1 Under the oak tree

Sitting on my bench in the corner of the room, I made a half-smiling, half-worried pout as I watched the alchemist. He was humming, shaking his flasks, making mixtures, and scribbling in his notebook.

It had been three weeks since I had been in the alchemist’s shelter, a house in Atuerzo, small but rather pretty, with a garden and all. I couldn’t complain: everything was fine. Aberyl was bringing us food, my broken leg was almost healed thanks to my mortic spells, and the alchemist wasn’t asking me any awkward questions about my necromantic skills, and on top of that, he was working on finding a cure for the sokwata. Or at least that’s what he said. When I heard him ask Aberyl to purchase certain items for his experiments, I always had my ear to the ground waiting for his new devilry. He never missed an opportunity. One day he would ask for a jug of radrasia, another for a large bunch of grapes, fresh eel fry, or a juice of some exotic berry. He would pay tribute to all these things by gobbling them up as soon as Aberyl left. Sometimes I had to remind him that I had two eyes, two ears, and a stomach to get him to think about sharing with me.

In short, we were both living like two princes for free under the benevolent eye of the Patron Saint. Korther had no idea of what kind of person he had helped escape from the mine. Seeing himself free of beatings, chains, and threats, the gnome did as he pleased. No doubt in order to feel less rushed in his work, he had tried to explain the effects of sokwata: it was, he had claimed, a mutation potion that made the body addicted to the product, but the lack of it only caused “severe pain”, which could be reduced, most likely, by a sedative. He had given a list of products, and all proved ineffective. However, after a few days, I learned from Aberyl that the Black Cat had already found a temporary remedy: karuja. It was a drug. Some people called it the drug of the nail-pinchers, as it was a very expensive drug. That’s why, for the moment, those who had the privilege of having the alchemist at hand, like me, had no interest in taking it. The strange thing was that karuja did not cause the usual euphoric and hallucinogenic effects in sokwatas. Yal, always cautious, said that it remained to be seen whether it did not cause a certain addiction. In any case, when Yerris came to visit me one night to tell me that the Priest was recovering like a champion, I asked him not to give my cronies any junk food, but tried and true sokwata. The Black Cat shrugged and replied, ‘As you wish, shyur.’

Now it turned out that Manras and Dil had joined Swift’s gang, seeing themselves abandoned on all sides. Sometimes it annoyed me a little to see how little Yerris cared for them. It was as if he’d taken a dislike to them, just because they’d been Ojisary cubs. As if he himself hadn’t been raised by them too! If I had been able to move, I would have gone to get them and brought them to the alchemist, defying Yal’s advice. Of all the gwaks, they were the most likely to be recognized by the Ojisaries who had survived the collapse of the mine. Since the Masked One, who knew us all, was dead, our other companions were relatively safe: the only signs that might have given them away were the scars on their hands and feet.

“Tralali, tralala,” the alchemist hummed. “Draen. Hand me that test tube from over there, will you?”

I stood up with my crutch and brought the glass tube which he was showing me to him. The alchemist was particularly active that day. I don’t know if he was really looking for the cure, but he sure wasn’t lazy.

I watched him as he poured a brown liquid into a new device given to him by Korther, an “essential” instrument, he said. The gnome cast a burning spell, took out the liquid, did some more mixing, and got a greenish solution, and I saw bubbles coming out of it. It smelled like a corpse. I wrinkled my nose.

“Mr. Wayam,” I said.

The alchemist was staring at his mixture.

“Mm?”

I hesitated, examining it too. Inwardly, I wondered if he had lost something essential that famous day of the explosion, and if he wasn’t faking it now, looking for a cure blindly. I didn’t know if it was the vials, the notebook, the brain, or what… but he really seemed to have lost something.

“How long do you think it will take you to find the cure?”

It had been perhaps three days since I had asked him. The alchemist gave me the same impatient look as last time.

“It’s not good to rush the professionals, boy. The more you rush, the less effective you become. You don’t want my potion to turn you into a hairy dragon cub, do you? All right, then: one thing at a time.”

I sighed.

“Okay. Dead round. Do you need me for anything?”

“Me? Not at all, kid. Go for a walk. Go outside and sing to the daisies.”

