The Alchemist's Practice Chapter 13

Another two weeks passed in Mayel, much like they had before, save for a few minor changes.

The first change was that Edric would wake every morning and head to the House of Yynndal to tend to his parent's roses. Edric apologized to Wynn and let her know that he would follow her advice and tend to the roses for as long as he was in Mayel, which she seemed to appreciate.

Together with Rorick, each morning, they would go out to the graveyard. Edric ended up caring for his own parent's roses and others that were already grown to learn from them as well.

During their outings, Rorick didn't wear his priestly garb, which was only natural. Instead, he wore a straw hat, a faded green tunic with an undyed homespun smock over the top, brown breeches, high stockings, and buckled black shoes. He wouldn't have looked out of place working any of Mayel's fields in that outfit.

Conversely, Edric didn't have proper attire, and on their second day, Rorick lent him a set. Edric made sure to care for the clothes as well as he cared for his own.

Rorick showed Edric how much water was enough for the seedlings and how that differed from the fully grown bushes that came a few years later. He also showed him how to identify, through sight, touch, and smell, proper soil that worked best for roses. And, using special shears, he showed Edric how to trim away damaged or dead wood and weeds to keep the roses in prime condition.

The other change to Edric's routine was that no one else seemed to seek him out for any remedies. After the two villagers, aside from Garrick, who had come to him looking for simple salves or syrup for a sore throat, no one else came to him. He couldn't tell if it was just the boldness of the villagers who had asked him or the fact that Edric wouldn't be here long enough for them to overcome their hesitancy.

In his apprenticeship in Sybold, he had seen similar hesitancy. Even will all their advancements, licensing, and education, people still feared healers and alchemists as nothing more than snake oil salesman. Stigmatism over magic was also rooted deep, especially in villages and small towns that knew little of what one had to go through to become a certified alchemist or wizard.

That and stubbornness played a factor as well. Too many times had he seen those who didn't seem to have an aversion to magic or alchemy simply leave an ailment unattended. They would let it fester until it became so troublesome it put their life in jeopardy when, months ago, it could have been dealt with by a simple potion.

If I were to open an Alchemist shop here, Edric thought, I would do well to try and overcome those fears and educate the villagers on what signs to look for when an ailment is serious.

The third change was that preparing for Kokkini's Festival had begun at Nuumad's Blessing, and Wynn was busy almost all hours of the day. She changed out all the flowerpots to roses donated by the church to each of Mayel's businesses. Yellows and some greens, as Kokkini and Nuumad were brothers, after all, brought vibrancy to the inn. At least when there were no smelly farmers, they also let out a subtle fragrance which Edric appreciated.

Wynn was also taking in any spring vegetables from her small garden, along with those she accepted as payment from villagers. She made large batches of preserves of beets, radishes, and other seasonal vegetables that would go bad if left in the warmer weather. She also made jams and jellies of spring fruits: the early cherries that she made into a pie before, fresh apricots, and even some strawberries from a Tishani merchant passing through.

Edric tried to help where he could, but he wasn't much of a cook. So the best he could do was help with picking the vegetables and cleaning them along with the other girls working with Wynn.

And the last change was that alongside Wynn's bustling to prepare for the festival, more and more patrons found their way to the inn. So, not only were the rooms all full, but each night it was packed with farmers and merchants to the point that one couldn't move without bumping elbows with another, and the air was suffocating.

It was on one such packed evening that Edric found himself imbibing a bit too much. And not just him, but Kennard as well. Garrick, being larger, was able to keep himself above ground.

The smell of ale and sweat and muck was oppressive and only offset by laughter and singing from villagers and travellers alike.

"Smells like Sybold in here," Edric said. His face felt hot, and his eyes a little listless as he glanced around at the other patrons. He kept one hand on his mug of stout, and the other gripped firmly on the table.

Kennard, a reddish hue on his face, leaned in a little too far forward. "It smells in Sybold?" he asked, Edric replied affirmatively, and Kennard continued, "like ale? Does everyone drink there?"

