Chương 40: Spirit Dust

The Alchemist sipped her tea, watching over the street from the slightly raised veranda of the house. It was early morning. The milkman was delivering the milk. He was a gentle man and smiled at her when he crossed her home, though he was older than Hasrah, the blacksmith she lived with. The newspaper boy came a few minutes later. He smiled as he saw her. His cheeks were puffed red as he noticed her gaze settled on him. Instead of dropping the folded paper in the latch on the door, he walked up to the veranda.

"Good morning, Isa." He sounded softer than he did when talking to others on the street.

"Good morning to you too," Isa nodded, accepting the rolled paper. He smiled again, awkwardly, flicked his at the flower pots, as if searching for something to say. His eyes settled on the unfolded leg extended onto a tall footrest. He stared in worry and flinched when he realized his rudeness.

"Uh, take care then." Then scuttled away, glancing at her a few more times, and jerking his head away when their eyes met.

"He's quite fond of you," Hasrah said, settling on the empty chair. He drank his tea cold. His black lips were not fond of hot things, which was perhaps one of the oddest things about him. Not the oddest.

"Wouldn't it be nice if you gave him a chance? Six months is a long time for a mere fixation."

"What do you think I am in his eyes?" Isa asked. More often than not, she felt like an old woman in contrast to the pink-tinted eyes of her landlord.

"A lady of age who should not be spending every minute of her life trapped in her home, grinding herbs," Hasrah uttered in a lamenting voice.

"He is one of the more upstanding guys when you look around. I can set up a dinner or a visit to the shelter, if you want."

"I am an ideal woman for a young man's notion of a partner," Isa said. Her throat was bitter despite drinking sweet tea.

"I am disabled for life, but it's invisible. I have a pretty face. I talk to very few people, and he has heard so few words, so I am presumably soft-spoken in his eyes. I would not be a burden on another because of my own flourishing shop, which, as you said, is just grinding herbs. What he likes is a portrait of someone whose voice he has never heard. Has he seen me walk a step, let alone a flight of stairs?

The portrait will shatter instantly the moment it is not a mere sight of me sitting in the veranda, by the flowers, or in my shop, surrounded by herbs in jars."

"If you are so... cynical about others, you are forever going to be alone. Even if he likes you for your pretty face or your disability, it doesn't mean it can't blossom into a meaningful relationship if you make an effort. You can ask for an ideal start in your condition," the blacksmith sighed, sipping his tea. This was not the first time they were having this conversation, and it most likely wouldn't be the last.

"I am not saying he is wrong in his pursuit; I just don't think he will stick around after he learns the reason behind my disability," Isa said.

"The fickle nature of a young man's adoration can never withstand the weight of my curse, my inevitable future."

"If he gets to know you before he learns about your misfortunes, he might stick around," the smith chuckled bitterly.

"Love blinds people to reality."

"If he would do that, doesn't that make it all the more reason to spare such a kind person for someone who might give them a long and happy life? Instead of a few years of pleasure, a dozen years of misery, and a lifelong heartbreak?" Isa didn't know what the smith thought of his wife, but Isa found it morally repugnant to hide the curse, to build a life on that lie." I am cursed. The more meaningful a life I make, the more painful my death would be.

The least I can do is separate myself from others around me, spare them the pain that I cannot save myself from." Hasrah was quiet. Perhaps upset that she'd say that to him.

"I thought you were going to find a cure." Isa hadn't worked on that project, and she didn't know when she would do it again. It seemed impossible. Ashening refused to be numbed by any medicine Isa could think of. Going beyond that, working on the issue was beyond her capacity. The sound of glass shattering from the storage room drew Isa's attention. She settled the cup on the table. She slid her feet from the footrest to the floor. Using her cane as a crutch, Isa pushed herself to her feet.

The touched knee didn't hurt yet. It did sometimes when the air was wrong, when Materiality grew unstable in the atmosphere. But that never-relenting pain hadn't come for her yet. Maybe five more years.

