1st 5 Pages Feb Workshop - Wagerman

Name: S.A. Wagerman

Genre: MG Fantasy

Title: The Potioneer

Drawing from Zephyra’s field notebook:

Ruta Gigas or Great Rue Flower (Parts labeled)

USES: Bane potion.  Just add a piece of whatever you want to keep away!

NOTES: smells like old shoes.  Do not get on skin!  Raises blisters.

Normally, I liked the rain.  But today I reckoned it might be the death of me.

It wasn’t that I was bothered by the wet or the cold.  My military uniform, complete with tight gloves and tall black boots, was water-resistant.  So I was as safe and dry under the sage-green Potioneer’s hood as I would’ve been back in Pa and Ma’s snug little farmstead in Vala. 

Really, it was the giant Armored King Crickets that would probably do the actual killing.

“The pump sprayer!” Amestra called over the storm and the creepy clacking sound the bugs made. 

 “See if there’s anything left in it!”  Hood askew, steel-grey hair unraveling from its perfect bun, my mentor didn’t dare take her eyes off the two horse-sized, spiked insects she was fending off with her saber.  Which itself was a sign that the battle wasn’t going our way.  Potioneers fight with potions.

“Yes, ma’am!” I shouted, already starting back towards the trees where we’d left it.

Armored King Crickets normally minded their own business, but recently they’d gotten bold enough to sneak into town and steal animals.  And then they stole the farrier’s youngest daughter, which was awful.  We’d been sent to Esk on other business, but part of a military Potioneer’s job was to help protect the people of Iostria.  We couldn’t just sit there and let giant crickets snack on the townspeople.  

The problem with the rain was that it had washed away all the Bugsbane we’d spent the morning laying down to herd the bugs away.  Which wasn’t fair.  There had been no warning of a storm!  But as soon as the skies had darkened, guess who showed up looking for something tasty to chomp on? 

The pump sprayer bumped awkwardly on its front wheel through the high, rain-slick grass.  I noticed right away how light it was - we’d used most of the potion up.  I skidded to a halt a dozen feet back from the clearing where Amestra was still battling the giant insects, patting down her uniform with her free hand.  She was probably trying to take stock of what she’d slipped into her pockets the prior evening, but there isn’t a lot in the Potioneer’s inventory that works well during a rainstorm.

I pointed the nozzle and pumped the handle for all I was worth, releasing a spray of Bugsbane up at the two insects.  I wasn’t sure how much good it would do with the rain cutting through it, but I kept right at it until I heard Amestra shouting at me.

“Not them!” the Grandmaster snapped, stepping aside and slashing down with her saber, clipping off one of the creature’s long antennae.  It skittered back, shaking its head.  “Me!” 

“But…”  Bugsbane was meant for bugs, not people.  I’ve gotten some on myself by accident and I can tell you it itches like crazy!

“I’ll take the rash, thank you!” Amestra said, grey eyes flashing.

I pumped the lever again, aiming the nozzle right at her.  Even if it worked and kept the bugs off her, I wasn’t excited about spraying myself next!  But nothing came out except for a gurgling rush of air and a weak stream that was immediately carried away in the downpour.

Stinkweed and nettles!  Now we were in trouble. My mentor was very organized but she wasn’t one for improvisation.  I’d have to come up with something. 

“Canter?” I asked, searching for the violet potion that gave its user the ability to run like the wind.

“No good!” Grandmaster Amestra said, backpedaling away from the snapping mandibles of the nearer cricket.  “They’re enraged.  They’ll just follow us back to town!”

“We could lead them back into the desert…”  But even as I said it, I knew how stupid it was.

“Zephyra, that’s where they come from.  The last thing we need is more King Crickets!  …Ready the Fireflow potion,” she said unhappily.  “I see no choice.”  She backed away, waving her sword warily, drawing the crickets towards the muddy center of the clearing where hopefully nothing would burn but them.  

I followed, keeping my distance.  Our uniforms were lined with pockets, and my hooded cape held even more.  Being organized was important for Potioneers and I was always getting scolded for throwing my potions willy-nilly into the pouches.  But I had no trouble remembering where I’d stuck the Fireflow potion this morning: in the top slot of the bandolier across my chest.  My hand hovered over it uneasily as I paralleled the Grandmaster and the chittering bugs through the downpour.

One of the crickets tried to climb atop Amestra with its spiky legs, pushing her down to grasp her head in its mandibles.  But that proved a fatal mistake: they were armored on the top and sides, but not underneath.  Amestra drove her saberpoint in beneath the jaws of the monstrous insect and yanked it free again.  Green-black bug-blood joined the rain beading up on Amestra’s uniform, and the Cricket fell atop her, legs still kicking.  I cried out.

“I’m fine,” Amestra said, struggling out from under the twitching insect.  But even as she said it, the second Cricket made a terrible hissing sound and snapped its jaws closed over Amestra’s forearm.  Hard.  She went pale and gave a sharp gasp.  Thank the Flowering Fields she’d insisted we slather ourselves with Strongskin before putting on our uniforms.  Otherwise that would’ve been her arm clean off!  Still, the potion did nothing to stop the muscle and bone underneath from being crushed.

“Zephyra!  Fireflow!” was all Amestra could manage through gritted teeth.

No, no, no, I thought.  Fireflow was too dangerous a potion to miss with.  Amestra was no stranger to my atrocious aim.  

“Closer!” she gasped as I undid my sling from where it was looped at my belt.  “Get closer!”

I took a deep breath.  If I hit Grandmaster Amestra instead of the King Cricket -- or I hit her and the cricket! -- she’d be worse than dead, she’d be nothing but a pile of bones and ashes.  I shook my head to banish the terrible image. And if I missed entirely, I’d just set the forest on fire.  That was no help.

Amestra might not have been fond of improvisation, but it was why -- two years ago at only 10 -- I had been the youngest person ever accepted into the Military Academy of Phytotheurgy.  Mind racing, I emptied a bunch of pockets into a heap on the ground, trying quickly to locate something that would be helpful but not dangerous to myself or Amestra.

The Armored King Cricket shook its head like a dog worrying a bone, and the Grandmaster moaned, her saber dropping from her hand into a muddy puddle with a clink.  “Zephyra!  Hurry!”

What wouldn’t get washed away by the rain?  Maybe a potion I take instead of one I throw?  Vigor would give me a burst of strength… maybe I could pry the mandibles off of her arm?  But then what?  Stupid bugs!  I wish I could just step on you!  But if there was a potion that made you bigger than a King Cricket, I’d never heard of it.  

Calcify might work, I realized, eyes landing on the sky blue liquid.