The Apothecary's Shop

The short story that started it. It was actually inspired by a video game.......I started writing it, and then I used it for a school assignment, and the teacher loved it, and now it's growing.

The Apothecary’s Shop

By Ben Campbell

 

Miara heard a distinctive knock on the door of her apothecary. Aran was back. In the brief interval between the knock and his entrance she wondered what sort of ingredients he would bring her this time. Hopefully he would have found some starfruit seeds she needed for the old lord’s aphrodisiac. Lord Culbert was becoming tolerant to her usual cocktail, so she needed to alter the formula. If she didn’t get a sample within the next month, she would likely lose that source of income, and she couldn’t afford that. Well, actually, she could, but then she wouldn’t be able to afford the ingredients for the potions that Aran usually bought, and would likely lose him as a regular customer. And that she would avoid.

As Aran actually entered, she marveled at how much had gone through her mind in that half-second interval.

Aran ducked to avoid hitting his head on the low door frame. He was tall, but by no means a giant. Wallace, the page that Lord Culbert usually sent to handle transactions, also had to duck, but it made him look like the gangly boy he was, whereas Aran made it look like part of his natural grace. His dark hair still brushed the top. “Dark” was the only way she could describe it. It seemed to change slightly between his visits, shifting between brown and almost, but not quite, black. She thought he looked more natural when it was brown, as it was now.

Aran slung his pack off his shoulders and to rest against the counter in one easy motion. He had forgotten his armor again, even though she asked to see it every time he came. Well, he did usually have a few weeks to forget. Or maybe it had simply become part of the routine.

“How do you ever come back in one piece if you never wear your armor?”

“Good to see you too, Miara.” He answered with his easy grin. “I found something interesting in the southern jungle while hunting down a pack of bandits on request of some little lordling.” he continued as he rummaged through his pack.

“Did you find them?” she asked.

“I found their skeletons.” He replied. “That jungle is not a wise place to camp. Unless you sleep in a tree.” He found the small drawstring bag he reserved for interesting plant or animal bits that he sold to Miara. He had told her it was magical, but he had no idea in what way, although it always kept the samples fresh. “Probably not even then. I haven’t tried.”

He started carefully pulling out his finds. Wolves’ teeth, nightflower petals, a small bunch of bright red fireberries, a dragon claw.....

“And what are you doing fighting dragons? I don’t want to lose my best supplier of rare ingredients to one of those scaly fleabags!”

“You’re worse than my mother sometimes, Miara.” He half-sighed, smiling despite himself. “It wasn’t my idea to fight the dragon. Dragons tend to be unexpected, and running from them is rather pointless. But I must admit I would have been barbequed if not for your fireproofing oil. Whatever recipe you sold me last time was extremely effective.” Aran was also useful as an eager field tester for her inventions.

“Glad to hear it.” she replied less-than-happily. During this time Aran had dug out another bunch of fireberries.

“What have I told you about taking too much from one plant?” she scolded, secretly elated that she now had almost a year’s supply of a rare ingredient. One of fireberry’s downsides was that it would make a highly volatile liquid if mixed with the wrong ingredients, and she had been thinking about a way to use this to make a sort of weapon that she could sell to Lord Culbert. The ability to create massive explosions in the ranks of one’s enemies without having to put a wizard in harm’s way couldn’t help but be tempting.

“I found two bushes, actually,” replied Aran. “in two very different places. One of them was in a Chundlae Desert oasis, and the other in the jungle I mentioned earlier.” Now Aran placed a tuft of long, green fur on the counter. “I found the remains of a very large animal in that same jungle. It was around 15 feet in length, likely including a fair-sized tail. The skeletal structure appeared reptilian, but the skull was in shards. The bones were moldy, so I didn’t take any, but I found this fur in the middle of it. Perhaps it’s from some sort of ruff or maybe it’s from a predator or scavenger.”

“Did you draw the skeleton?”

“Yes, I did.” Aran started rummaging through his pack again. Aran was perhaps unique among his kind in that he took a quill, ink, and parchment wherever he went so that he could draw what he saw on his travels. He was also a rarity in that he was well-spoken and literate.