Edric nodded, "All the time." A man bumped his shoulder, and Edric turned to look at who hit him before continuing his story. "There's a reward for the first alchemist to make a foolproof cure for ale-induced nausea. Only in Sybold, though," Edric amended as he leaned into his mug of stout.

"Magic no good?" Kennard said, his usual etiquette of speech gone with his eighth glass of wine.

Garrick chuckled to himself as he sipped on his ale. He looked as fresh as a spring rose compared to his friends.

Edric shook his head but stopped abruptly when the room began to spin. Then, after it righted itself, he answered Kennard's question. "Too compl… complic… too hard," he finally spit out. "Too many issues, too much power needed. A Sybold wizard'd be spent to cure it all."

Wynn came over after serving some of the other patrons and placed a hand on Garrick's shoulder. "Are they well?" she asked.

Garrick nodded. "Time for some water, I think," he replied.

Wynn nodded and left to fetch some water for the three of them. Edric's eyes wandered from his stout over to her as she walked away.

"I'd've stayed for her," he muttered.

Garrick leaned in. "Why don't you, Edric?" he said. "You know she fancies you too. She always has."

Kennard grunted. "As sure as she shines, she's loved thee," he said, reciting a poem. His words seemed to have a bitter edge to them before he took a last long drink of his wine.

Edric missed Kennard's comment and waved away Garrick's. "No, she doesn't. 'Sides, I need to… I need… certification," he exclaimed each syllable with his eyes closed and said no more as though that were an explanation.

"Who cares about all that? You've got the education; you nearly finished your apprenticeship. Just open a shop here. Get married, have some kids."

"Who wants kids? Bloody mistakes, that's what those are," Edric said as he leaned back and pulled his mug up to his lips. Some of the other patrons who overheard Edric's shift from whispering to shouting hooted in agreement and raised their glasses to him for his comment.

Wynn returned with three glasses filled with water and barely shoved them onto the table before she was off again to service the other patrons.

Edric pouted at the water, but after some coaxing from Garrick, he began drinking it. After he finished all his stout, of course.

"Water?! At this hour," a shout came from behind Edric. When Edric turned around, he saw the face of his old bully, Maxwell Hensch. "Ah, I should have known," he said, "Foster roots never were very deep."

"Any man, woman, or child in Sybold could outdrink you, Hensch," Edric said without thinking, as one who's had too much to drink already is wont to do.

The crowd of the inn joined in with the argument, shouting for Maxwell to take Edric on. After a moment, Maxwell raised his hand, and the crowd hushed. "You're on Foster," he said, and the crowd erupted into cheers.

In a rush of chaotic coordination that seemed rehearsed, a waist-high table was brought nearby, and the crowd parted just enough so that the two could take standing positions on either side.

"Edric, no," Garrick said. "You've had too much already."

Edric didn't listen to his friend and rose to shaking legs. Maxwell made a comment that Edric didn't hear, which made many laugh and point. Garrick was right that Edric shouldn't participate in the contest. He had already had five pints, and he probably could only have a few more, if that, before he would fall dead asleep. Whereas Hensch looked like he had only just started his first not long ago. But, Edric had a plan. It was a reckless, stupid, dangerous plan brought on by the foggy mind of a drunk, but it was a plan.

Wynn pushed through the crowd yelling for them to stop. She was red in the face as well, though from working hard and not from alcohol. "I'll not have this in my house. I don't want to have to carry either of you off my property or clean up any messes you make along the way," she said in a tone that many knew meant she was not to be argued with.

"Come now, Wynnie," Maxwell said, "we're just having a gentlemen's game."

"It's alright, Wynn, I can take him," Edric said. He took a few uneasy steps over to Wynn and grabbed her shoulders as though he was about to fall. He leaned in and whispered, "I'm going to use magic, watch," he stood up straight and winked at her. "First," he said to the crowd, "I have to water the flowers."

