Week 8

  The Disenchanted Cauldron smelled like burnt sage, clove, and the clinging bitterness of catnip syrup gone to vinegar.

  Both Tanith and Zhao Tong had spent the last five minutes examining the plethora of notes copied from bestiaries and herbal compendiums, as well as the innumerous purportedly medicinal jars, all written in Callie's tight, upright hand.

  Briar sat on a three-legged stool with her gatherer’s satchel still on, hood down, hair in its usual weather-ravaged braid. She’d made it exactly one minute into her promised “no more questions” period before giving up.

  “So, what was this ‘hyena’ thing called?” Briar asked, elbow on the counter.

  Callie didn’t bother looking up from the open crate she was inventorying. “I told you: Zalina.”

  “No, I mean what kind of monster was it? You mean you didn’t ask?”

  “Of course I didn’t ask.” Callie nudged a jar of dried lichen aside, started counting the next row of ampoules. “Can you imagine if someone came up to you and just asked, right off, if you were human? That’s not how you start a conversation.”

  Briar propped her chin on her fist. “Did you at least try to smell her? You can tell almost anything about a beast from the scent. Sometimes even the phylum.”

  Tanith, who was now perched cross-legged on a cushion near the stove, raised one elegant hand. “Actually, someone did that to me once. At the old Academy. Said, ‘Excuse me, but are you of human descent or merely adjacent?’”

  Briar clapped. “See! It’s not that weird.”

  “And what did you do to him?” Callie asked, raising her eyebrows.

  Tanith’s eyes glittered behind her spectacles. “I made his soup too hot to drink for a month. The lecture hall still smells faintly of roasted mackerel.” She smoothed the front of her robe, satisfied.

  Briar tapped the counter. “So you’re telling me: you met a new species of monster, for the first time, and you didn’t even ask her what she was?”

  “First of all,” Callie said, “I wasn’t there for taxonomic classification. I was there because the ‘Oracle’ of the Petalorian Archive wanted a dental consult. And technically, she told me everything I needed to know.”

  Briar leaned in, undeterred. “But she could have been anything! A shifter, a demigod, a mimic that ate all the prior Oracles and now just pretends to be one... ”

  “She’s called the Petalorian Oracle,” Callie interrupted. “Which means it’s possible she’s one of a kind. Besides, the term is obviously derived from Petalore. Meaning, she’s probably a Petalore.”

  Briar blinked. “Petalore isn’t in any bestiary I’ve read. You made that up.”

  “I didn’t. I inferred.”

  Tanith, who had been following this with the air of a visiting judge, nodded gravely. “Petalore, as a designation, is not unknown in the older reference texts, though usually only in marginalia.”

  “Thank you!” Callie said. “Finally, someone who appreciates conclusions reached on the basis of evidence and reasoning.”

  Tanith sipped her tea. “Also, there is a speculative treatise in the Feywood Compendium. But it’s considered apocryphal. I would love to see a sample.”

  Briar grinned, clearly enjoying herself. “A sample of what? The fur, or the blood?”

  Tanith’s lips pursed, delighted. “Either. Both would be ideal.”

  Callie closed the crate with a satisfying thump, turned, and finally gave Briar the full weight of her attention. “I didn’t ask because, frankly, it’s not my business what someone chooses to identify as. The only thing that mattered was: could she eat me, and if so, would she?”

  A lull hung for exactly one heartbeat. Ember, who had been loafing beside the hearth, let out a contented belch and thumped his tail, spraying cinders across the tiles.

  Briar produced a blue ledger from her satchel, which she thumped onto the counter with the kind of flourish that implied she had been waiting for this moment all day. “Looks like you’re not going to get us a citation in the fourth edition of Llewellyn’s Book of Beasts anytime soon. You’re not very systematic for a physician, you know. Shows in your herbal cataloguing skills.” She slid the book across. “I rewrote your notes on anti-microbials into something more digestible.”

  Callie eyed the book, then Briar, then back to the book. “You rewrote my notes. In my blue ledger.” She was mildly irritated but then realized that if anyone should be allowed to write in those books, it would be Briar. Her cursive hand writing was unnaturally beautiful and neat.

  Briar beamed. “I even color-coded the entries.”

  Tanith, unable to resist, uncrossed her legs and reached for the journal, flipping it open. “Impressive. Very clean script. And the diagrams are... did you use egg tempera for the cell walls?”

  Briar preened. “Had some extra yolks.”

  Callie took the hard bound book, flipped to the relevant section, and, despite herself, was momentarily impressed. The layout was efficient, the categorization almost intuitive, and the entry for “Heartbloom resin” included not only the active concentrations but also a summary of potential side effects for each species, annotated with Briar’s own mnemonic doodles.

  “Okay,” Callie said, “this is… not terrible. It’s certainly more legible.”

  Briar nodded, magnanimous. “It’s good to have standards.”

