by M. Gregg Roe
“Why did you let Rosalind go into the Gray Forest by herself?” Audrey demanded.
“Is something amiss?” he asked, noting that Vurk was not in sight. From the position of the sun, hours had passed.
She narrowed her eyes menacingly. “She only suffered minor injuries, but that’s not the point. Rosalind isn’t used to wandering around in a forest. The potion provides no protection from normal threats. And, as you know, she can’t cast spells inside. There are predators in the Gray Forest. And snakes and stinging insects. If you didn’t want to go, you should have sent Vurk to protect her.”
Trying desperately to appear contrite, he explained why sending the gworn hadn’t been an option, that the blue blood congealed rather than mixed. “I could, perhaps, have asked Birchbark,” he offered.
“That would have been the smart thing to do,” she shot back. “Will the potion work on ogres?”
“I am uncertain. The dosage would likely need to be increased.” Probably by a large amount.
“Find out,” she ordered. “When are you going to try your new potion on one of the elves?”
“In two days,” he answered, making a snap decision.
“Hmm,” she said, finally relaxing. “I’m busy then, but I don’t see why I would need to be here.”
He noticed Vurk and Rosalind approaching from the east, chatting like they were old friends. Judging by the condition of her clothing, she had fallen down at some point. Rosalind exhibited no visible injuries, but she would have healed any she had suffered once back outside the Gray Forest.
After giving him a warning look, Audrey walked up to meet them. He retrieved his hat and quickly followed.
“Bees chased me into a stream,” Rosalind said, looking down at her mud-stained, light blue shirt. “I need a bath and a nap, but it was really interesting.”
“I’ll take you,” Audrey said, and they both vanished. He would never get used to that. And leaving the two of them behind had to have been deliberate.
“Bad luck, boss,” Vurk said, grinning. “The Guardian showed up looking for Rosalind. You were asleep, so I showed her the spot where she went in.”
Ferikellan wasn’t interest in the details. He gestured toward the keep, visible in the distance, and the two of them headed that way.
“Rosalind told me she’s going to be staying,” Vurk said. “She’s leaving her temple.”
The nightmare had become a reality. Ferikellan muttered darkly to himself as they continued on.
Rosalind’s face was bright red as she clenched her small fists. Through gritted teeth, she said something that caused the elf from Dellhome to step back with a worried look. Ferikellan couldn’t understand any of what was being said—Rosalind was making use of a spell she had cast—but he could read the tone and body language.
“Calm down, Rosalind,” he said, holding up both hands. “What did he say to you?”
“He said something bad about half-elves. Really bad.”
“We discussed this possibility. Calm yourself, Priestess.” His use of her title coupled with a stern voice had the desired effect, causing her to relax her hands and take a step back.
Since contacting the village, he had frequently sighted elves from Dellhome near the boundary. The one they had flagged down was Nabarun, a male of about thirty years with angular features and a long scar down his left cheek. His clothing appeared to have been crafted from deerskin or something similar, but not altogether competently.
“Fine,” Rosalind huffed, still looking angry. “I’ll try again.”
Nabarun listened without comment as she made a long speech in his language. Then he looked at Ferikellan and nodded. Ferikellan motioned to Vurk, and the gworn tossed a small cloth-wrapped bundle across the boundary. It contained a ceramic vial with a cork and a small knife that had been sterilized. He watched as Nabarun made a slight cut in his right palm and then dribbled blood into the vial. When he finished, he replaced the cork, then directed a question at Rosalind.
“He wants to keep the knife,” she translated. “I don’t think they have much in the way of metal in his village.”
“Tell him that he is welcome to keep it,” Ferikellan directed. “And ask him to return here tomorrow at noon.”
After listening carefully, Nabarun nodded and wrapped up the vial. He tossed it toward Vurk, and the gworn snatched it neatly from the air. The elf turned and headed deeper into the colorless woods, soon disappearing from sight.
