Robert Newcomb - The Scrolls of the Ancients

The twinkle returned to his eyes, and he smiled knowingly. "Besides," he added, "wouldn't you like a chance to get even?"

Abbey thought for a time, her jaw clenching. "I will consider your words," she said finally. "But how could I be of help, while all of my stores and books remain here?"

"My friend Faegan has a great many herbs growing in an atrium in his mansion in a place called Shadowood," Wigg told her. "And we can have all of your books and charts brought to Tammerland." He smiled, thinking of the Archives of the Redoubt. "And you'll have more scrolls and books than you can imagine at your disposal."

Wigg smiled to himself. If he could convince Abbey to come, it would be very interesting to see someone teach Faegan something for a change. Abbey turned to look at Celeste, though, and her face darkened.

"We have talked too long," she said urgently. "We must attend to your daughter."

Celeste's breathing had become more labored, and beads of sweat stood on her pale forehead.

The herbmistress thought for a moment. "It's the honey," she said at last, half to herself.

"Of course," Wigg answered. "Her ingestion of the honey was the trigger that activated her first Forestallment. So simple an act…"

"No, no-you don't understand," Abbey said. "There is more to it than that."

"What do you mean?"

"Honey is the key to our problem," she told him. "But first I must find my charts of opposites."

Perplexed, Wigg watched her walk to the far wall of the cottage. She pushed on one side of it, and the entire wall rotated on a hidden pivot to reveal a bookcase lined with ledgers, texts, and scrolls. A much smaller room could be seen beyond, containing a desk and many piles of reference materials, as well as a store of additional herbs and oils. Luckily, this room seemed to have been untouched by Krassus. Abbey selected a text from one of the shelves, blew the dust from it, and returned to the table. The binding read Charts of Opposites, Letters H-I.

Wigg waited patiently as she leafed through the book. Finally she stopped, running one finger down a dog-eared page. On it was a drawing of a wheel divided into equal-sized, pie-shaped sections.

"What are 'charts of opposites'?" Wigg asked.

"Just as the craft has its dark and light aspects, every other thing existing in the universe also has its direct opposite," she answered. "And in some cases, more than one. Look at this."

She passed the book over to Wigg. "This page is only one of dozens whose words begin with the letter 'h,' " she said. "Run your finger around the circle until you find the word 'honey.' Then go directly to the opposite side, and read aloud what it says."

Wigg did as she asked, finally finding and speaking the words "powdered tetturess," and "oil of hibernium: Leaf Only." He looked up at Abbey.

"Are you saying these two substances are nature's direct opposites to honey?" he asked skeptically. "How can you be so sure?"

"By way of hundreds of years of careful experimentation," she answered simply. She raised an eyebrow. "I wrote this book myself."

Walking to her shelves, she began her search. After some time, she returned to the table with a green bottle. When Abbey uncorked it, Wigg saw that it contained a violet oil.

"I still don't understand," he said, furrowing his brow. He watched as she began measuring out a portion into a thick porcelain cup. "This problem is of the craft. How are these substances going to help?"

"The honey she ingested is no doubt still in her bloodstream," Abbey answered as she concentrated intently on her work. "And from what you told me, it was the catalyst that set everything else in motion. The direct opposites of honey are hibernium-just the oil squeezed from the leaf, mind you, not from the wood-and powder of tetturess blossom. They are even more potent when combined. If she ingests them in both the proper ratios and amounts, they should neutralize the honey in her system."

As she spoke, she finished measuring out the oil. Then she looked around her smashed cottage, and her face darkened.

"This oil remained safe in the other room," she said. "But my bottle of tetturess blossom was taken by Krassus. Turn to the back of the book until you find the pages labeled 'Diagrams of Substitutions,' and tell me what the substitution is for tetturess blossom. I could probably guess, but I'd rather be sure."

Wigg thumbed to the back of the book and found the diagram. "Dried stalk of widow's wart," he answered without looking up. "It also says that if widow's wart is not available, then flakes of dried newt's skin will also suffice."

Abbey nodded. "My widow's wart was also taken," she said angrily, "but I think I still have the newt's skin. The widow's wart would have been better, but we'll just have to make do with what we have."

Rising from her chair, she walked to one of the shelves that was broken at one end and had half fallen to the floor. After a good bit of rummaging around she finally produced a small tin, which she brought back to the table. She opened the lid and removed what appeared to be a small, square patch of dried leather. It was gray, with pink spots. She scraped some of the skin off with a knife, and dropped the resultant flakes into the cup with the oil. Satisfied for the moment, she looked back at Wigg.

"We are fortunate that the necessary ingredients for this potion survived the destruction here," she commented. "Still, that is only half the battle."

Wigg understood. "As the mixture counteracts the honey, I must also use my powers, trying to bring her consciousness back to the surface," he mused.

"Correct."

Abbey went to a sideboard to retrieve a copper pitcher, and filled it with water. She transferred the ingredients from the mortar into an iron pot, poured in a measure of water, and stirred it slowly with a wooden spoon. Then she placed the iron pot on the hearth hook and swiveled it over the flames.

She went back to the bookshelves and picked out another volume. As she brought it to the table, Wigg glanced at the title: Combinations and Potions: Times and Instruments for the Application of Heat and Cold, and the Subsequent Reactions Thereof. She began to read.

"Now what are you doing?" he asked. His interest in the process had gradually become more genuine. But Abbey, her thoughts obviously lost in the volume, didn't answer.

She finally put down the book. "White feather of male highland goose," she said softly to herself. "It seems nothing else will do. Now where did I put those?"

Busily wiping her hands on her apron, she returned to the shelves. After some looking, she reached up to grasp a pewter canister. She opened the top, peered inside, and pulled out a long, white feather. She then went to her writing desk and retrieved a quill pen and a small bottle. Finally she returned to the table.

She opened the bottle. Taking up the quill, she filled it with red ink. She then laid the white feather flat on the table. About two-thirds of the way to the top, she slowly began drawing a straight, red line across it.

"What in the name of the Afterlife are you doing?" Wigg asked, completely at sea. He was beginning to grow anxious. He turned back to look at Celeste.

"Still the same old Wigg," Abbey said, her eyes remaining locked on her artwork. He almost thought he saw a hint of another smile. "With an attitude like that, you must drive this Faegan you speak of to absolute distraction."

Saying nothing, Wigg pursed his lips.

Finally she finished and blew on the feather, drying the ink. Then she walked back to the hearth, swung the pot toward her, and carefully lowered the feather down into it, so that the ink line showed just above the rim. Almost immediately the portion of the feather just above the mixture began to brown from the heat of the potion. She turned back to Wigg.