  A quiet settled, as comfortable as old flannel. The only sounds were Zhao Tong sharpening his spear and the faint, low-frequency rumble of Ember’s satisfied snore. Outside, the lamps along the main road flickered to life, their blue-tinted light seeping through the wavy glass panes and settling on the shelves like a promise of order.

  ***

  It didn’t take long for the atmosphere to turn again.

  Zhao Tong, standing with his back to the window, used a fire iron to poke at the coals in the tiny stove. He did this with such discipline and lack of wasted movement that it seemed less about heat and more about keeping his hands busy.

  Callie flipped through the journal Briar had just forced on her, then glanced over the top of it. “I agree that a citation in Llewellyn’s Book of Beasts is something to be grasped with both hands. But there’s the matter of an imminent Audit. Well, Purge to be exact.”

  If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

  Briar shrugged, not even trying to hide her unconcern. “Oh, that? I’m sure you’ll handle it. The big stuff always works itself out. It’s the little things that require more attention.” She pinched Ember’s cheek for emphasis, earning a grunt.

  Zhao Tong stopped sharpening his weapon for a moment. “You said ‘Purge.’ Is that a formal term, or just a particularly alarming metaphor?”

  Callie closed the journal, set it on the counter, and gave Zhao her full attention. “It’s formal, if you’ve been around the block. The system runs these, periodically. Sometimes it’s to eliminate an ‘infection,’ sometimes to rebalance the population. This one is personal—it’s about me and the Archive, and what I did.”

  Zhao Tong’s face didn’t shift, but his eyes tracked every word.

  Briar frowned. “So what happens during a Purge? Is it just a big explosion, or... ?”

  Callie drew a finger through the dust on the counter, diagramming as she spoke. “It’ll look like a completely natural event. Not a disaster, exactly, just… a realignment. I’ve managed a few audits before, on other projects. It usually takes five to twelve days to manifest, depending on how annoyed the Engine is. Sometimes you get a wave of wild monsters, sometimes a slow-burn disease. But in this case, I’d bet they’ll send someone to cleanse the ‘monster healer.’ A targeted event, instead of a random cataclysm.”

  Tanith absorbed this, her face growing pinched. “Is there anything we can do to mitigate the effect? Preemptive relocation, for example?”

  Callie grinned, admiration plain. “You could run. But the Engine likes a tidy story, so it’ll just follow the narrative. Best bet is to be proactive. If the system wants a scene, you give it a scene, but on your own terms.”

  Briar nodded, as if she’d already decided this was the plan. “We’ll make it look easy. We’ll get your citation and outpace the Purge. And if not, we’ll improvise.”

  Zhao Tong cleared his throat. “What’s your current Level, anyway?”

  The room stilled. Even Ember’s tail went quiet.

  For the first time since leaving the Archive, Callie closed her eyes and reached for the stats counter. There was a moment of resistance, like someone slamming the brakes on a high-speed elevator; then the world jolted, and the numbers clicked into place.

  She opened her eyes. “I, uh. I may have broken the scale.”

  Briar made a delighted noise. “How broken?”

  Callie stared at her hands, flexed them, then looked up. “I think I’m Level 43. Maybe higher. The counter glitched out for a second.”

  Tanith’s brows rose to the edge of her hairline. “Forty-two? That’s… more than the Grandmaster’s Level.”

  Callie nodded, numb.

  Zhao Tong set his spear down with exaggerated care. “If that is true, then the Audit will be… substantial.”

  Tanith exhaled, a slow hiss of breath. “The Engine will not let you remain untested.”

  Callie sat down hard on the nearest stool, legs folding beneath her like a cloth doll. The room seemed to tilt. She blinked twice, trying to get the stat counter to stop bouncing between numbers.

  “I got two million, nine hundred thousand XP from healing Zalina,” she said, voice flat. “That’s enough for… Level 42?”

  Tanith frowned, nudged her spectacles higher. “That can’t be right. The Grandmaster of the Healing Guild is Level 42 and, if I recall the promotional scroll correctly, has accumulated over twenty-six million XP. It was an odd thing to include in a recruitment brochure, but perhaps they felt it would motivate the ambitious.”

  Callie rubbed her eyes, checked the stat counter again. She let out a groan. “Wait. I misread. It’s not 2900000 million.” She looked up. “It’s 29000000. One zero off.”

  Briar made an appreciative whistle. “That’s… that’s a lot. I mean, it’s not a hundred million, but...”

  “So why am I not instantly a Grandmaster, with bonus skills and a badge and my own embroidered hat?” Callie demanded.

  Zhao Tong, stoic as ever, offered: “Maybe you have to apply for the cap. And the title of course.”

  Callie ignored him, rifling through the drawer under the counter. She found what she wanted: her worn copy of the Healing Guild’s skill chart. She spread it flat on the table. “Here. See? This is what I get for Level 20: Soothe Pain, and, wait for it, Enduring Focus (Reduces stamina cost of healing action by 15%). It gets better. Level 23: ‘Can clean wounds while standing on one leg’ and Level 24: Dramatic Monologue.”