He found his drawing and gave it to Miara. She scrutinized it. The illustration had Aran’s typical excruciating attention to detail; he had drawn the foliage around it as well. She studied it harder, but couldn’t fathom how Aran knew it was reptilian. So she asked him.

“You can see here,” he answered, pointing to the drawing, “at the end of the upper foreleg bone, that the lower foreleg bones are scattered somewhat more randomly than all the other bones. A lizard rests by putting it legs out to the sides and lowering its body to the ground, leaving the lower legs upright. If it died in this position, say, if it were sick, most of the bones would fall to earth in about the same pattern they were in when the creature lived. But the bones standing upright would fall over randomly, and are thus more scattered.”

Miara shook her head. “Only you, Aran. And the rest of you crazy adventurers.” Miara thought for a moment. “A green-furred lizard just has to have some body part useful to alchemy. It’s just too weird not to. Might I keep this until your next visit? I’d like to ask.... crap, I forgot his name again.... Culbert’s wizard?”

“Marson.” Aran provided. “And you may.”

“Yes, thank you. I always forget his name. How do you know him?”

“Marson and I are great friends, actually. He’s another reason I stop here so frequently. And it’s my business to know people.” Aran then produced the peel of a starfruit. Miara’s eyes lit up. She knew that she had made an error, but she trusted Aran not to gouge the price because she needed it. But the peel wasn’t the seed.

“You didn’t happen to keep the seeds, did you?” she asked.

“The little star-shaped fruit? Yes I did.” He answered, producing a small drawstring bag. “I, um, ate the rind. I got hungry. And curious.”

“And was it worth the guilt of knowing you had eaten something that might be useful to me?”

“What guilt?”

Miara rolled her eyes.

“Oh, don’t bother worrying yourself about. Seriously though. Was it good?”

“Um.... yeah. Not particularly amazing, but yeah, it was good.”

“Hm. Starfruit is supposedly a delicacy fit for a king.”

Aran smiled. Miara didn’t have much tolerance for nobility, especially when they ate valuable alchemical ingredients.

“What in the south jungle isn’t? The only requirement of a delicacy is that it not grow or live within your kingdom.”

“And be edible,” added Miara. “And be a precious alchemical substance.” She could not even imagine how many fireberries had disappeared down the gullets of indolent nobles, despite the fact that there was a reason they were called fireberries. “Don’t worry, the rind has no special properties.”

Aran visibly relaxed, and Miara caught a glimpse of his sword hilt. Aran always went armed. He had discussed it with her a while ago. He had explained, “When you’re in a city, going unarmed simply makes you unprepared for trouble. Wearing a knife tends to invite trouble. Concealing the knife won’t, but then again, knives are tools, not weapons. Wearing a proper sword openly, however, gives trouble a fair warning, and it will usually keep its distance.” She noticed it was a different sword than he had had last time.

“New sword? What sort of heroic feat did you perform this time?”

“Call it payment up front. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you about, actually.”

“Ooooo, something special. I'm listening.”

“While near the northern edge of the Chundlae desert, I came across a town, not quite a city, but a fairly sizeable settlement. I believe it was called Kinana; not many people there spoke our language; and it was the home and central base of a warlord who had near complete control of the various oases scattered around the desert. Naturally, he was a rather rich man, and his name was something like Yiyer. Not really sure, I've probably mangling the pronunciation. Anyway, he was actually quite pleasant, for a warlord, and after having talked amiably and perceiving me as a well traveled and trustworthy man, he confided in me his current predicament.

“He explained (as though I didn’t know) that one of the benefits of being a powerful warlord is that you can choose your wife without anyone really complaining, and Yiyer has one in mind. However, it is no secret that she has little love for him, and Yiyer does not wish to marry someone who does not love him. While a noble with this frame of mind would normally find some other woman, there are certain unspecified political advantages to marrying her. Yiyer has already tried potions of charisma, and they work, but there is still the fact the he is a power-hungry barbarian. There are quite a copious number of war crimes accredited to his followers, and he has a pretty bad reputation. So he wants to take a shortcut. He has tasked me with finding someone who can provide him with an alchemical solution. He never used the phrase ‘love potion’, but that’s what he wants.”