The crowd erupted into new laughter as they helped him along to the back door of the inn. Wynn stood there with an intrigued expression on her face. Edric sauntered on uneasy feet to the village outhouse and entered it. Inside the small box, Edric steadied himself and closed his eyes.

The smell in the outhouse was far fouler than the packed inn, and it made it that much more difficult for him to concentrate. He thought on his earlier conversation with Kennard about how difficult it is to fix the after-effects of alcohol with magic, but right now, it wasn't the aftereffects. Instead, it was the effects themselves.

He knew through his education how the body processes food and drink and that if one drank more slowly, it didn't affect them so much. So, it stood to reason that if he sped up that process just enough, he could return himself to his state before he had drunk anything. And, because he had just eaten, it may not cause him as much fatigue if he targeted his magery with precision.

Edric took a deep breath, which nearly made him vomit, and focused on his inner self. He pulled power from the earth around him and from inside him and willed his body to work faster, and faster, and faster still.

He felt the surge of nature's power around him, and he could tell his magic was working. He had never felt so much power in him in all his time in Sybold. However, he couldn't tell if this was because he hadn't focused much on magic in his days in Sybold or if he was just overconfident from the stout.

After a minute, Edric's nether regions alerted him to an impending tide. He unbuttoned his trousers and let loose the floodgates. As the reservoir was emptied from him, he could feel the fog in his mind lift, and his full stomach recede. He felt as though he had been in the outhouse for almost ten minutes before he was finished.

He stopped the magic at work on his body, and at least for the moment, he felt fine. But, on the edges of his periphery, he could tell significant fatigue would wash over him. Still, it wouldn't settle on him for another hour or two by his estimation, plenty of time for what he needed to do.

Edric re-entered the inn, and the room went quiet. Edric sauntered over to the table set up for the competition, and the crowd parted for him. When Maxwell watched him walking without tripping over himself or any sign of having drunk anything, he was understandably confused. This delighted Edric beyond words.

Once Edric came up to the table, where two pint glasses were there and waiting for them both, Maxwell smirked. "Thought you'd turned tail and run," he said.

"I wouldn't dare pass up an opportunity to drink the best stout in all of the Julaein," Edric said as he raised his glass to rally the crowd on his side.

The villagers and the merchants both cheered and took drinks of their own ale. Maxwell, however, looked angered by this. He glowered at his mates beside him, who had joined in the cheer, and they shrugged their shoulders back at him.

Wynn was nearby, but she had her arms folded and also didn't look pleased by what was happening. Garrick looked horrified and concerned, moreso by Edric's transformation, no doubt. Kennard was cheering with the rest of them and somehow got another glass of wine in his hands.

"Do you know the rules, o Sybold's finest?"

Edric had never been in a drinking competition, but he needed to show strength. "Perhaps the rules are different here than in Sybold," he said, "why don't you refresh me?"

"One hand behind your back. No spills. Finish the pint before you put the glass down. When you can't drink anymore, you lose."

Edric nodded and lifted his glass in one hand, then placed his other behind his back. "Are you ready?"

Maxwell scowled as he put his hand behind his back and grabbed his glass by the body. "Shut it and drink," he snarled.

Edric and Maxwell both downed their drinks in great gulps. The villagers and merchants were both cheering them on, more favouring Maxwell, but most just cheering for the sport of it. Maxwell was far faster than Edric, no doubt having more experience, while Edric simply wanted to ensure he didn't spill any of his drink down his chin. Maxwell slammed his first pint down on the table a full three seconds before Edric.

The serving girls handed each of them another pint. Then, after a glance, the two went for another round, and another, and another. Maxwell's movements began to look a bit sluggish, and his fourth pint glass slid a bit on the table as he slammed it down. On the other hand, Edric was as fresh as he had been since the first (sixth) pint. The only issue he contended with now was a voracious appetite, stalled by the stout, and a need to head to the outhouse again.