"Did you bring something from the sewers again?" the smith asked.

"No rats, I remember the rule," Isa nodded.

"I will pour rat poison around the store if I see any sign." The rats had a tendency to knock jars off the shelves, which was not that worrying. Anything worth something was locked behind the door, but they also had a tendency to wet the smith's grindstone. He didn't appreciate their efforts. Each of Isa's steps was followed by a click of her cane. Her knee was straight, and she had to make sure she didn't apply any weight to it; otherwise, she might flare the Ashening.

They liked her impassiveness—submission, if she wanted to be nihilist about it. The sound of another glass breaking echoed through the gaps in the wooden door. Of course, due to the cane, she'd score negative in sneakiness, so the only time she ever caught a glimpse of a rat was when she was sitting on her chair, and the little guys forgot she was there. Still, like every time there was a critter sneaking into her storage, Isa had to make an effort to catch a glimpse of them.

It was a very strange act for someone like her, whose gait demanded attention. She could do it, Isa felt. She might not have after she failed to save Ark, but there was something else that sparked a hope that even Isa could do the impossible if she made an effort. Even if that impossibility was something as silly as sneaking up on a rat busy knocking off her glass jars. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

It was the mercenary, or the stranger from the Imperial Core, she could say, Liesel Wyrn. The lady was anything but blessed. Her Materiality was barely more than Isa's own. And yet, that tiny power could be utilized so effectively that it so easily defeated an Ascendant with a complete Archetype. It was less of a defeat and more like an overwhelming domination. They didn't even need to tie him. Isa smiled for some reason.

Perhaps Isa just wanted to sneak up on a rat because it was, for her, as unlikely as creating a cure for the Ashening. She settled her cane on the wood very gently and pressed her front foot down. The wood made no noise. She dragged her bad foot to the cane, gently settling it. She repeated the same thing many times. If there was a rat, it had already fled. Isa heard no noise from the storage room. She peeked inside through the glass on the door.

She had dangerous things inside many times, so entering without at least a cursory understanding of what had broken was far from wise. She settled her finger on the door handle and pushed it down. The door creaked. Isa clicked her tongue. Now, it has run away. Still, she practiced the silent climb down. One day, she will catch the rat in the middle of its evil act. She stopped when she reached a shard of the broken glass. The jar had been empty. And so had been the other broken ones. That was strange.

With a frown, the alchemist glanced at the shelves. A folded paper was resting there. She rested the cane against her shoulder and picked up the note. As she unfurled it, silver Siyirs rolled out from it, bouncing on the floor. Two rolled under the shelves. I will have to ask Hasrah. Her frown only deepened as she shifted her eyes to the page. It was a letter addressed to her. The writing was hard to read. Before Isa could wonder who sent it, the first line of the letter told her. Of course, it's you.

Who else could've arranged an odder way to send a letter? She didn't even need to read the letter for a knot to twist in her gut. The mercenary didn't have a single romantic bone in her body to write a letter even as a friend. It could only be out of desperation. Clink! Isa looked at the shelf again. The silver Siyir was back on the shelf.

"Are you here, Liesel?" Isa asked. Her voice echoed in the empty storeroom. She didn't get an answer back. As she shifted her eyes back to the letter, a second coin was dropped on top of the first. There was no one still. Isa decided to ignore the paranormal activity and focus on the worrying letter.

"Uh, hey," sitting on top of the stack of coins was a strange creature. Isa peered closer at it—at her, a member of spiritkind. Isa had only heard of them in stories. Spirit dust was considered to be a semi-divine material in alchemy. Their wings could cure any illness. Too precious for the Imperial Greed to let one escape its clutches. Perhaps the Empire had its limit. One had escaped its pursuit. You shouldn't be here. First thought that came to the alchemist's mind. She glanced at the door.

It was shut, fortunately.

"Are you a..." Isa tried to find a way to be gentle about it. To call the sentient being in front of her a spirit as a human might be a cruel act.

