CHAPTER TWENTY

Potions and Tonics for the Aberrant Mind

“Back again, Number One?” Milady, the elderly researcher with the streaks of gray peppering her shoulder-length auburn hair, asked.

It was her usual, tenderly greeting for the kid who came to visit her domain nearly every day of this past year.

“Anything new, Milady?” I asked in that excited tone I adopted for researchers who didn’t make my skin crawl to be near around.

“I’ve acquired a rare first edition of Wilhelmina Shakespeare’s Juliet and Romeo if you’re interested,” the tall, thin librarian said.

Yes, I didn’t know why either, but it seemed Shakespeare was a universal imperative that existed in this other world too so that every child had to suffer through those boring iambic sonnets of hers. Yup, you heard right. In Aarde, Shakespeare was a woman.

“Nah, I think I’ve had my fill of the classics after reading the Three Musket Swordsmen you made me read from start to finish,” I said, sighing dramatically for effect.

“I will never understand how such a brilliant mind as yours would be so repelled by the classics,” Milady let out an exaggerated sigh. “And here I was about to share the Baron of Monte Cristina with you — and you would have loved it as it is as inappropriate for children as the material you usually peruse.”

Oh, if it wasn’t obvious yet, then it should be clear now. There were many more similarities between Aarde and my old world apart from humanity’s love of firearms. Although these mirror versions weren’t exactly a hundred percent copy of what I knew to be true in my past life. For example, there was no such thing as popcorn on Aarde — I know, the horror — because there were no ancient Mayans or Aztecs cultures here that cultivated corn for westerners to meet and steal — ahem — learn from.

“Actually,” I began, “I was hoping to use my booth for some private reading.”

“Ah, I see,” she nodded knowingly. “I expect you’ll be wanting the usual papers then?”

Leave it to another bibliophile to know just how important privacy and personal space were for reading sensitive material. It also helped that she assumed I would be using the usual research — stuff that’s been labeled restricted for even most researchers, but Milady’s opened to me because, well, I knew how to leverage a cute child’s smile to get what I wanted. And now I didn’t have to reveal that I’d acquired a tome she would have killed to read herself.

“You go and get settled, Number One,” she said as she handed me a key. “I’ll get your folios in order and bring them over to you.”

“Thanks, Milady,” I gave her my best ‘Eurian Perfect’ smile and watched her visibly melt in her seat before I took my leave of the librarian who was weak to the allure of cute kids.

Like most arcanists of Aarde, the researchers of the institute were typically dedicated to whatever field they’d started individually, and they were all fiercely protective of their research, which meant they took extraordinary steps to ensure no one could steal their stuff or even read over their shoulders while they discovered their ‘eureka’ moments. So, most booths were busybody proof from all sides with soundproof panel walls, and they could only be opened by their keys, of which, only two existed. The one given to whoever had reserved them, and the one Milady kept in case of emergencies — and there have been a few of those in my time. Seriously, some of these idiots got so caught up in their work they'd forget to eat or drink for days, leading to more than a few close calls for people with IQs that should know better.

Funnily enough, I had inherited this streak of caution from them myself, and I’d gone the extra mile, preferring the furthest-most booth of the third floor of the stacks. And so, I took the spiral stairs up to the third floor and trekked to the right-side corner of the stacks to get to the booth that Number Three recently vandalized with the words ‘Number One’s Room’ in colorful markers that even Milady couldn’t get rid of quickly enough before Number Three reapplied their color.

On the way, I ran into another of my crib mates, Number Nine, a typically bookish-looking kid with default downcast eyes whose short height had made him a target of the rowdier guys like Number Six and Number Seven.

“Hey there!” I called.

Number Nine looked up from the research papers he was perusing on the walkway and grinned widely at seeing me walking toward him. Yeah, unlike most of the others, our shared love of the library made Number Nine less likely to view me as the ‘traitor’ that Numbers’ Sixteen and Seventeen saw me as.

“Hey, One,” he called in that soft-spoken tone that made him such a cliché book-type. “You’re back?”

I nodded.

“How was it?” he asked as he rushed to my side, excitement filling his face. “The outside?”

I leaned in to whisper conspiratorially in his ears. “Better than anything we’ve read about in here.”

Then I went on to regale him in tales of heroism and bravery — starring me, of course — as we battled a hellish fiend that had come from the bowels of the Underworld itself. Yes, yes, I did like embellishing the stories for them, because I assumed that’s what big brothers did for their younger siblings — gave them hope and filled their heads with dreams.

Number Nine’s eyes were glittering with awe by the time I’d finished reenacting my ‘Blood Cannon’ for him.

“So awesome!” he said.

I know, I know, I did enjoy being idolized every once in a while. Sue me.

We spent another ten minutes of Q and A about the outside world — with me sharing intimate details of the food Number Three and I had sampled in the inn we’d stayed at — and Number Nine grilling me about the books I’d seen in that nefarious laboratory we’d raided. Geez, this kid was intuitive, although I didn’t show him my new tome as I wanted to read it first.