Miara was unsure whether to laugh for one of several reasons or calmly tell Aran just what a love potion entailed. She opted for the latter.

“I hope that he knows what he’s asking. There’s a reason that even kings have difficulty acquiring them.”

“But it’s possible?”

“Oh, yes, love potions are quite real. But there are certain entailments that some are unwilling to fulfill, and others that can be near impossible to fulfill. Not to mention the basic detractor that they are prohibitively expensive. I imagine that’s not a problem for Yiyer, though.”

“That would probably be correct.”

“The main problem with them is the old phrase “love is blind”. How will you get the potion to make the target fall in love with the right person? The effects are irreversible, and if your target fell in love with someone else, then you would have just sold your soul for a fat load of nothing.”

“That would make a great tale for the bards, though.”

“Indeed. The ingredients are also rare and difficult to acquire, though in a different way than most. You won’t have to slay any demons for them, but one of the ingredients is crushed unicorn horn.”

“......oh. Yes, that is a problem.” Unicorns were nature’s embodiment of good, and to kill one would require that you have absolutely no good in your soul, and Aran had through previous trials proven that there was actually quite a bit of good in his soul. “I would have to find a dead one.....”

“You’d have to find one PERIOD. That’s hard enough. That’s probably the worst one, but the others can hardly be called easy. For instance, you need a substantial amount of blood from both targets.

“I believe Yiyer would readily donate his, but I don’t know about the girl. I was never introduced to her.”

“Yes, there is that. But cheer up! You already got one the ingredients for me. Starfruit peel is necessary to induce sexual desire.”

            “I... suppose that’s good to know. Anything else particularly difficult?”

            “Well, you’ll have to meet the girl. Certain foods and spices that she likes will be needed.” They weren’t actually necessary, bur she wanted like to know what it was about this girl that made her worth the trouble. “And I suggest you take the job of finding the ingredients yourself. You would be right to ask a hefty finder’s fee.”

            “I’ll take your word for it. How do you just know this off the top of your head?”

            “Well...... I have a formulary that contains practically every recipe known to man, and I get bored.....”

            “So you read these astoundingly complex recipes for fun?”

            “Well..... yes.” Aran smiled. “Well what do you do for fun?” Miara countered.

            “Fun... I don’t really get time for fun. I always seem to have something to do or somewhere to go.” He shrugged. “Nevermind. Write a list of what you need and I’ll pick it up tomorrow. Say, when you close shop for the night, meet me at the Fox’s Den. This sword I received is... rather unique in its effects, and I think you’d be interested in seeing them.”

            “Oooo. Magic?”

            Aran rolled his eyes.

            “My last sword was magic, and the one before that. Swords seem to be a very popular item for enchanting.”

            “Whatever you say. But seriously, I’d love that.”

            They conducted the rest of their business as usual, and Aran left, forgetting to duck his head and banging it on the doorframe.

            Miara couldn’t resist calling,

“That wouldn’t hurt if you had your helmet on!”

Aran didn’t turn around, but she knew he was smiling.

 

The Fox’s Den was an inn on the edge of town. It catered specifically to wanderers like Aran. The proprietor hadn’t intended it, but they just decided that they liked it for some reason, and it became their territory. Aran had told her that there were not many things that adventurers liked better than bragging about their exploits. The reputations of the patrons varied, but you wouldn’t find common mercenaries here. Miara expected that she would recognize some of the patrons, and she was right. Aran was sitting at a table with three other people. All of them except Aran had foaming mugs of ale. Aran didn’t drink except when speaking to nobility. It wasn’t polite to refuse wine from a king.

            Aran looked up and excused himself. He walked over to Miara. Miara was wearing a simple shirt and pants, not roughspun, but simple enough to look common and nice enough to not look like a peasant. She was wearing her shoulder-length auburn hair loose, which he had never seen before. She wore her hair in a tail when she was in her shop, which was almost always, so that it wouldn’t drag in whatever she was working on. ‘Trust me’ she had assured him, ‘sulfuric acid in your hair is much worse than split ends’ She looked good... He approved.