"A spirit? Yeah, I am Auram," the spirit said. She tried to sound nonchalant, but that was hardly possible while interacting with a human. Isa could feel the underlying tension, and Auram was here despite that.

"I..." Isa remembered the letter.

"Did you bring it for me?" Auram nodded.

"I did. Liesel needs your help. And only I can deliver it to you." Isa nodded. She pushed her thoughts on the spirit to the side for a moment and focused on the letter. As she read it, Isa couldn't help but chuckle. At least, I will be compensated even if you die. That was perhaps one way to define the mercenary. If it was supposed to be a joke, Isa wasn't amused by the end of it. She folded the letter, grabbed her cane in her hand, and walked deeper into the room.

Opening a shelf's door, she checked the jar of Root Worms. They were dead, of little use except for a few instances. They could eat away the excess Materiality in the flesh. It might alleviate the poisoning slightly. Now they wouldn't.

"Can you make the thing she was asking for?" Auram asked.

"What she wants would not save her," Isa replied.

"It would grant her a few hours of strength to push through a Swarm. But what happens afterward?" Auram frowned. Her golden eyes were dull.

"That... wouldn't that... she lied!" The spirit vanished before Isa's eyes. There was a cloud of spirit dust there that Isa might have tried to capture if she were not so overwhelmed, both by the existence of the spirit and the mercenary's condition. What kind of lie? Isa paced to the other side, no longer maintaining the quiet pace. She checked another shelf and a few more. She had nothing that might help. She still glanced at jars, hoping something would spark an idea.

Materiality Poisoning was not a dangerous disease. Novice Ascendants, usually of the Warrior Archetype, experienced it, but it was at the beginning stage. The medicines and refraining from using Materiality for a week or so usually fixed it. For someone in Liesel's condition who must fight to survive, refraining from using Materiality was impossible. Not to mention the symptoms described in the letter seemed too severe for any length of rest to save the mercenary.

She couldn't even be healed, as every magic was just an employment of the Materiality which was present abundantly in her body. It needs to be extracted. But without Rootworms, what would? Isa paused. She checked the letter again. I have only a few hours before the next swarm ambushes us. If you can prepare the Constitution Enhancement Potion, I might survive a little longer.

"Ah," Isa blinked.

"Are you trying to help your companions with this request?" Isa didn't know what she was supposed to feel. It was a very noble desire to help out a companion even in that state, but at the same time, exposing a spirit to the human world... What had come to pass didn't matter; perhaps it was an expression of trust by the spirit and the mercenary that Auram came to her with this request. She looked at the empty shelf where the now-broken jar was. Three Materiality Cores. It wouldn't save her.

She can't be saved, actually. But it will save the rest of the expedition team. Isa didn't want to do it. The concentration of power in it would destroy the body beyond repair, so even if Isa went out to find the Root Worms to balance the Materiality in Liesel's body, they wouldn't save her once the Constitution Enhancement potion was taken. But she had to, right? She couldn't abandon the mercenary's last wish. Isa approached the shelf.

"Don't do it," the spirit said. Her eyes were puffy and red.

"If the swarm she spoke of is true, then the potion she asks for does extend her life," Isa said. It was, of course, only a few hours. She picked up the unusual Materiality Core. Isa's lips twitched as she regarded the distraught little spirit. The alchemist had no idea that little beings were capable of such emotions. They were always supposed to be smiling, little children who inherited the purest form of divinity from the Primordial Vein, who never grew into adults.

"You have so many things here; surely something can save her."

"Except for herbs, everything I can prepare would inherit Materiality in it," Isa said. She hesitated for a moment.

"Materiality is a poison for her, so I cannot do anything... unless I find a divine essence to create a miracle." The spirit seemed horrified at her words, understandably.

"It was merely a suggestion," Isa added quickly.

"Will it help her?" The spirit asked.

"From what I have read about spirit dust, it should absorb all of the tainted Materiality in Liesel's body. I do not know how true that would—""You can have it."