Our conversation was cut short after Number Nine noticed that Milady had appeared on the third-floor walkway with a stack of research folios in her hands.

“Oh, you’re here to research the Sidhe again?” he asked.

Over the past year, my obsession with the race of powerful arcanists who lived in the White Havens had been mostly fed and nurtured here in the research library. Although the information had been scant as Armestian historians were horrible at recording details of enemies who’d defeated our nation in battle.

Why wouldn’t they keep records of their enemies that might help us defeat them in the future, you ask? Honestly, I think they believed that if they ignored the truth, then it was wasn’t true. Seriously, alternate interpretations and fake news were alive and well on Armestys.

Luckily for me, Milady had contacts in other countries who’d given her the content I was looking for, content she’d shared with me after I’d won her over, of course.

From these documents, I’d learned that these Sidhe were remarkably like the fairies of my old world. Not just in the vague physical descriptions I’d managed to read which had more or less confirmed what my master had already told me about them, but also in the stories of how the Sidhe were tricksters. Like how they would steal away the children of men and replace them with changelings who would grow up pretending to be humans while sabotaging human societies from the inside.

Yeah, it did sound a lot like paranoid rambling, but there were too many of these negative accounts for me to wonder if the Sidhe might not be the altruistic elder race I’d first imagined them to be like the elves of Tolkien myth were. I’d have to meet one to know for sure though, and that was something I planned to do in the not-so-distant future.

“Y-yeah… I think I’m close to a breakthrough in understanding why only the Sidhe can cast enchantments,” I lied.

I was nowhere near close to figuring that shit out. And I’d been trying for a year.

“I’ll see you later,” I said.

With a fist bump signaling the end of our talk, I hurried past Number Nine to get to my booth before Milady did.

Home sweet home.

I unlocked the booth and got in quickly so I could shove my bag underneath the desk to keep it out of Milady’s line of sight just in case she got curious. Then I waited for her to arrive while my fingers tapped excitedly on the table’s wooden surface.

There was a knock. I opened the door. Relieved Milady of the folios. Shut the door with a quick thank you. Jumped back into my seat — and finally — pulled Potions and Tonics for the Aberrant Mind out of my pack so I could lay it on the table.

Oh yeah, I love the smell of old parchment… this is my wonder drug.

Yeah, I was giddy with anticipation when I opened the book to the first page.

To my dear and unfortunate successor…

“Wait… what?”

I read the entirety of that introductory page, and then I read it again just to be sure. But the words really did sound like they’d been meant for me or someone like me — because they’d been written in English.

To my dear and unfortunate successor,

If you can read what I’ve written here then the All-Father has brought another unlucky soul into this damnable reality which at first seems so alike to our old one that you would be forgiven for mistaking them as the same. I assure you that this is not the case. We are humans of a different world stuck in another whose wheel of fate seems unwilling to turn past an era of continuous warfare — which means our lives remain in ever-present danger whilst we remain here.

You are not the first. Neither am I for that matter. In my travels, I have heard many tales of such men and women with peculiar knowledge of another world, a knowledge they’ve willingly or unwillingly shared with this one to the point where Aarde societies seem to now move in a similar advancement as the world we’ve left behind.

There is one difference, however, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. Magic is real here. And if magic is real, then might the way home be possible for us lost souls as well? It is a question I have chased across three continents but have found no satisfactory answer for.

I do not know if you share a desire to return to our old world as I have, but I at least hope that you would want to seek answers to how we arrived here and for what purpose. If so, find your way to Leonia. I will leave a record in its capital’s Repository Arcanum of my discoveries to these questions and leave it to you whether or not to continue the pursuit for their answers.

Whatever the case, I also bequeath to you the knowledge I’ve attained in my travels across Eura and Asya, which include several potions and tonics meant to strengthen you for your journey in this world. Believe me, you will need them to survive. There are a great many dangers on Aarde and not all of them are of a human variety. For magic, as you may have already learned, is like a double-edged sword, both wonderful and terrifying in equal measure.

I have jotted my discoveries here in this manuscript which my friends from the Alchemical College of Armestys have added into their writings to shield my secrets from unwanted attention. They are meant only for you, my successor. To that end, I have written these words in magical ink that should only activate in the presence of one who shares my unfortunate fate.

If you’re reading this then it means I’ve already failed, and I must pass the baton onto you. I wish you success. I hope you survive. And perhaps, All-Father willing, I pray that you make it home, wherever home might become for you.

G.

I don’t know how long I just sat there feeling like my mind had been blown away, but I did read that letter again. Half-a-dozen times actually before I decided that this was no hoax.

You are not the first, the author said — this line just blew my mind over again whenever I reread it.

Where was the author now? And how did he fail exactly?

Well, if this book had been written almost a hundred years ago, then this ‘G’ fellow must already be dead. And he or she has left their will to me, which, honestly, felt like an imposition. I already had goals. Be extraordinary and escape the institute with all my siblings — and these were already gargantuan tasks for me to accomplish. Did I need to trek across this planet to find the answers to questions I hadn’t even asked myself until I’d read this damn note?

