The Cauldron- Part 1

The Sorcerer Leaf sighed and stepped away from the Portal. He turned to the multitude that stood before him, their faces bathed by ghostly silver ripples reflected from the mysterious doorway. Like an army of slack-jawed ghosts, they stood transfixed, awaiting an explanation, an order, anything to break the tension.

Finally, The Sorcerer of Axioms spoke:

“We need an alchemist.”

A short time later, the First Alchemist of the Elves knelt before him, though his knees seemed unused to that position. Leaf bade him to rise.

“First Alchemist Hedge, I appreciate your presence. As you may have gleaned, we have many mysteries to unravel. The methods by which we do so will be…somewhat unconventional. The tasks requiring an Alchemist will fall to someone beneath you. One of the members of your order, perhaps even one of the lowest ranks. I understand this seems strange.”

The First Alchemist did his best to appear that he understood and was unoffended and failed on both counts. “But…yes, of course. The Alchemists are fully at your disposal”.

Leaf nodded. “Tell me, do you have a member that has called his family to be with him in Ellendore?” “Yes, there is one…his name is Eligere. But how did…”

The Sorcerer cut him off. “I did not know, I suspected. Please bring him to me.” First Alchemist Hedge seemed to consider protesting, thought better of it, then bowed and left. Leaf turned to the remaining host, and instructed them to retire to their tents, for now. The Portal would remain, he assured them, and the choice to brave the mysteries within would as well. They left, more silently than a crowd that size could ever be expected to.

A short time later, Fourth Alchemist Eligere stood straight as a reed before the great Sorcerer, eyes wide as he took in the majesty of the vertical liquid sheet.

“Fourth Alchemist Eligere, you are tasked with studying the Portal before you, and making use of it for the good of the Realm, “the Sorcerer stated simply. The color left Eligere’s face, but he remained stiff as a board.

“Yes, my Lord. I will do my best, “he managed.

Leaf’s pale eyes softened. “I know this task seems impossible, that it is a mistake that an undertaking of such importance has fallen to you. It is not. I fear that you are the only one, in fact, who can complete this task. The answers lie in your innocence, Eligere. I trust you will make the right choices.”

With that, the Leaf turned back to the Portal. Eligere tried to muster the courage to ask for more information, but the Sorcerer turned his head a degree and dismissed him.

“That is all. Return to your family and begin your work.”

Eligere trudged back to camp, his heart quickening as the weight of his dictate settled from his brain to his bosom. Over and over again, his thoughts returned to the same questions….” Why me? What does the portal have to do with alchemy? How do I even start? When I fail, what will be the consequences for me and my family? ‘The answers lie in my innocence’…how much more cryptic could that be? Am I a pawn in some sort of game?”

He came to a bridge over the River Ellendore, beyond which the plains were dotted with the Elven tents. An Emerald Dragon was watering at the river’s edge and turned to regard him. The Elves and the Dragons had a long alliance, but Eligere was still somewhat intimidated by them. The Dragon’s eyes rested directly and intently on the alchemist. Eligere stopped in his tracks, caught in the unearthly depth of the Dragon’s stare. He felt as though his soul was being weighed, that his life could end with a quick snap of the jaws if it were found wanting. But after a few long seconds, the Dragon blinked slowly, and turned back to sate its thirst.

Eligere exhaled for the first time in what seemed like forever. His heart felt lighter, and a feeling bordering on confidence was now propelling his steps. He found himself in front of his tent, not even realizing that he had crossed the bridge and navigated through the grid of elven shelters. He heard his children laughing within, and his thoughts slipped back into the risk that failure of his task could pose.

His wife Eila was waiting within, consternation clouding her features. As his son Thielen and daughter Deliana each ran to him and hugged a leg, she stood with arms crossed, awaiting Eligere’s report.

He recounted the conversation with Leaf to the letter, since he had replayed it in his head a hundred times between here and there. Listening also were his children, unaware of the pressure under which their father now lay.

“What’s an innocent?” said his son.