“Our first victim,” Vurk said, grinning as he walked over to them.
“Voluntary test subject,” Ferikellan corrected, knowing it would do no good. He looked toward Rosalind. “You explained the danger?”
“Yes. He thinks it’s worth the risk. He knows their village is dying.”
“I see.” The villagers were primitive but not stupid. “We need to return and begin crafting the Anti-Gray Potion.” That was the name he had decided upon.
Walking alongside him, Rosalind said, “I told Nabarun that if something went wrong, then I could raise him from the dead. But I don’t think he believed me.”
“I am not surprised,” he told her. “They have been without spell-casters for many generations. For all we know Nabarun has the potential to be a spell-caster.”
“I hadn’t thought of that. If we can get him safely outside the Gray Forest, we can check for that.”
They were falling behind Vurk, but that was because he was slowing his pace to match hers. She had revealed that her abnormally short stature resulted from a defect in her digestive tract only discovered after she reached adulthood. Rosalind now addressed the issue by controlling her diet and taking an alchemic supplement that he intended to analyze when he had the time.
Ferikellan had done his best to hide his unhappiness about her staying on. His goal now was to limit interaction. In the future, he would work on his projects, and she would work on hers.
Throughout the afternoon, the three of them worked together on the potion (although Rosalind mostly just observed). The two samples of blood blended perfectly on the first try, filling him with hope and pride.
That evening, Ferikellan was reading in bed when Rosalind knocked on his door and then entered. Given her background, he had wondered if she would try to seduce him. But she was wearing a frumpy nightgown and just had some questions about the potion. That was an immense relief. Romance was something he had little experience with and no interest in.
With both arms outstretched, Nabarun slowly walked toward the boundary. Color showed first at the tips of his fingers and then progressed. But Ferikellan could see the pain in his expression. Something was wrong. “Stop!” he yelled, waving his arms frantically. “Go back!” Nabarun ignored him and kept pressing forward.
Vurk suddenly snatched up a fist-sized rock and hurled it. Struck in the center of his chest, Nabarun staggered backward and nearly fell. Rosalind, who had seemed frozen, suddenly began yelling at him in his language. The man abruptly sat down, staring wide-eyed at his limp hands.
Rosalind looked over at Ferikellan. “Wasn’t it working?” she asked, wide-eyed and tense. “His hands regained their natural color.”
It was something that he had assumed that she knew. “The color always returns. If a bird from the Gray Forest flies outside, its natural color returns, but it also dies. The potion failed. Nabarun has injured himself.” But it was worse than that. The elf couldn’t move his fingers or wrists. Even without color, he could see that Nabarun’s face was pale.
Looking close to tears, Rosalind put her hands to either side of her head. “His hands are dead! They’ll rot, turn to gangrene. The only way to save him is to cut them off.”
Ferikellan knew that wasn’t an option anymore. “Rosalind! Calm yourself. Tell him to run through the boundary as fast as he can. Tell him that will stop the pain.” That was true in the sense that it would instantly kill him. But he couldn’t see any other option.
“But…” She dropped her hands to her side. After forcing a s
mile, she began speaking to Nabarun in a calm voice. The elf stood up clumsily and stumbled forward, his face a rictus of pain. He collapsed as he reached the boundary, but Vurk grabbed his arms and jerked him forward. Then the gworn lowered the elf gently to the ground with an uncharacteristically grim expression.
Rosalind kneeled down next to Nabarun’s body and touched his neck lightly. “He’s dead. Should I try to raise him?”
Ferikellan felt ill. He knew he was solely to blame. “I don’t know,” he finally said. “He might just die again.” It was unknown territory.
“It’s not like he can get any deader,” Vurk commented. “You might as well try it.”
Rosalind nodded and held out her hands palm down. “Lord Kyran,” she intoned as her hands glowed with golden light. “I beseech you to raise this man from the dead so that he may once again dwell among the living. I ask this boon as your loyal priestess and servant.”
