Page 1 of Quest

CHAPTER 1

Mei

Istood amongst shelves laden with jars of dried herbs and bundles of fragrant roots, the air thick with the scent of earth and the subtle tang of magic. Gracefully I moved beneath the watchful gaze of the hanging plants shimmering with a faint luminescence, my hands deft in their purpose.

With meticulous care, I selected a handful of petals from a Moonbloom, a rare flower that glowed beneath the moonlight and was known for its potent healing properties. The room filled with its sweet, calming fragrance as I painstakingly crushed it into a pasty substance. Beside me a small cauldron simmered over a low flame, its contents a vibrant, swirling azure—a mixture of rainwater collected during a lightning storm and the essence of Starleaf, a plant harvested at midnight when its magic was strongest.

A sudden stir in the air made me pause as the apothecary’s usual quiet hum shifted, vibrating with a new, unfamiliar energy, like the change in the wind when a storm was about to break. Recognizing the magical pulse beckoning my attention, I rested the pestle against the side of the mortar as I tuned my senses to the change.

Our enchanted apothecary with its abundance of charms and magical herbs possessed an array of power—most familiar, but there were also several hidden pockets that even after a lifetime of study I still didn’t understand, evidence that the apothecary that had been entrusted to my family’s guardianship for generations still had secrets it wanted to protect. I studied this new invisible sensation rippling against the air; though I had spent countless hours amongst these shelves and knew each magical resonance by ear, this one was something entirely new.

I slowly scanned the apothecary’s dimly lit interior, my gaze slipping over the familiar rows of jars and bundles of herbs, each tied with strings of various colors denoting their properties and potencies. My father had taught me the language of each tie, a visual chant that spoke of healing, warding, and enchanting. As a child, I would run my fingers over each one, feeling the magic pulse like a heartbeat beneath my touch.

A faint glow cast from some unknown source suddenly shimmered across the neatly organized plants. With cautious steps I ventured deeper into the apothecary, past the counter containing vials of extract arranged in neat rows, their contents glistening faintly. The air grew denser, the magical current stronger as I approached the back of the apothecary; I felt a tingling sensation as I realized where the glow was leading me. There—forgotten amongst old scrolls and dusty bottles—was the scry pool, unused since Mother’s death.

Carefully I pulled back the cloth covering it and unveiled the pool, leaning over to stare into its inky depths. Its surface was still and opaque, reflecting no light. Yet as I watched, a mist began to form above the water, swirling slowly as if waking from a long slumber. Nearly faded memories of Mother bending over this very pool—her face alight with visions—flooded over me, causing me to hesitate. She had been a master scryer, her powers reputed to reach into the very fabric of the future. After her death several years ago, the magic here had lain dormant, as if grieving alongside the family she had left behind.

Though I’d spent my entire apprenticeship failing to manifest that same power in a desperate effort to forge some connection to the mother I fiercely missed, I couldn’t help but lean forward to peer into the pool. At first the water remained dark, but my breath caught as it began to shimmer, as if responding to my presence.

Whispers filled the room, voices so faint that at first I wondered if I’d imagined them. But then a clear yet chilling vision coalesced on the surface: I recognized our picturesque village, but a dark cloud loomed over it, tendrils of shadow stretching towards our apothecary, threatening to consume it and all the precious charms it contained.

A deep and resonant voice accompanied the vision, a foreboding echo throughout the cramped room that seemed to resonate through my body. “Beware, guardian of the grove, for shadows seek the heart once more.” Its message imparted, the words faded and the pool stilled.

A chill crept down my spine as I drew back, mind spinning. The scry pool’s cryptic warning seemed to speak of danger, not just to myself but to the legacy my family had protected for generations. My mind raced with a confusing swirl of color and indiscernible images, possibilities about what the warning could mean and how I might safeguard the balance my family had always preserved. Whatever this new threat, the scry’s magic had awoken for a reason.

Father’s approaching limping footsteps tore my thoughts away from the puzzle. I turned just as he entered the room, greeting me with his usual kind smile. His brow furrowed upon noticing the uncovered scry pool I stood in front of. He stared a long moment before lifting his eyes in silent question.

I deliberated—wondering if I should confess the strange occurrence that would only worry him—but deceit was not a habit I practiced, especially with my beloved father. “The scry pool awoke.”

His dark eyes widened in astonishment. His gaze darted back towards where the pool lay dormant once more, as still and silent as it’d been for years, without any sign of the strange message it had just imparted. “What did it reveal?”

I had mulled over the words so many times already they were ready on my lips. “Beware, guardian of the grove, for shadows seek the heart once more.”

As I feared, worry lined his wrinkled skin. “A warning, making me fear that the magic we protect is in danger.”

I remembered the vision that had accompanied the foreboding words of infringing shadows stretching their inky reach towards the apothecary. Constant darkness had encroached upon our kingdom of Lumeria for years; only recently had it been dispelled through the marriage of the king to his new queen, whose affinity for light magic had restored the sun to the land for the first time in two decades.

Though the constant darkness that had once roamed the kingdom was now only a memory, every shadow still haunted me; I struggled to endure each night, even with the soothing charms I concocted out of lavender and a dash of magic.

If the cursed shadows had returned…fear seized my chest and I shuddered. “Are the scry pool’s revelations literal or symbolic in nature?”

Father heaved a weary sigh. “I’m afraid I’m unfamiliar with this type of magic; the training passed down through our family specializes in the enchanted herbs we grow and the potions we concoct, as well as the guardianship of our legacy.”

If only Mother were here. I always felt her absence keenly, unable to grow accustomed to the void left behind upon her death, even after all of these years…but the uncertainty within the area she had specialized made her absence all the more unbearable.

Bitterness tightened my throat and stung my eyes, the sharp edge of regret refusing to dull no matter how much time had passed. I couldn’t escape the haunting thought that Mother’s death might have been avoided if only we’d been able to cultivate the healing herbs that could have saved her—herbs the cursed darkness had made impossible to grow as it smothered the land and robbed it of life.

If only she’d been able to hold on just a little longer until the light returned…but unfortunately no amount of magic or wishful thinking could change the past. The only thing I could rely upon was my own magical knowledge instilled in me through years of dedicated training. Though the cryptic warning weighed upon my heart, the answers remained elusive; all I could cling to was the situation at hand.

Father’s raspy breath diverted my worry to his condition, one of the subtle signs he gave when he thought I wasn’t looking, indicating that he was in pain. My heart cinched in the familiar, constant worry that he was in danger of dying and leaving me alone. His poor health was far more pressing than whatever ominous warning we’d just received.

I motioned to the nearby empty chair. “Take a seat and rest. I’m almost finished with your medicine.”

Father groaned. “You have more important matters to concern yourself with than me.” For all of his usual complaints he obediently sat in the rickety seat near the hearth, beads of sweat on his sallow skin.

I made sure he was comfortably settled before returning to the herbs I’d been working with before the apothecary’s enchanted communication had diverted my attention. Drawing a breath to steady myself, I took up the mortar and pestle so I could resume the healing tonic.

I reached for the familiar dried herbs and roots hanging above my workstation, each with a specific purpose known only to those trained in the ancient arts of herbal magic. Humming an old melody Father used to chant while working his own spells, I added the Moonbloom petals to the brew. Bubbles popped on the surface as it turned a deep, iridescent purple.

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