Eligere managed a thin smile. “No, the word is ‘innocence’. It means “free from guilt”. If you have not done anything wrong, it means you still have your innocence.”

Deliana had a suggestion. “You need a big cup, then you can scoop up the liquid!” Eligiere responded by tickling her, and she giggled and hid behind his chair. He wiggled his fingers through the caning until she squealed and ran to the safety of his wife’s skirts.

“I think you need to find someone to help you,” Eila said. “If you really do not know where to start, you need someone to establish that first step. Perhaps the Hodlings can help? There is a village not too far from here, and their culture goes back farther than any can count. Their livelihood is based on the ebb and flow of the river. Perhaps they have knowledge of this strange liquid.”

Eligere settled back into his chair. His mind was blank, he had no other ideas. At this point, listening to his wife was the one task he could complete. It was mid-afternoon, and rather than give his mind more time to wander in hopelessness, he decided to take the hour’s journey to visit the Hodlings.

The Hodling village was situated upriver, at the junction of many smaller tributaries that joined the Ellendore. Centuries ago, they had built their domiciles with irontree trunks embedded deep into the banks and the riverbed. The Ellendore was known for flooding, but the Hodling’s village floated safely above the river even when it was the most swollen. Their milling wheels were built using a clever system that rose and fell with the river, allowing them to reap the benefits of the pace of a flooded river which would tide them over in years of drought.

As Eligere approached the village, he noticed the Hodlings had scratched symbols on the pillars, probably to record the dates of various high-water marks. The Elf smiled at their diligence in record keeping. They were probably looking at long term trends to better understand the forces of Nature on which their prosperity depended.

Eligere had some difficulty finding the chief of the Hodlings, since the villagers were somewhat distrustful of strangers. The value of ironwood trunks made such villages a target for offers to sell their houses, and the stalwart residents assumed that Eligere was just another emissary from some wealthy buyer. He finally gained an audience with the head Hodling, whose name was Mekyuub. Eligere’s heart sank as it soon became clear that Mekyuub had no knowledge of the Portal or the liquid of which it was made.

Mekyuub’s only suggestion was for the Elf to consult a local witch who had knowledge of ancient magics, but only if he was truly desperate for answers. This witch was rumored to be a shapeshifting demon in human form. Eligere was skeptical of this claim, but again, felt he had no other choice but to follow up on this latest lead. He thanked the Hodling for his advice and asked if he could hire a guide to help locate this witch.

The sun was setting as the weary and harried Elf rounded the last bend in the nearby hills in which the witch’s hut was nestled. His guide had brought him here, pointed with a grunt, and left. Eligere would have to find his own way home.

He felt the hair on the back of his neck prick up as he came close enough to read the sign outside the door. The runes were carved in his native tongue, but also painted with the colors of his family’s Coat of Arms. It read “Cups, Chalices, and Cauldrons”. His daughter’s face flashed through his memory, and he reminded himself of who he was doing this all for. Whether or not he was a piece on a chessboard, his next move had to be taken.

“Enter.” It was a female voice from within, soft and inviting. He pushed aside the owlbearskin that covered the doorframe and stepped inside.

His nostrils were hit first by a strong smell of incense, not at all unpleasant, though he could not begin to guess what scent it was. The room was lit by braziers at the four corners, which was strange because the windows of the hut had seemed darkened from without. On shelves and racks throughout the single room were vessels of all shapes, sizes, and materials. The smoke made it difficult to focus on them, and it was almost like they were constantly settling into a form rather than actually having one. Reclining on a padded chair against the far wall was a cloaked and hooded figure. The alchemist approached and began to explain his business.

“I am sorry for the intrusion, but I am hoping you can help me,“ he said. “I have an unusual problem and I have nowhere else to turn.”

The figure stayed silent for a moment, then pulled back the hood of its cloak. Eligere was taken aback.

He had expected the witch to be elderly, but this woman was quite young, and quite beautiful. Her green eyes were her most striking feature, but it struck the Elf that they were two different shades, one bright and one deep. Eligere tried not to stare, but the witch did not seem to mind.

