Page 4 of Quest

CHAPTER 2

The evening before Father's departure was cloaked in a quiet stillness, as if the very walls of the shop mourned the impending journey of its master. I brushed my long black hair and tied it back in a simple bun while I listened to the quiet noises from Father’s room next to mine as he readied himself for bed. I went to my window and looked down at the patches of vegetation below, shadowy in the faint moonlight, imagining the fragrant scents wafting from the plants.

For generations, our herbalist shop had served the community with an array of medicines and charms, all derived from the enchanted plants cultivated in our verdant back garden. To most our shop was simply a haven of healing and natural magic, but this benign appearance belied a more profound and grave responsibility. Behind the scenes, we were the guardians of an ancient and long-forgotten spell—an arcane secret it was our solemn duty to shield from malevolent forces.

As though the garden also reflected on the weight of this responsibility, the herbs bowed as a gentle breeze passed over them. A cloud drifted across the moon, darkening my view and reminding me of the vision I’d seen in the pool yesterday.

Our clandestine responsibility was known to few outside our family, including the royal family…and the odious prince who had arrived at our threshold with the summons that would not only draw my ailing father into perilous affairs beyond his strength, but also risk exposing the sacred trust we had maintained through the ages.

My jaw clenched in defiance. I refused to let my father succumb to such dangers, not while I had the means to prevent it. Surrounded by shelves laden with potent concoctions and guarded secrets, a surge of determination coursed through me. With the myriad of magical concoctions at my fingertips, I was more than prepared to use whatever means necessary to guard our legacy.

Despite my determination, a heavy unease weighed on my shoulders as the night deepened, the moon rising in the sky. I waited in my room until the world outside settled into a deep, undisturbed silence. Only then did I dare descend the narrow stairs to the shop below, where my herbs and potions awaited me.

My tiptoes navigated the shadowy floor with practiced ease, instinctively avoiding the creaky floorboards—skills honed during the endless cursed nights that had ravaged our kingdom. My hands brushed against the dried herbs hanging from the darkened rafters, each touch a bittersweet caress, a silent goodbye to the life I had known. The glass bottles that lined the wooden shelves were cool and smooth beneath my fingertips, each one a repository of memories and magic.

I closed my eyes to better savor the rich tapestry of scents that filled the air—the sharp tang of juniper, the soothing whisper of lavender, and the robust earthiness of ginseng. Each aroma evoked a myriad of recollection, each blend a story of trials and triumphs distilled into essences and extracts. My heart ached with a pang of regret for the familiar comfort of the sanctuary filled with arcane secrets and whispered spells that I was about to leave behind.

I first crept quietly into Father’s room, making my way to his bedside and tipping a few drops of a potent sleeping draft I’d prepared between his parted lips to ensure he rested deeply through the night, oblivious to the turmoil surrounding him; I couldn't afford his interference as I took matters into my own hands.

Once I’d given the magic time to take effect, I slipped out into the garden, a wild tangle of shadows and silvery light, where every leaf and petal was imbued with ancient magic. My candle flickered in the gentle breeze, casting eerie shadows as I moved among the rows of herbs, each cautious step mindful of the sleeping blooms.

Beneath the wan glow of the moon I harvested the herbs I would need for my concoction, one that would require more of me than any potion I had ever crafted. I needed a disguise, not merely clothes and demeanor, but a magical guise that would make me unrecognizable to see me safely through my journey in Father’s place.

I harvested the specific herbs that would craft the illusion I required. First I selected sylph's whisper, a rare herb that shimmered with an ethereal light, known for its ability to soften the lines of reality. Its leaves were delicate, almost ethereal to the touch, perfect for blending the boundaries between what was seen and what was hidden.

Next, I chipped off a handful of ironbark shavings from a hard, metallic tree known for its strength and resilience, an ingredient that would lend firmness and a more rugged texture to my features, enhancing masculine contours where there were none.

Lastly, I plucked pearls of mirrorshade that grew from an aqua shrub like plump, white berries. Crushing these would turn them into an iridescent powder that misdirected reflected light, making the wearer’s appearance elusive and variable to the observer’s eye, the final component needed to complete the illusion.

With my basket filled, I returned to the dim warmth of the shop and reverently arranged my ingredients on the worn wooden table that had seen countless spells cast upon it. The candlelight gathered around me encouragingly as I prepared to bind these elements into a powerful potion, my ears attuned the while for any sounds from Father’s room.