Seriously, I didn’t really care that I’d been brought to a new world. It was enough that I’d been given a second chance at life to do something with it this time. But now — now I feel like I had to find out why I’d been sent here. If not for ‘G’ then at least for my peace of mind, goddammit!

“G, thanks for giving me another main quest to worry about,” I sighed. “This is why I hated open-world RPGs. Too much to do too little time to do them…”

In annoyance, I flipped over to the next page which contained a standard Armes greeting for scholars wishing to learn more about the potion and tonic recipes of the Alchemical College.

Greetings, fellow arcanists…

“Why couldn’t I have just flipped to this page first,” I sighed again.

The next dozen pages were also written in Armes, which suggested they weren’t the content meant for me. Eventually, I found a page written in English, and on this page, was a copy of Leonardo Da Vinci’s Vitruvian Man, that naked drawing of a guy with his arms and legs spread eagle. With one glaring difference. The spark of magic was drawn into the space below the man’s chest, and to my surprise, blue veins spread out from that spark to every part of the body. They were seemingly intertwined with the blood veins and organs that I did know about.

“Magical Meridians,” I read out loud.

In none of the research I’d read previously had I ever encountered such a concept. And the explanation given here was mind-boggling.

In simplest terms, magical meridians are a highway within the human body that allows for the flow of magical energy to circulate throughout it more efficiently.

Apparently, humans naturally use these magical meridians to spread their magic across their bodies similar to how Major Wolf had taught me, but as there was no physical evidence of their existence, arcanists didn’t know how to use them for anything else with most of them ignoring this avenue for growth in the first place.

So, Wolf instinctually understood what magical meridians were when he taught me the method to use it? Seriously?

Although, according to this page, there were at least two other ways to use this magical highway to amplify someone’s abilities.

“Activating the ‘pulses’ of the magical meridians in the body can reinforce one’s organs, allowing a magical practitioner to survive even attacks that might prove fatal to a body whose magical meridians are mostly inactive,” I read. “Seriously?”

This wasn’t something even Wolf knew or he would have taught it to me already. I’d been in way too many life-and-death situations for this not to have been useful info, after all.

“A well-maintained magical meridian can ensure smooth flow of energy within one’s system, making it easier to cast spells with less effort while also helping to quicken the speed at manipulating natural energy for use in spellcasting,” I read. “Holy fuck… this would give me an advantage in a duel.”

If these ideas weren’t crazy enough, I’d found out just how one could enhance magical meridians. According to the English footnotes written in the corners of an alchemical tincture for skin rash — what a way to double-down on keeping it low-key — a pulse is activated after one has saturated an organ in natural energy keyed to specific magical wavelengths. As for these wavelengths, they were the kind of energies one could only harness from an elemental.

“Wait, I’ve heard of this…”

I looked back to the pile Milady had brought me and pulled out a research document that discussed the existence of magical entities that were born from a rare phenomenon of magic radically changing an environment. The chaotic energies born of this drastic change gave life to these so-called elementals.

“Elementals, rare though they may be, are of great significance to the advancement of sorcery as their cores are used in many powerful potions and balms whose effects are varied but mostly positive,” I read again.

A lightbulb came to life in my brain.

“Then I’d need a formula for a potion that will let me harness an elemental’s wavelength,” I deduced.

True enough, I found another page written in English. And this one — scrawled in the borders of the drawing of a crystal I assumed was an elemental core — was the exact formula I was looking for.

The simply named ‘Fire Draft’ gave me a list of ingredients like saltpeter and zinc. And apart from the specific elemental core — fire, in this case — most of them would be easy to find.

“How do I get a core when I’m stuck in the institute though?” I wondered aloud.

I couldn’t do it on my own. I would need an adult for this. Preferably someone who knew their way around the black market trade breezing through the institute's walls, someone who owed me a favor, and someone who didn’t have the last name of Wolf. Funnily enough, someone actually fit that description.

“Allers,” I grinned. “I saved his life. He owes me.”

Suddenly, an insistent knocking on the door disturbed my planning. I glanced over my shoulder with a frown.

“Occupied!”

A muffled voice yelled back at me, one I knew far too well to ignore.

Oh, no… what’s happened now?

I reached for the handle and pulled open the door. Sure enough, Number Three was on the other side of it with Number Four gasping for breath right behind her. Sweat was dripping down both girls’ brows, but I couldn’t mistake them for the tears pooling underneath Number Three’s eyes.

“What happened?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly.

“Five’s team just came back,” she answered.

“Five?” I repeated, confused.

Only now did I remember that Number Five, along with two of my other crib mates, were the next group who’d been tasked with a mission. He’d told me so before I left for mine.

“Three?” I asked. “Is he—”

“It’s bad,” Number Four answered for her. “They fought with a fiend on their mission too…”

My eyes widened in disbelief at hearing that damnable word again, and so soon too.

Fuck.

Number Three reached out for my hand, and I took it quickly. Together, we raced out of the library and headed toward the front yard while praying to the All-Father that our friends were okay.