The golden light spread, enveloping Nabarun’s body like a shroud. The elf suddenly gasped, and his eyes snapped open. Smiling in relief, Rosalind pulled her hands back and stood. After waving Vurk over, she headed straight to Ferikellan.
“It’s not ideal,” she told him, “but we have a way to free people from the Gray Forest.”
“It is far from ideal,” he affirmed, still shaken by Nabarun’s injury and death. “The potion failed utterly.”
“You look like you need a hug,” she said, then delivered a warm embrace that he clumsily returned. “We all make mistakes,” she continued after releasing him.
Overcome by unfamiliar emotion, he simply nodded. Only Rosalind’s prowess had saved him from killing Nabarun permanently. He owed her a genuine apology. She had been correct and he wrong.
“We’ll need to watch Nabarun closely,” she said, waving for Vurk to join them. Ferikellan said nothing as she gave instructions to the gworn. Vurk grumbled loudly as he walked away, causing her to smile.
Vurk helped Nabarun to his feet and then supported him as they headed toward the keep. From the way the elf kept looking around, Ferikellan suspected that he was seeing color for the first time.
“Someone has to have tried this before,” she said, also watching the two.
He had been wondering about that himself. “I do not recall any mention of it,” he said.
“That might be a bad sign,” she remarked. “Maybe Nabarun won’t live long now that he’s outside of the Gray Forest. I’ll need to check his health regularly.”
“I will review my notes,” he put in, feeling the need to contribute.
Rosalind’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “We should also consult Birchbark. And I’ll speak to Fern about making Nabarun some new clothing. What he’s wearing reeks.”
She held out her hand, and he took it automatically. Emotions stirred again as they strolled. She was undeniably attractive, but he couldn’t imagine her having any romantic interest in him. On the other hand, neither of them had any alternatives at present. Simply holding her hand brought back memories of youth, of clandestine meetings and fumbling experimentation. But there had also been jealousy and painful rejection.
They continued to discuss Nabarun as they went. The elf would need to learn their language, and Vurk was the obvious choice to teach him. Eventually they would ask Nabarun to assist with further research on Gray Potions. That would allow him to visit his home village. They also agreed that there would be no repeat of today’s experiment until they had a full understanding of what went wrong.
Lying in bed that night, Ferikellan resolved to change his ways. Rosalind had proven her worth. She might lack experience, but her intellect was keen. From now on he would give her opinions the weight they deserved.
[ 18 ]
Aliva's Concerns
Even with the warning, it startled Aliva when the block she was maneuvering into the proper spot slammed down onto the row below it with an odd sound. The joining had been accompanied by a magical surge, but that paled in comparison with the emotional impact. It had lit her libido like dry tinder.
From the other side of the wall, Audrey said, “That’s quite the sensation, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is,” Aliva agreed, still feeling the effects as she sweated in the bright sunshine.
“Do you want to do another one?” Audrey asked eagerly.
Aroused to an uncomfortable degree, Aliva took a wobbly step backward. “I don’t think I dare,” she said, trying to calm herself. She definitely wouldn’t be helping Audrey build this castle, or whatever it was.
Audrey blinked in surprise. “I didn’t think about how it might affect someone like you. It affects me, but not as much as it did at first.”
“It’s fine,” Aliva lied, waving a hand dismissively. “Can we go back now? I have some things to tell you.”
Instead of answering, Audrey teleported the two of them back to the sitting room of her cottage. The abrupt change from midday sunshine to dull gloom made Aliva feel even worse, and she hurriedly sat down in the chair closest to the fireplace. Curled up in his bed, Benson briefly opened one eye briefly but didn’t otherwise react.
After flying to the Witch’s City, Aliva had barely set foot in Audrey’s cottage before being teleported to the construction site. Audrey’s rapid-fire explanation had been less than coherent. She seemed overly excited, almost manic.