I rolled my eyes. Two weeks ago, he had caught me singing to the flowers in the garden, and since then, he liked to send me away with that phrase. I walked away with my stick, though I could hardly feel any pain in my leg anymore. I pushed open the door, went out into the hall, and from the hall into the garden. It was warm outside, though autumn had already begun. For days, the sky had been covered in ash, whether it was from a volcano in the Ash Mountains or from strong winds that had lifted the ash from the Manash Desert was unknown; in any case, according to Yal, the concerns and interpretations about this black cloud had made the front pages of all the major newspapers, and the news of the “rock collapse” in the Labyrinth had gone, as it were, unnoticed.

I wandered between the flower-covered shrubs. The afternoon sunlight illuminated the colorful petals and yellowing leaves of the oak tree in the corner of the garden. I sat down at the foot of the tree, took out my sharpened stone and some hazelnuts from my pocket, and began to break them and eat them with delight. And with no less pleasure, I listened to the peaceful buzzing of the insects and the soft whisper of the breeze. My smiling eyes wandered from flower to bee, from bee to fly and from fly to cloud. And to think that it was thanks to the Masked One that I could still contemplate all this!

I had just buried the shells when I saw a figure appear through the back gate of the house and I stretched my neck before smiling. It was Yal. I hadn’t seen him for four days. The young Black Dagger entered and, glancing around the garden, saw me greeting him with a raised hand and smiled as he approached.

“I don’t know why, I just remembered on the way here that on this very day, just a year ago, you came home completely drunk to the Den and sang: long live autumn!”

His smile widened, mocking, and I calculated. Gosh, it was true: it was the first Kindday of Joys. In a good mood, Yal sat down next to me under the tree and inquired:

“How’s your leg?”

“Perfectly. I could chase a hare, it’s healed,” I assured. “I know I’m keeping the Alchemist company and watching him and all that, but… I don’t know if it’s necessary, honestly. I’d like to go. I have my cronies, you know. They’re with my namesake, Swift, and—”

“Yeah,” Yalet interrupted, clearing his throat. “Look, nobody’s forcing you to stay. Anyway, Aberyl’s already coming to visit the alchemist. And, truth be told, I don’t think that gnome is going anywhere with all the comforts Korther is offering him.”

I huffed.

“Sure he’s not gonna leg it, he looks like he’s having the time of his life with his potions. Right away, he was with something green that smelled of corpses. I wouldn’t drink that stuff in a thousand years! Hmm. So… if I can leave, I might as well leave tonight.”

Yal nodded, his face slightly darkened.

“And where are you going to go? To Swift?”

“No way, not if Syrdio the Galloper is still hanging around him,” I said. “I’ll take my cronies and go to another spot. Outside the Labyrinth. That place is fine, but for now let’s just say I don’t feel like staying around there. Even with amulets, you can’t push luck,” I observed, tapping my silver pendant hidden under my shirt. Yal had given it back to me, and the truth is, I was glad he hadn’t lost it. It was, after all, the only thing I had left from a time I hardly remembered, and obviously it had enabled Yal to go to Kitra and back without much incident. On the other hand, as soon as I’d parted with it, all the devils had fallen on me: the Well, the sokwata, the explosions…

Yal shook his head.

“The Ojisaries are no longer a real danger, sari. Without the mine, the Black Hawk is left without a trade. Rumors say he’s gone far from Estergat with a fortune and left his henchmen to fend for themselves as they can. Give the devil your hand and he’ll stab it with a dagger, as they say.” He threw away a weed he had plucked and added serenely, “So you prefer the street to this house?”

“Ragingly,” I assured. “You don’t know how hard it is to sleep with that snoring gnome telling me about things that go boom, and things that make you bald, and drinks that get you four more eyes, yes, yes, I swear, he told me that,” I insisted as Yal laughed. “So, yeah, I’m literally always afraid his concoctions will explode and the house will blow up. I prefer the street; the street doesn’t blow up. Unless…” I hesitated, and Yal gave me a questioning look. I finished, “Unless Manras and Dil can come with me to the Den.”

Yal grimaced and looked up at the glowing evening sky, taking in a breath of air.

“Well… Listen, sari. First of all, the Den no longer exists. Rolg is still… er… on a trip, and Korther sold the house.”