I began grinding the ingredients together, my movements rhythmic and sure. I chanted softly as I worked, invoking the ancient spells taught to me by my father in whispered tones. Each word felt heavy in the air, laden with magic and promise. A sheen of sweat soon lined my brow but I persevered. The spell was complex, requiring an intricate balance of shadow and light, of revealing and concealing.

The quiet of the surrounding night was a sharp contrast to the anxiety brewing within me—a storm of determination, fear, and desperate hope. Tonight, I was not just an herbalist crafting her spells in solitude, but a daughter forging the armor I would need to survive the trials ahead. Simmering with the bubbling concoction was the seed of a daring plan, one that—if all went well—would change the course of my father’s fate…not to mention my own.

As the cauldron softly brewed, my whispered incantations mingled with the steam that rose in spiraling tendrils towards the rafters. I added each herb in turn; with each addition, the potion's color deepened as its power swelled. I mixed the ground herbs with a base of moonflower oil—known for its clarity and connection to lunar magic—and stirred the mixture until it formed a smooth, luminescent cream.

I cautiously dipped my fingers into the cool mixture and lifted them to my face, hesitating for only a moment before applying the cream. Magic seeped into my skin, reshaping and concealing, and the air thickened, charged with power as I visualized my transformation—the softening of my features, the broadening of my shoulders, the change in my stature.

Eventually the magic faded, leaving my skin tingling. I experimentally poked my cheeks, unaccustomed to the roughness created from a thin layer of stubble. “Did it work?”

I cautiously whispered the question into the night to test my voice, an experiment that immediately became a bitter curse at the soft, lilting sound of my usual voice. It appeared in my inexperience the potion had only altered my outward appearance, leaving my feminine voice intact. I would have to remember to deepen it every time I spoke, an inconvenience but certainly doable considering all that was at stake.

Worried that other womanly parts of my true self had peeked through my disguise, I brought my candle closer to the mirror and peered into the faded glass. My breath caught at the face that greeted me—not the familiar features of Mei, the herbalist's daughter, but the new visage of a young man. Though foreign, the features possessed an air of familiarity in their resemblance to a younger version of my father, creating the sense he accompanied me every time I saw him in my reflection. This new face was my creation, borne of necessity and a deep well of courage I scarcely knew I possessed, ready to undertake a perilous journey in place of my ailing father.

Though overall the spell had been a success, I had no way of knowing how long it would last, so I made several batches and bottled what I hoped would be enough of the concoction to last me for the duration of the quest, however long that would be. The length of the journey remained a mystery, but I hoped packing a month’s worth of supplies would be sufficient. Should I run out, it would be tricky to find opportunities to sneak away and recreate my spell, but I would find a way. I had to.

All that remained was retrieving the royal summons that would grant me entry to the prince’s quest, a constant whisper of the quest’s upcoming peril that Father kept close at all times lest I be tempted to steal it away in order to spare him the journey’s risks. I crept quietly into his room. In the muted glow of the candlelight I carefully pried the letter from his firm grasp. His fingers reluctantly released the paper that determined his fate…and now mine, for whatever dangers I’d imagined for him now resided in my own future.

Despite having acquired what I’d come for, I couldn't help but linger by his bedside, studying the lines etched deep into his face by years of laughter and worry, each wrinkle a cherished memory. I memorized each one, haunted by the thought that this might be the last time I saw him should my own journey take a dire turn…or should his health deteriorate further while I was gone, unable to care for him.

His face, peaceful in slumber, would soon crease with concern upon discovering my absence. A pang of guilt washed over me, knowing the anxiety I would cause him, even as I knew my deceit was necessary. His worry would be nothing in face of my own relief that he would be protected.

“You’re going to be very upset with me when you awaken,” I whispered close to his ear, my voice a hushed tremor in the quiet room. “But I had to do it. I love you too much.” Though I knew he couldn’t hear me, I foolishly hoped that my words would find their way into his dreams, offering him some solace or understanding before the harsh light of dawn exposed my actions.

I lingered far longer than was wise, each second that passed a thief that stole time from my disguise spell, which I hoped would at least last long enough to reach my destination. Should it fade too soon, a woman traveling alone was fraught with its own perils; my guise as a boy was essential for safe passage.

With a mixture of anticipation and dread, I finally opened the royal missive…only to be met with a blank page, undoubtedly the work of a spell that restricted its contents to its intended recipient. My fingers trembled as I considered my options. I knew a revealing spell that might bypass the enchantment, but it was a tricky piece of magic that I hadn't fully mastered. If I was lucky, I might decipher just enough to learn the location of the meeting place, keeping the quest that awaited shrouded in mystery.

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