            “Hello, Miara.”

            “Since we’re here, why don’t you show me your armor?”

            “Not now.”

            “Why not?”

            “...no reason.”

            “There’s always a reason with you, and it’s usually a good one. “

            “It would likely start rumors if we were to simply walk upstairs together.”

            “Ah, there it is. Well, come on, and bring your sword. Where are we going, exactly?”

            “Outside of the town walls.”

            “And why are we leaving town?”

            “I don’t want this public.”

            Fair enough. He exited the tavern. As he left, he noticed that a small length of Miara’s girdle wasn’t as flexible as the rest. A concealed weapon? Fascinating.... I can’t help but find that kind of sexy.

            Leaving town.... Miara mused. With any other man she’d be suspicious, but Aran..... Aran, she trusted. She followed him out into the evening air.           

 

            As Aran led Miara to the eastern gate, a light mist descended upon the town, reducing visibility to a few houses down the street. Aran thought that this would make a beautiful sunset, if he could convince Miara to stay out that long, directly or otherwise. Aran shook his head. No, he had long since promised himself that he would never use magic on her. Besides, Miara was an alchemist. She would know.

            And notice any slightest hint of his thoughts he gave.

            “What are you shaking your head at?” she asked.

            “Nothing.” Frankly, Aran didn’t expect this ‘nothing’ to hold up even as much as the ‘no reason’ in the tavern. But Miara let it go.

            Miara. A person such as her really demanded to be thought about. He pictured her in his mind, noting the inaccuracies. Her hair never went past her shoulders in actuality, but his image had her wavy red-brown locks reaching the small of her back. He had mentioned to her that she would look better with long hair, and she had agreed, but long hair was simply inconvenient for her; she had to tie it back when she worked as it was. She was also wearing a silver necklace that she did actually own, and wore with enough frequency that in his memories of her she was always wearing it. He glanced back out of curiosity. She was not wearing it now, but he did notice her shiver. Not even giving it much thought, he removed his coat and offered it to her. She smiled, reached into her pocket, and produced a small vial, from which she took a small sip.

            “Remember that potion that was supposed to briefly enable you spit gouts of flame, but actually just raised your body temperature?” she asked.

            “How could I forget? That was miserable.”

            “In small doses it helps keep you warm, instead of roasting you internally. Kind of like alcohol without the side effects. Thank you, though.”

            Aran added ‘resourceful’ to his list of reasons why he liked Miara. The list was getting to be quite substantial... a cold breeze suggested to him that he put his coat back on. He complied.

            They reached the eastern gate a few minutes later, although, the eastern gate wasn’t really a gate, there being no way to bar it save with soldiers or whatever loose heavy objects you had lying around. He believed it was a hole knocked in the wall during the last battle the city had seen, and had never been repaired. In practice, it was just a hole in the wall where commoners could pass through without having to convince any paranoid guards of your innocence.

            That is, most nights. Sometimes Aran really wished he knew some sorcery. He really could do with the little extra luck occasionally. For the umpteenth time he mentally went over the different magics. Wizardry was the one with all the fireballs and lightning bolts, and he was pretty bad at it. Sorcery dealt with Luck. Luck was fickle and could be persuaded by those who learned to talk to her, and Aran knew nothing more about it. Necromancy ranged from the temple healers to sociopaths with undead armies. Aran could heal himself of some wounds, so perhaps it was the most useful to him, and he got plenty of practice. But he was best at druidry, dealing with nature. He shook his head again and pulled himself back to the present.

Tonight, somebody had decided that the eastern not-gate needed some protection, and had stationed three guards there, two with swords, one with a bow and a horn. They looked rather bored. The swordsman who looked to be in charge stood up from the wooden crate he had dragged over, evidenced by the scrape marks on the ground leading to it. The guard called out,

            “What are doing leaving town this late? You do know there’s a curfew?”

            Miara stepped forward.

            “There has never been a curfew here in my memory.”

            Aran chimed in,

            “Neither have there ever been guards at this gate.”

            “True...”