This shocked me more than I could have imagined.

“He sold the house?” I repeated.

“That’s right. At Rolg’s request. I think… you already know a little about his problem.”

He stared at me intently, and I shrugged.

“Well, actually, no. I’ve seen it… and I know what it is. But it doesn’t seem so bad to me.”

Yal closed his eyes for a moment and laughed.

“Devils. Not so bad, you say… Tell me exactly what you saw. Red eyes? Black marks?”

“All of these,” I confirmed.

“And you say you know what he is?”

“A drasit,” I said. And as Yalet arched an eyebrow, wondering what that meant, I said, “A demon. My master told me that I had to be careful with these people because they hate the undead, and they say that they are the most alive beings, and the undead, on the other hand, draw life from the morjas, and the drasits don’t like that. But you know what? I think it depends a lot on the person. Maybe Rolg wouldn’t say anything if he saw… my hand. But I’d rather not try, huh? You never know. Ah, I don’t know what was going on with him when I caught him… transformed. He really seemed to have a problem. But I don’t know if it was because he was angry at seeing me or… I don’t know,” I concluded.

Yal looked at me with the same expression he’d had a year and a half before when he’d learned that I had a nakrus master and knew the forbidden signs of Caeldric, or Morelic as they called it. I returned a quizzical expression, and he cleared his throat.

“Well… I didn’t know about the undead stuff,” he admitted. “We learn something new every day, don’t we? Mmph. Anyway. I don’t know if I should tell you more about it; after all, it’s Rolg’s business, not mine, but…” He hesitated, “In any case, don’t tell anyone what you saw. If it got out, Rolg would be in the same trouble as you if—if the guards caught you with that hand, you understand?”

I rolled my eyes.

“Natural.”

Yal shook his head gently, looking relieved.

“Okay. Look, Rolg is having trouble with the energy that allows him to turn into… what you know. The same thing happened to him four years ago. He almost lost control and… he says it could be dangerous. Not for him, for us. That’s why he left.”

I nodded, confused.

“But… he’ll come back, won’t he?”

Yal smiled at me.

“Yes. When he regains control.”

I bit my lip and asked:

“Does Korther know?”

“Mmph. Naturally, he and Korther have known each other for a long time.”

I looked at him.

“Is he also…?”

“No idea,” Yal admitted, interrupting me. “I never asked him. It’s not the kind of thing you ask lightly. Korther hates personal questions. But you have to admit, he’s not in the habit of prying into the lives of his fellow coworkers either. Except…” He pouted and straightened, stepping away from the trunk. “Tell me, Mor-eldal. I guess you’re aware that Korther knows you speak… Morelic. It was not I who told him,” he assured. “He found out that night with the Wada, when you started humming that lullaby your master taught you. I only confirmed it and told him that you had known someone in the valley who had taught you the language but that I had not asked you about it. I didn’t tell him more. Well… it so happens that just today Korther wanted to know how well you knew how to speak Morelic. I told him I had no idea. So he asked that you go and see him as soon as you’re cured. He must have some work that has something to do with Morelic, perhaps an old scroll to translate, who knows. If that’s what it is, I wouldn’t charge him less than ten nails a line.”

The news aroused my curiosity, and I stood up.

“Is he at the Hostel?”

Yal frowned.

“Hold on a sec. He said, as soon as you’re cured.”

I made a brief gesture with my hand.

“Bah, bah. I’m cured. Can’t you see?”

“What about that crutch?” he scoffed.

I left it against the oak tree and said:

“Completely fine. Is he at the Hostel?” I repeated.

Yal rolled his eyes and smiled.

“I think so.” He stood up in turn, with an amused sigh. “You are incapable of sitting still for a few days, Mor-eldal. I’m going to go say hello to the alchemist. Aren’t you going to say goodbye to him?”

“Natural!” I affirmed.

I ran to the house almost without limping, opened the door, poked my head into the laboratory, and shouted:

“I’m going, sir, I’m cured! May the spirits watch over you, your utensils, and your potions!”

The alchemist did not look away from his instruments. As I walked away, I heard him say that I don’t forget to sing to the daisies or something, I laughed, and left the house.