“Welcome. You are here for Magic? Or Dark Magic?” Her voice seemed to float on the air. It was like there was some strange disconnect between the words he was hearing and the motions of her reddened lips. He felt a little dizzy. The incense was quite strong, and in an effort to get fresh air he took in a full lungful of the smoke.

Suddenly he felt the entire tale of his task falling from his own lips, without his control. While the story hurried its way from his mouth, a second narrative was frantically generated in his head. ”What are you doing you don’t know this woman she could be an enemy you are telling her everything when you should be telling her as little as possible!”

“…and then I arrived here,” his mouth finished saying. He gasped for air. The entire explanation had been one long sentence that he had just enough air to finish. His eyes were watering. The witch was smiling patiently. Had her left eye become the darker one, and the right the lighter?

She stood, and her cloak dropped to the floor. Beneath she was wearing a ruby red robe. The crimson contrast with her eyes was staggering. The witch sidled up to him with a pitcher and a glass of water. He drank it quickly, and his head cleared a little.

“You said there was a Cube. Was this Cube whole, or did it have pieces missing?” she said as she settled back into her chair. She beckoned Eligere to sit also. He had not noticed a second chair, but there it was, right behind him.

“It was whole,” Eligere responded as he sat.

“Thank you. That explains when we are. Another of my Instances led some adventurers to a set of shards, and sometimes I have a hard time remembering which one I am.”

“When we are? Instances? I’m sorry, I’m confused.”

A bemused smile flashed across her face. “My apologies. My native language does not always translate well. An Instance is like a relative, in a sense.”

The witch stood and walked to a nearby rack of shimmering wares. “This Object will accomplish what you need.” She drew a still-shifting blob from the shelf, and as the Elf watched, it seemed to coalesce into a cauldron, sharpening as she drew it out of the smoke and towards him. As it grew closer, runes inlaid with green stones came into focus around its rim. The alchemist was transfixed.

“If you want it, it is yours. Do you want it?” The witch clutched the cauldron to her breasts, staring into his eyes intently.

“Yes. I want it,” Eligere breathed.

“Then the Object is yours,” she said, with the trace of a small sad smile.

“What is the cost?” he asked.

“Of this Instance, the cost is the lives of your children,” she said, her eyes wide, her mouth expressionless.

Eligere felt his heart stop. His vision began to swim. The witch was turning the mouth of the Cauldron towards him, and as she did so he felt his axis of orientation in space shifting towards the circular opening, and the infinite blackness within. The void widened before him, while the witch seemed to recede…he could see the witch’s green eyes seemingly miles behind the cauldron. They were pulsing in time with the circle of green runes of the cauldron, light then dark then back again, in some strange pattern. He could hear the brightness of the runes, each one was both a symbol and a voice, and there were so many voices, all speaking different languages that were alien to him but that he knew were saying the same thing.

“…your children…your children…your children…”

Time had slowed as his panic rose, his breathing had been replaced by the voices. He pushed back in his chair away from the beckoning maw and found himself tipping backwards in space. Air rushed by him, wisps of incense rushing in to fill the void as he fell. His back hit the floor, hard, and knocked what little wind was left in his lungs out of him.

The shock of the impact left him paralyzed and staring blankly up into the half-light. The voices were now fading in his ears, and the floor he had slammed onto suddenly felt strangely soft. As the smoke cleared, he made out the details of his surroundings…he was staring at the roof of his own tent. His lungs were on fire, and he gasped for breath so loudly that his wife woke beside him. She lit the bedside lantern.

“What’s the matter, love? Did you have a bad dream?” Eila sniffed the air. “Do you smell something burning? What an odd smell.”

He did not answer, he still could only just barely breathe. But then, he noticed a slight greenish hue in the very edge of his vision. He turned slowly, already knowing in the knot of his stomach what the source was. On the table in the center of the room was the cauldron, its faceted runes flickering in the lamplight.

And past the horizon of the cauldron’s lip, his children blinked sleepily, their innocent eyes searching for answers in their father’s.

To be continued……..

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