            “Precisely.” interjected the guard, “It is new, though.” Aran saw the other guards smile. Perhaps this was a joke. A bad joke. The guard continued. “You haven’t answered my question.” And Aran didn’t really feel like it, either. On a whim, he tried to get past via wizardry, despite the fact that he wasn’t very good at it. He quietly started an incantation, hoping Miara would fill the silence, which she did.

            “We’re going out to see the sunset. We figured that it would be very beautiful with this mist.”

            This woman thinks like me thought Aran, and his concentration wavered, but he managed to save the spell.

            Sort of. Instead of becoming lax, the guard starting getting hostile.

            “You think that thin lie’s going to work on me? I'm not that stupid.” The other guards looked somewhat confused. The bowman started to stand, but the other shook his head slightly, and he sat down, though the other’s hand strayed to his sword.

            Miara glanced at Aran with a faint look of alarm, which was probably not going to help convince the guard of their verisimilitude. It didn’t. The guard pounced on it.

            “Oh, I saw that. You’re hiding something!” Aran tried to calm him, but it didn’t work. The bowman stood up again, and this time shook off the other’s restraining hand. The bowman was a clean shaven young boy who Aran doubted had grown a beard to shave off yet. His concentration wavered again. The bowman intervened,

            “George, let it go.” Aran held back a laugh. He’d never heard of a guard named George. It certainly didn’t fit the caricature. Another waver. The bowman turned to Aran. “The curfew’s a joke. I don’t what’s up with him.” Aran tried to end the spell, but he couldn’t. Damn, I suck at this. Miara looked up at him, and her eyes flashed blue. She was checking for magical activity.

            “Crap.” she muttered.

            The captain turned to her with flaming eyes. The bowman interceded,

            “What?”

            “He’s trying to end a botched charm spell.” The other guard stood now.

            This time the captain spoke first.

            “So you ARE hiding something!”

            “It’s clearly not working.” observed the bowman, ignoring his captain’s comment. The other guard tried a more direct approach, namely a slap to the face, and a

            “Snap out of it!” which was somewhat ineffective. Aran lost his train of thought again. The captain whirled on his subordinate and drew his sword.

            “Damn” muttered Aran and dropped his magic. His sword was out before anyone else knew he was back in the situation. The captain got his sword out and tried to swing at his comrade, but struck only a glowing blue blade. He stepped back, surprised, likely more so by the unsuccessful blow than fact that Aran’s sword was glowing. Miara wasn’t entirely surprised. Light was a fairly common enchantment. Miara was confident that Aran wanted to show her something more impressive. She wondered how she could think of that when there were two men trying to kill each other in front of her.

            The other guard had drawn his sword by now and was rushing his captain. Make that three men. All Aran could do now was keep the captain from hurting anyone until his spell ran out of fuel, which could take a while. He dashed forward into the mêlée.

            The bowman reached for his horn, but Miara shook her head. The bowman protested,

            “But George will slaughter him! Faelwyn’s a horrible swordsman.”

            “Aran isn’t.”

            She hoped.

            Aran proceeded to prove her correct. Hearing the bowman’s protest, he jumped between the dueling guards at the first opportunity. He didn’t expect the bowman to help. His weapon wasn’t suited to this. He fought to test the captain for skill. The guard was surprisingly good, but not good enough to fight him.

            Miara attacked Aran’s spell with all her skill. It was pretty solid. How did Aran manage to have so much talent, and be so bad at directing it? She set to work on it.

            Aran wished he had his shield. Then he could bash the guard and disable him. As it happened, it would turn into an endurance match. He felt Miara attacking his spell, and hoped she was as good at magic as she claimed to be.

            What followed then could almost have been called a dance, except that it was rather one-sided. It reminded Miara of a cat playing with a mouse, and was fascinating to watch. Aran started adding little flourishes between his strikes, like spinning and twirling his blade in his fingers, sometimes a backflip, once blocking the guard’s blow, grabbing his shoulder and vaulting over him. The guard captain was clearly no match for Aran.

            Miara finally found a fault in the spell and chiseled it until the spell collapsed.

