Potent: Book 1

Chapter 5: First Fear

Orwa, Day 21 of Rhexia, Blinking Moons, Shooting Star, Year 602

"Bloodbloom: see figure. Attractive and fragrant flowering bush whose blooms may be used in cooking, crafting, and brewing potions. Petals make a delicious and distinctive jam., but beware of the stems, as they are coated in a viscous, poisonous sap. Harvest with sturdy gloves only!" —Arcane Herbs and Their Uses, Vol. 1

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Craix's stomach protested its perpetual emptiness, and she fought the impulse to place her hand on her belly and shush it.

The wildlands of Tief were becoming monotonous after five days, and she longed for the busyness of Gradl—not for the company, no. For the food!

The ease with which she could simply buy provisions was heady, and Gradl was famous for its local cuisine and strong, flavorful spices. But the longer she had stayed there, the more she had risked being found or recognized. It was better, perhaps, that she'd taken herself off and away from any established settlements. That, and it was much easier to breathe in the wild.

She remembered as a young thing ascribing to the beauty of the forests outside her village, only to be warned by her father that this idyllic pulchritude often hid very serious dangers. True, she thought grimly. Danger. All is danger, every place holds danger.

She stopped for a moment to check the position of the sun. She wouldn't reach any settled areas before dark, so she decided she might as well make camp. Still moving, Craix started to search for likely areas. There, she thought. That clearing seems adequate.

The ground was packed tightly, as though someone had camped here before. The clearing was perhaps six gerds all around, big enough to sleep her comfortably for a night but not so wide as to draw unwanted attention.

Now. Time to find some dinner.

Craix left the clearing, stepping gingerly on the layers of dead leaves and moss. She didn't expect to encounter any other travellers this night, but one could never tell, so she went quietly, eyes keenly scanning for repast.

She didn't have to look for long. A trove of wax-cap sprouted plentifully from the side of a damp, rotted log, and she took most of them. She liked mushrooms.

Only a furlong away or so, she stumbled on a pair of currant bushes, and settled in for a good picking. Craix used part of her tunic to hold the shock-red, slightly transparent berries, not caring when some of them were inadvertently crushed and stained the eborel.

Unable to resist, she popped a few of the sweet berries into her mouth—where they burst, perfectly tart and holding remains of chewy seeds left in their centers for her to suck on.

On her way back to the clearing, Craix happened to spy a bird's nest in one of the pines nearby. She dumped her findings out onto a warm, flat rock, then took herself swiftly back to the inhabited fir tree, clambering up to see if she could pinch some eggs. There were two—little brownish speckled things. Careful not to break the shells, she climbed down a few gerds and jumped the rest of the way, landing with a soft exhalation of breath.

Back at her makeshift camp, Craix laid the eggs down near her other spoils and set out to gather some firewood. She chose a melange; twigs, leaves, green branches, hollow chunks, thick sticks, and eventually the meaty logs that would keep her warm throughout the night. All the parts, she told herself, recalling her father's words. Just like the types of people in the world, or different parts of an apparatus. A thing needed all parts to work. That's what makes Craix so special, he would say. There is more to her than meets the eye.

Pleasantly sticky with sap, Craix took her time building the fire, finally lighting it using her flint. By this time, the shadows had lengthened and that first chilly harbinger of nightfall was creeping in around her ears and collarbone in the form of a light breeze. The spark caught flame immediately, and she sighed.