave,’ she says, finally.

  ‘Please,’ I say. ‘You have to tell him to take us to Cato.’
/>   Kirsty leans out again. ‘We come not as Finders, but to ask your advice and to seek your knowledge.’

  ‘We need to turn around,’ says Zain, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. ‘This isn’t safe any more. Not that it was safe before. Maybe we should have brought Nadya . . .’

  ‘What? We can’t go home now, we’re so close,’ I say.

  But Kirsty looks between Zain and me, and agrees with him. ‘Sam, if they turn on us, we won’t be getting home – ever. They might look like people, but remember the mermaids? They look like people too. But they’re not rational. At least, not the way we know it. They don’t understand mercy. They’ve told us we’re not welcome. We can’t press our luck.’

  ‘I know all that, but still . . .’ Nadya’s words echo in my mind: Maybe if you were on your own, as the descendant of Grand Master Kemi . . .

  ‘I really don’t like the look of his arms. He’s too tense,’ says Zain, his voice tight. His hand is on the gearstick, ready to move.

  The centaur’s nostrils flare. I can see the whites of his eyes, then he reaches around his back and quick as a flash, draws his bow and arrow. But this is no normal weapon. The bow is as tall as the centaur, and the arrow itself looks more like a javelin, and it could easily pierce through the body of our car.

  ‘GO!’ Kirsty roars. Zain slams the gearstick into reverse. It’s now or never.

  I decide it’s now. I open my door and roll out.

  Kirsty screams as I tumble out of the car. Hard thuds pound the ground around me, one after the other, dust and rocks flying up into the air. I hug myself into a ball until the sound stops, my arms covering my face and head.

  When I think I’m clear, I slowly stand, my legs shaking. I am surrounded by a cage of arrows. The closest one has landed just inches from the edge of my steel-toe hiking boots.

  ‘Please,’ I say to the centaur, blinking furiously now that I’m caught in the fierce headlights of the car. ‘My name is Samantha Kemi. I am the great-granddaughter of Grand Master alchemist Cleo Kemi. I know she passed through here many years ago, and she spoke to a herd. In particular, to a centaur named Cato. It’s a matter of life and death,’ I say. I have no other ideas, and I’m not leaving without answers – or at least, another clue.