Liquid Magic

Martel had rarely slept as well at night as he did these days, his body and magic being pushed to the limit. With that in mind, waking up on Manday felt almost relaxing; his first class, Archean language, only required him to sit still and listen. And compared to lessons with Moira, learning elemental spells from Master Alastair in the afternoon was a breeze.

And this particular morning was even more relaxing, as his alchemy work had moved from second to sixth bell. For once, Martel ate his breakfast slowly, feeling like he had all the time in the world. Once he was done, he used his spare hours to practice drawing magic from the herb given to him by Mistress Rana. He believed that he saw progress, a faint shimmer of magic, but it seemed to vanish the moment he stopped focusing his efforts.

He continued practising after his class with Master Fenrick and during the dinner bell until it was time to go to the Hall of Elements. His teacher stood waiting, wearing a smile as usual when he spotted his student. "There he is. I was thinking, you did so well with water last lesson, it seems unnecessary to push further with that. Better we spend our limited time together moving to the next element. In this case, earth."

Martel nodded a little, trusting Master Alastair to know best.

"Unlike water, we obviously can't pull earth from the air around us. We must work with the element as it is present. The most skilled of earthmages can shape stone or even metal, which probably will always be beyond our ability," the old battlemage admitted. "Fortunately, just loose dirt will do for our purpose. Remember, we only require it as a vessel for the magic, nothing more." He stretched his hand down towards the ground, clenched his fingers into a fist as if grabbing something, and yanked his hand up. A lump of earth flew up from the ground, hovering in front of him for barely a moment before shooting through the air to hit the far wall. "Like that. Your turn."

Martel did the same gesture to help guide his magic flow from him into the ground. By now, he had sufficient control that he could restrict his power to a limited area, rather than losing it as it spread through the earth. He pulled upwards to raise his targeted area into the air, just like Master Alastair had done. That was when the problem arose. He could pull it towards himself, raising it like a column; but separating it, pulling just a small piece apart to act as a projectile somehow resisted his efforts. It felt like his magic somehow became sticky, unwilling to cut in two.

"Sorry, master," he spoke quietly as it became clear the spell would not work for him.

"Save your apologies, lad, this is what you're here for. To learn. Now, although I said loose dirt would do, you may find this easier to learn with a small pebble or such. Something already clearly defined in shape. Come, let's go to the courtyard and find something for you to practise on. Hope you don't mind the cold!"

***

After predictably slow progress with the elemental spell, Martel walked the short trip to the apothecary, waiting for Mistress Rana to show up. It felt awkward, standing in the small room with Nora studiously ignoring him as she worked, but now was hardly the time to get into it with her. Soon after, the alchemist appeared and motioned for Martel to follow her upstairs.

This being his third visit, he noticed a few changes. Some of the jars on the shelves had been moved, one of them gone altogether. The coals on the fireplace were warm, evident of recent use. He wondered what potions she had brewed since last – perhaps another healing elixir? Martel doubted Mistress Rana would tell him, though. She was not the sort to speak freely about her affairs, and he had his own task ahead. Lying on a worktable, he saw all the ingredients for a potion of warmth.

"Let me see how well you can awaken the herbs." She pointed at the reagents.

A little hesitant, knowing his performance would not be adequate, Martel picked up the mustard seeds and closed his hand around them. He could feel them against his skin and reached out with his magic to take hold of them in that respect as well. He imagined the dormant power as a light that grew in strength to suffuse all of the seeds. As he opened his fingers, a frail shimmer appeared and faded again.

"Keep practising. Every single day," Mistress Rana told him. Sweeping up the other ingredients into her own hand and taking the seeds from Martel, she effortlessly drew their magic out to make them all shine. "You remember the procedure from last?" she asked as she walked towards the fireplace.

"Boil the water, put everything in, keep stirring."

She left the ingredients on the nearest table. "Get to work."

***

For two hours and more, Martel did nothing but move a ladle around a boiling pot. He could see why masters of a trade had apprentices; anyone could do this bit. Conversation would make the time pass more easily, but Mistress Rana did not speak to him while he stirred, occupied with her own work elsewhere in the laboratory. Whether she was focused on her labours or perhaps feared that talking would distract Martel, he could not know, but her stern demeanour kept him from starting any conversation himself. So he simply moved the ladle, round and round. In the distance, the bell rang, and still he continued.

When perhaps another half hour had passed, the water in the pot had a warm glow, almost like a liquid fire. Martel understood this was magic of a different kind than the Asterian, focused on spells with imminent effect, where the magic vanished as soon as the spell ended. With this, magic was almost an element to itself, fluid and malleable, bound to the water.

His teacher came over and cast a look at his efforts. "Good. Now comes the hard part. In Sindhian alchemy, magic can be diluted or distilled, so to say. It would not be feasible for anyone to drink the entire contents of the pot just to gain the effects of the potion. Therefore, as we pour it into a bottle, we must guide all of the magic to follow, concentrating it into the vial. And it must be done swiftly. Once it stops boiling and stirring, the magic begins to evaporate."

Liquid magic that evaporated like steam in a bath house; so strange to think about.

Mistress Rana gave him two rags to keep him from getting scalded on the handles of the pot. Meanwhile, she fetched a small glass bottle held in place by something resembling a candle holder. "Grab the pot and pour a little of the liquid into the vial until it is nearly full. Meanwhile, I shall pull all the magic floating in the water along to fill the vial as well. Observe closely – next time, you will do it."

Martel grabbed the pot and carefully poured from it. Fascinated, he watched as a stream of orange-glowing water entered the vial until it was just about full, and he hurried to pull up. Nothing remained in the pot except hot water with some roots, leaves, seeds, and flowers floating.

Mistress Rana grabbed a stopper to seal the vial. The liquid within retained its colour, and as she placed it in his hand, he could feel both the heat and the magic within. "Keep this, in case you have any cold days ahead."