Chapter 8

The Best Ale I’ve ever had.

The squash was delicious as always. I learned that Heldin, Arnad, and Joul were brothers and they’d been traveling for nearly three months now. They had fulfilled a part of their quest paths during their studies at the Vale of Ara, and the gods had led them to the Peak of Ara, still about a year's march south.

“Well, I have to apologize if we’ve inconvenienced you at all,” Arnad said. “Truth is, Heldin had us take shortcuts, and we would have missed this entire section of forest otherwise. This is an unplanned encounter.”

“Not a problem,” I said.

Arnad’s boulder loaf was incredible. I wasn’t a bread expert, but I thought it had been baked to near perfection. The crust still sang, even as we broke into it. The inside was fluffy and speckled with hull and bran and germ. I couldn’t get over how massive it was. The more we tore from it, the more I realized there was left. Just on my own, it would take a week of eating nothing but bread to finish it off.

The birds are going to love this. I wish Thrush was here to have some too. He’s gotta be staying away on purpose. I should leave some food out for him.

“Excuse me for a few minutes,” I said and grabbed the last of the squash from the stove. It nearly fell apart in my hands. The skin was caramelized and broken through. The meat of the squash was nearly dry, and I put a few salted fish on top with a good chunk of Arnad’s boulder loaf.

The night was warmer than previous nights. The birds had long ago sung their last songs of the day, so the woods were quiet. The wind flirted with me. It whispered as it brushed through my hair and pulled at my wool sweater. Melting snow dripped from tree branches. I left the squash and fish and bread at the edge of the clearing and hoped Thrush might find it.

If another animal gets to it before he does, that’s alright. I’ll check again in the early morning. Maybe I’ll see some fresh prints in the snow.

I returned to the cottage and three nervous brothers.

“Everything alright?” I said.

“Well,” said Heldin, “There’s another thing we’d like to share with you as a thank you. Something that we don’t get an opportunity to share very often.”

“It’s no problem,” I said. “No worries at all. It’s just some food and a roof over your heads. You’ve already shared this bread with me. No need to share anything else.”

Joul elbowed Heldin a little bit, and he seemed to be prompting his companion to go on with their plan. Arnad waved a hand to gesture to Heldin to go forth.

“We’d still like to share something with you, Hawkin. We’ve been traveling for three months, and we’ve only brought a limited supply of Ale from the Vale of Ara. Our plan was to enjoy some every now and then. We talked while you went out, and all agreed that now is a good time to open up one of our bottles for the first time.”

Joul excused himself and left the cottage. I heard him mumble as he went through his belongings. After an exclamation of success, he returned. He cradled a long stone bottle. It was perfectly cylindrical from top to bottom. The neck was short, only barely popping out from the top, and it choked a long cork.

This is the Ale of the Vale of Ara? The bottle is nearly four feet long!

“That’s a bottle of ale?” I said. “That whole thing?”

The brothers grinned and laughed together. Joul set the bottom down and pulled out the cork. It popped loudly and the sound echoed with a deep timbre, as though a cavern from deep within the earth had been born in a single violent second. Wheat colored ribbons of vapor escaped the open neck.

The brothers had gathered our mugs together and Joul masterfully handled the bottle to pour each of us a tall fill. The ale poured out without a sound. It was straw colored and nearly as clear as crystal rivers. Sparks of light sheened off of every infinitesimal bubble that cascaded atop each mug. The foam built and rose up over the lip of each mug and mushroomed over without falling.

What on earth is this… I’ve never seen such magical… Is this really an ale?

Heldin passed a mug to his brothers, and handed me my beaten copper mug. The foam on my beer was stiff and creamy. Even after taking the mug, the foam dripped nary a drop. I listened, and the sound of the foam filled my ears, as though surf was gently breaking upon the coast of a midsummer island.

“To Hawkin!” Arnad said, “and another year of travel!”

“To the Sons of Ara,” I answered.

We clinked our mugs together and the foam still did not displace! I brought the ale to my lips. The aroma met me with a kiss, as though a goddess had leapt from the ale, lips first. Lips that traveled through my senses. Lips that I breathed in until they settled on the top of my heart. My eyes closed and I became lost to the aroma of the ale.

The aroma confused me, because with my eyes closed, I was convinced that I was on the furthest summer hills where chamomiles, daffodils, and sweet grass grew. By smell, I was convinced that the hill’s golden rods were overflowing with pollen, and the morning rain had transformed to dew. Dew that covered young bushes of nearby honeysuckles.

The laughing monks brought me back to my senses. They were just wiping foam from their faces, and their eyes gleamed with mirth.

“Wait till you taste it!” Arnad said.

I tipped the beer to my lips. The foam was wet and creamy. The ale was crisp and chilled. I drank, and I was filled with its flavors.

This is the reason that summers seem so short some years! Someone managed to rob entire summers and chill them in four foot long stone bottles. This isn’t an ale! This is pure summer! Skies, flowers, and all!

I was convinced that if I poured the contents of my ale out, summer would bloom from where the liquid lay.

The next thing I noticed was exactly how crisp and clean the ale was. Nighttime skies were half as clean and clear as the ale tasted. In place of stars, I tasted flowers. Flowers ripe with pollen. Flowers hazed with fragrance and clothed with dew.

The aftertaste broke me. It lingered at the edge of lips, as though summer were a goddess that broke her kiss, walked away, and waved goodbye as she called over her shoulder, “see you next year, my love.”

What on earth just happened to me?

Great influences in life had the ability to re-enable system screens. That was something I hadn’t faced in many, many years. One sip! One sip of the ale prompted my system screen to pop up!

[System Enabled.]

[New Quest Path: Brewer!

Would you like to begin your new Quest Path: Brewer?

You will receive a Fable Stone if you accept Quest Path: Brewer.]

[Y/N?]

[Disable System?]

[Y/N?]

I was speechless. The world was spinning around me. I didn’t want to go on adventures anymore. I wanted to live my life peacefully in these woods. I shouldn’t have invited the Sons of Ara to stay. I kept my system disabled for a reason.

But the ale! This is the most amazing thing I’ve ever tasted! The closest I’d ever felt to something touching my very soul!

“Hawkin?” Heldin said.

I looked up at the brothers.

“Do you realize what just happened?” Arnad said.

“Yea,” I said quietly. “I just received the prompt to start the brewer quest path.”

“No,” Joul said. “Well, that too I suppose—but the other thing that just happened!”

“What do you mean?” I said.

The brothers looked at each other with mystified expressions.

“You were just visited by a god!”