            Aran felt his spell break, and disarmed the captain with deft flick of his blade, following it with a hefty kick to the chest, knocking the guard to the ground. The guard didn’t get up.

            “Better now?” asked Aran. “Sorry about that. I didn’t really feel like playing along with the joke. If you must know, I was going to show Miara my swordsmanship skill. I suppose I already have.....” Miara nodded, and added,

            “And the abilities of your new sword.”

            “Ah, yes. Well, we should be going. After you.” And with that, they stepped through.

            Miara pulled Aran to the side, out of sight of the guards, and whispered in his ear,

            “Next time you try to impress me, do it with something you’re good at.” She tried to sound serious, but she couldn’t keep a hint of mirth out of her voice. “Seriously, you’re terrible at magic.”

            He whispered back,

            “Not every woman can laugh after something like that.”

            Miara looked him in the eye with one eyebrow raised.

            “Well, I'm not every woman, am I?” She turned away. “Anyway, where exactly are we going?”

            “Not sure.” He waved an arm forward. “Out there somewhere. Not far.”

            “Sounds good to me.” They walked out side by side. Aran felt fingers intertwining with his own and glanced over at Miara. She looked down and smiled. A smile spread on his face too as he looked back ahead. They walked on.

           

            “I think we’re far enough now.” Aran stopped and turned. They weren’t that far from the walls, just at the edge of the woods that were gradually advancing on the town walls. Miara sat cross-legged in the grass and looked up at him expectantly.

            “I'm ready. Blow me away.” Aran nodded and drew his sword.

            “First off,” he twirled it in his fingers then thrust it into the dirt, halfway up the blade. “It’s razor sharp.” Miara’s eyebrows rose. “And it never dulls. I'm not even sure it’s steel.” He pulled it out of the ground and gave it a flick to shake the dirt out of the fuller. “Second.” He drew it across his palm. “It won’t cut anything you don’t want it to.” He showed her his unblemished palm. “Third.” He turned towards the trees. He drew his arm back and slowly swept forward with the sword. Miara heard a rustling of wind and saw the grass before him bend with the wind. The ripple moved to the edge of the trees then Aran raised his sword and it turned into a draft that lifted the autumn leaves off the branches and brought them above the trees in a red and orange cloud. Aran started twirling his sword backwards, and the cloud flowed towards them. As it passed over head, Aran twirled around and brought the cloud down to Miara and it started swirling around her in a little whirlwind. Miara giggled, picked up a stick and started swatting at the leaves.

            “Okay, that is cool. I want one.”

            “Just wait. Toss that stick up, hard as you can.” Miara grinned, rested her head on one hand and tossed the stick up with the other. When the stick was near its apex, Aran gave a casual flick of his sword, and a... shockwave raced out from the blade, tearing leaves into its wake, tousling her hair and snapping the stick in half when it connected. The halves fell on either side of her. She picked them up. It wasn’t like something had slammed into the stick and broken it, but rather it had been sliced in half by a very thin sword, leaving a clean cut on the ends.

            “Never seen that before. Never even heard of anything like that.”

            “It’s amazingly useful. I can deflect an arrow and cut down an archer with the same motion and without having to get close.”

            “Ooooo, look at the sunset.” Miara pointed behind him, and patted the ground beside her. He sheathed his sword and sat next to her gazing out to the horizon.

            The sunset was spectacular, as Aran had predicted. The cloud cover was just right, leaving the sun visible, but allowing the fading light to turn them pink and gold. The mist suffused the air with a golden tinge, reddening ever deeper until the suns rays no longer reached them, but shone into the heavens in a corona of softening amber. Aran had seen sunsets better than this, but all had, in some way or another, cheated. Besides, half of any event is the company. As the sun’s last rays waned on the horizon, Miara lean towards him and rested her head on his shoulder. They stayed that way for a moment, then Miara rose and left for home. Aran sat there a while longer, then he too rose and left.

Author's Note

Yes, this is a new version.

Reviews

[Mathias]

Man, I love this story, it's very intriguing. You have great descriptive talent, and the grammar to back it up. I can't wait to read the other chapters of this.

[Lindsey]

I remember this! It's a bit different but I still like it a ton! :)