“I’ve started dreaming about it,” Audrey said, taking the other chair. “Last night I was constructing a new Witch’s Castle from blocks like those, and some of the people helping me were gray.”
Confused and still not feeling well, Aliva said, “Gray?”
“Like they were from the Gray Forest,” Audrey explained, speaking faster than normal. “It’s probably because of what happened with that elf that Ferikellan and Rosalind tried to liberate from the Gray Forest.”
Aliva didn’t know what her friend was talking about. “Who is Ferikellan?” she asked.
Looking embarrassed, Audrey hesitated. “I thought I’d told you about that. Sorry.”
By the time Audrey finished the surprising explanation, Aliva was feeling more like herself. Gray Potions were something she had an interest in, and it was good to hear that they were being researched further. Rosalind’s involvement was also welcome news.
“Would you like to go meet Ferikellan and Vurk?” Audrey asked brightly.
“Not today,” Aliva replied. She had two more people to visit before returning home.
“Are you here about that demon?” Audrey asked. “I’m satisfied that she’s not a threat.”
Given the opening, Aliva quickly explained the true circumstances of Zyrahi’s arrival, including Lasrina’s involvement. Then, before Audrey could interrupt, she continued on to describing the incident with Romee.
“We could have used that medication when Romee was younger,” Audrey said, looking more relaxed. “She practically wore out the rugs in the mansion with all her running around. And then there were all the things she broke. Not that my cousins didn’t get into their own share of trouble. Maybe I should get some for them.”
Aliva could tell her friend wasn’t being serious.
“I told Conrad some of my secrets,” Audrey blurted, staring out the large window. “I had to, but I wish I hadn’t. It’s only going to make it worse when I leave. He’ll want to go with me.”
“And what’s wrong with that?” Aliva asked. “A carpenter can find work anywhere. You’ll look younger, but so what?” She knew how much Audrey cared for the man.
“You don’t understand,” Audrey said sadly. “It’s not just about his occupation. Conrad’s family all live in or near the Witch’s City, and he’s close with them. I’m close with some of them. I can’t ask him to give that up. It’s part of who he is.”
“You may be right,” Aliva conceded, knowing it would be fruitless to continue discussing the matter. “I need to go,” she said, rising to her feet. “I can let myself out.”
After a nod, Audrey’s gaze went distant.
Outside the cottage, Aliva set out for the mansion. It was time to face the music.
Aliva rehearsed what she was going to tell Almera as she made her way along the paths to the mansion’s nearest entrance. Beyond that door was a large kitchen that included a walk-in pantry (with a cold room below) and an informal dining area. No one was visible through the windows as she walked up, and only after entering did she notice Almera in her greenhouse, visible through the far windows.
Like the city’s three temples, an enchantment warded the mansion against demons and similar creatures. That was why she had stayed away when it was first built. Daragrim eventually made Aliva an enchanted item that granted her safe entry, but that was no longer necessary. Lasrina now protected her from that particular harm.
Aliva walked across the kitchen and exited through the opposite door. From there it was only a few paces to the rectangular glass building with the peaked roof. The door was open, so Aliva strolled in and then took a deep breath, savoring the fragrant aromas. Almera grew both flowers and herbs.
“Just a moment,” the slim half-elf said, engrossed in the examination of a small pot from which grew what looked like parsley. “Something has been eating at this, but I’m not sure what.” She held the pot upside down over a barrel and shook it until it was empty. “So much for that.” She put the pot down and turned to her left. “What do you need, Aliva?”
Few people saw Almera like this, with her light brown hair tied back and wearing cheap clothing. The woman dressed elegantly much of the time, but she dearly loved her gardening. She even sold some of what she grew at the city market.
“I want to talk to you about Romee,” Aliva told her. She quickly described the drug that Petra had made and what it had accomplished.
Almera picked up a rag and wiped her hands. “It never occurred to me that Romee might have a treatable disorder. Petra is clever to have figured that out. I never thought that girl would amount to anything.”