  Briar leaned over to look, hair nearly brushing the paper. “Those last two aren’t real. Come on!”

  “I wouldn’t put it past the guy who created this system,” Callie muttered thinking of her old boss, Belus, for a micro second. Then pointed to the next lines. “Level 25: Mend Flesh. Level 27: Toxin and Poison specialization.”

  Callie sat back. “Level 30 is the Branching Event, where you pick a path.”

  Tanith examined the chart with hungry eyes. “Which branch are you on?”

  “The Grandmaster chose Aetheric Loom, the one for fixing torn spirit threads and reattaching lost memories.” Callie tapped the section header. “Which explains why it’s the branch which the guild has the most information on. Once you pick a branch, you can’t swap.”

  Zhao Tong leaned in, reading upside-down. “What are the top Aetheric abilities?”

  Callie ran her finger down the column. “Level 30: Soul Stitch, Level 35: Karmic Transfer. That’s the one where you take half an ally’s damage onto yourself, provided you’re in line of sight. Level 35: Detoxify II: Spirit Purge – Expel magical poisons by weaving cleansing light into the target’s aura.” She glanced up. “So, in a big battle, you can cleanse one person every sixty minutes. Generous, right?”

  Briar, always practical, picked up a jar of dried moss and shook it like dice. “If you don’t like it, is there a way to roll again?”

  “Only if you’re at a Branching Event and haven’t committed, you can pick any unlocked branch. But as I said, once you finalize, it’s done.” Callie looked at Tanith. “You’re the expert on game theory. Should I stick with Aetheric Loom, or take a chance on one of the other branches?”

  Tanith laced her fingers. “What are the alternatives?”

  Callie pulled the scroll closer. “There’s Verdant Weave, which focuses on plant-based healing and Alchemical Crucible which provides healing through elixirs and equivalent exchange. ”

  Zhao Tong grunted. “Perhaps it’s time for something new.”

  Briar shrugged, set down the moss. “It can’t get worse than the Aetheric Loom branch. The Verdant one sounds cooler. Plus, if it’s bad, you can always just make a potion to fix it, right?”

  Callie almost laughed. “That’s not how it works. But… you know what? Why not.”

  She closed her eyes, summoned the interface, and hovered over the “Branch Selection” dialogue. For a moment, the world held its breath. Then she clicked: Verdant Weave.

  A rush of notifications scrolled past, bright green text unspooling like a tape measure.

  [Branch Chosen: Verdant Weave]

  [Unlocked: Photosynthetic Touch, Chlorophyll Infusion, Bloom Graft, Botanical Empathy, Purge Root, Cleanse Aura.]

  She opened her eyes. “It’s official. I’m now a nature doctor.”

  Tanith clapped, just once, politely. “Congratulations. Your resume has diversified.”

  Callie read the first few ability descriptions out loud, for the benefit of the group:

  “LEVEL 30. Active: Photosynthetic Touch - Channel restorative energy through contact with living plants. Heals 10HP/min, maximum 5 minutes. Requires direct sunlight, or at least a decent lamp presumably.”

  “Passive: Chlorophyll Infusion - Natural HP regen +2 while outdoors.”

  “LEVEL 35. Active: Bloom Graft - Grow healing moss on wounds. Restores 2 HP/min for 10 min; reduces scarring. Rapidly heal minor injuries by creating plant-based tissue bridges. May cause temporary green discoloration or, in rare cases, flower growth.”

  Briar’s face lit up. “That’s adorable.”

  “Passive: Botanical Empathy - Sense nearby medicinal plants within 20m.” Callie paused. “Shouldn’t that be a Level 10 skill?”

  Zhao Tong grunted. “It is not the worst support ability I’ve seen.”

  “LEVEL 40. Active: Purge Root - Draw poison into a sprouting root that withers and dies, removing moderate toxins.”

  “Passive: Cleanse Aura - Allies within 3m gain +25% poison resistance.”

  Briar was already thinking it through. “Could you combine the Bloom Graft with wound dressing? Or even better, could you turn a nettle sting into a healing salve?”

  Callie shrugged, feeling her own smile widen. “Maybe. I’ll have to experiment.”

  Tanith leaned back, looking satisfied. “I think you made the right choice.”

  Callie closed the scroll and set it aside, exhaling. She looked at her friends, old, new, and odd, and realized she didn’t mind the weirdness.

  “So,” Callie said, “to summarize: the world is probably going to try and kill me, the Audit is inbound, and my only hope is a set of skills that are even less impressive than expected.”

  Briar raised her hand. “But you have friends, a possible citation in Llewellyn’s if you work at it, and a warg that can nap through anything.”

  Callie nodded. “It’s all pretty shite, but I’ll take it.”

  Ember snored on cue. Tanith poured another round of tea. Zhao Tong watched as Briar filled in the Healing Guild Scroll with Callie’s new “powers.” And for a moment, it felt like maybe, just maybe, they were all going to die.