When they were handed the fifth pint, Maxwell took a moment to eye Edric up and down. His scowl turned angry, and he slammed the pint down on the table. The ale sloshed back and forth with some spilling out of the glass.

Edric set his glass down as he eyed the spill. "I'm afraid that's your loss, Maxwell," he said, pointing to the spilled ale. "Too bad," Edric added with not a small amount of smugness.

Maxwell pointed a large finger at Edric. "You cheated, you damned witch," he shouted. The crowd had been raucous up to that point, and his words caused a stir of whispers. "There ain't no way a lightweight like you downed ten pints without so much as a sway in your step." Maxwell's breath was as hot as his temper, and he looked like a coiled snake ready to pounce. The patrons seemed to notice, and many backed away as much as they could from the two.

The problem was, Maxwell was right in his assumptions. Edric didn't know how to respond other than with a shrug and a sheepish grin.

The grin set Maxwell off, and he lunged at Edric. Edric moved deftly out of the way, avoiding Maxwell's outstretched arms by a wide margin. Maxwell turned around with an astonished look on his face. He spun around and tried to strike Edric with the back of his hand, and Edric ducked underneath with ease.

Maxwell tried again and again to hit Edric, but he was far too slow. Or, Edric realized, he was simply moving and reacting too fast. Whatever magic he had used to speed up his body's internal mechanisms was overly powerful and seemed to speed up his whole self. He thought he had ended the spell, but the effect of it seemed to linger with him.

It was nothing for him to dodge out of the way of each of Maxwell's blows, and he felt he could keep at it until the brute tired himself out. Edric couldn't help but wonder what would happen if he struck Maxwell with his enhanced spee―

A thunderous punch cut through the two of them and hit Maxwell clean in the jaw. He stumbled back, hitting one of Wynn's rose pitchers and fell to the floor, gripping his jaw. The pitcher fell over and crashed on top of Maxwell's face, shattering and sending roses and rosewater everywhere. Edric looked over, expecting another patron, or Garrick, but saw Wynn there with her fist in a ball.

"What have I told you about fighting in my house, Hensch?" she roared. "Everyone's cut off for the night," she said as she turned to the other patrons. "If you don't have a room here, go home."

With a collective groan and sigh, the villagers all left the inn. Maxwell's friends picked him up off the floor as he rubbed his chin, which Edric thought to be dislocated. Garrick said goodnight to Wynn and waved to Edric as he carried Kennard home.

After all the patrons were gone, only the merchants remained, and they took seats at a now emptied table to finish their drinks and food. Wynn began cleaning up the shards of the flower pitcher, and her servers cleaned the myriad of empty and half-empty glasses and mugs.

Edric had been standing there rather dumbly as he caught his breath from the liveliness that had just happened, as well as the strange effect the magic had on him. When he saw Wynn and the others starting to clean up, he began to help them.

"Don't," Wynn said. She held her hand up but didn't look at him. "Just go to bed, Ed."

That plain shortening of his name told him that she was furious with him at that moment. If he had been ten pints under, he would not have caught that. But he wasn't, and he did, and it was then that he truly realized how much of a fool he had made of himself. After another necessary trip outside, Edric went up to his room and went to sleep.

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I hope you enjoyed this chapter of The Alchemist's Practice. Please be sure to heart it at the bottom and share it with friends and family. If you enjoy my writing, check out my other work, including full length novels, at www.mcleansnovels.com

I really plowed through and finished this chapter quickly after the last one. I think it was because I didn't know exactly what I wanted to do when I started the last one, but in this it just wrote itself once I had the basic concept down. If it sounds like I don't have plans for this story, don't worry. I have some plans. Just not all the plans. :P

I also thought, conceptually, that the first use of magic in this story was rather funny. The main character using magic to raise his metabolism so he can outdrink his childhood bully in a competition is, in my opinion, the perfect use case for magic.