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On this little remote island, a large tent was set up in a tiny clearing surrounded by lightly foliated woodlands and bright patches of wildflowers. The white linen sheets that sheltered the tent from the summer sun fluttered in the rising noon wind, revealing a tall, silver-haired erune within. Dressed in a thin bare-back shirt and cream-colored slacks, Nehan was busy distilling flowers for the day’s experiments. The tent was surrounded by large wooden racks filled with covered glass basins of wildflowers and tree blossoms that the erune had collected for the past few days. He had filled each basin with an amber mixture of sugary preservatives. Like precious jars of gold, the receptacles glowed in the sunlight. Two racks opposite held freshly-picked blossoms in wide rattan baskets.
A contraption of complex copper tubes, glass condensers and slim silvery pipettes sprawled over a long table placed in the middle of the tent. Glass stills filled with petals and water bubbled away under magical blue fires housed in little copper burners, wisps of aromatic steam rising from each still to perfume the surroundings.
Nehan worked efficiently, checking each of the beakers under the pipettes. He leaned close to their rims, scenting them and wriggling his nose. Pausing at times to write neatly in a black folder, he took down notes in tiny, elegant handwriting. At times, his gaze seemed to be far away in thought as he tapped the feathered end of his quill against his lower lip.
The wind rose and gusted sharply, almost tearing away the sheets from the tent’s wooden poles. The distillation machine swayed, and the pipettes attached to it shook roughly.
Drops of boiling liquid splattered onto Nehan’s hand. But the heat barely startled him and he calmly swiped the back of his hand against his shirt. He peered up, staring between the gaps between the linen sheets that formed the roof of his make-shift laboratory. His eyes focused on the slender ribbon of bright cornflower blue between the fluttering layers, and the small wisp of a cloud that passed overhead.
It was peaceful. It was quiet. Nehan closed his eyes and took in a breath of flowery sunshine.
“Nehan!”
Nehan’s ears turned slightly, the furry edges folding back. The tips of his ears arched in the direction of the rough, cheerful childish voice he had grown familiar with for the last few months. The erune set down his black folder, sliding the quill carefully between the sheaves of notes. He set the folder on a small preparatory table.
“Nehan! Mugen find mushroom.”
Mugen had returned with a large decayed log on his broad muscled shoulder. Nehan arched his brow lightly, a frown skittering across his face. He peered at the log questioningly and his eyes widened in dismay.
Littered across the decaying bark was waves of bright red fungi with white lacey designs on their wide umbrella caps. Mugen smiled widely, his thick lips pulling back to reveal sharp teeth.
“Nehan cook mushroom, Mugen eat.”
Mugen licked his lips, thinking of the island mushroom soup that Nehan cooked last night. Nehan had praised him for helping to prepare the mushrooms they collected the day before and allowed him to stir the pot once. Mugen hungered more for the praise from the erune than the soup, although he would too like to eat that delicious soup again. Mugen had broken one of Nehan’s cooking ladles the last time he tried but yesterday, he was careful and he managed to stir the pot once.
It made Nehan smile.
Mugen liked it when Nehan smiled. He did not know why. But it was a good feeling.
Eagerly, the giant Draph set down the log with a loud thump. Some of the scarlet-capped mushrooms broke on impact, falling off the log in pieces. Nehan’s nose twitched in alarm. His body bristled, reacting instinctively to the invisible danger in the air.
There was an insidious rotting odor in the air. It was faint but he recognized it.
The decaying stench of a Scarlet Queen! His eyes darted to the dead log on the ground, and the broken bits of red mushrooms scattered across the grass confirmed his suspicions.
The erune snatched one of the muslin squares from his preparatory table and held it firmly over his nose and mouth. Nehan took a few more steps back, taking short quick breaths.
“Nehan?” Mugen cocked his head in question. His large eyes blinked and he took a step forward towards the erune without realizing the log was in front of him. The Draph’s large foot smashed the decayed wood into halves and his weight ground down more of the scattered red fungi into a sticky wet mess on the grass.
“Stop!” The erune yelled, his voice muffled by the cloth square held over his nose and mouth. The fumes from the pulverized scarlet queens had started to affect him, seeping into his eyes. He felt the edges of his eyes water and burn a tad, and his vision grow just a little blurry, “Stop moving, Mugen!”
“Nehan?” Mugen’s face registered fearful panic as Nehan backed even further away from the Draph. He groaned, with deep pain in his voice, “Why Nehan go? Why stop Mugen?”
Mugen took another step, his feet mashing down the toadstool caps, his hands flailing and outstretched towards the erune. Nehan’s heart pounded against his chest, and his ears flattened in panic against his hair.
“Stop moving, Mugen…” He rasped, his throat constricting and choking on his words. Nehan half-wondered if Mugen was even affected by the hallucinatory fumes of the scarlet queens. The giant Draph took a few more steps towards Nehan. His gait was ungainly like a newborn and his eyes were round with fright. He was not able to describe the tight, unhappy feeling in his stomach. It felt as his insides were getting twisted.
Mugen let out a loud, unintelligible yell and lurched forward, his big feet stomping across the ground. Nehan held up his hand in a forceful gesture and shouted sternly.
“Stop, Mugen!”
The giant Draph balked in his steps, his heels digging into the ground. His hands curled into big fists. But he stopped. Nehan’s shoulders heaved and he sucked in a few quick breaths through the cloth, trying to calm himself down. With the harshest tone he could muster, he pointed a finger to the broken log behind Mugen.
“Throw the log away.”
Mugen swiveled his head around, his dark hair flying about the large curved horns on his head. His panic slowly gave way to bewilderment.
“T-thr-Throw? Mugen get mushroom. Nehan cook.”
“Throw the log away.” Nehan gritted his teeth and repeated strictly. He had removed the cloth square from his face, having judged that he was of a sufficient distance from the fumes. It was lucky now that the wind had picked up again and was blowing the fumes away.
“Nehan make soup. Mugen eat.”
“I will cook some soup later. Throw the log away!” The erune raised his voice aggravatedly as he stuffed the cloth square into the pocket of his slacks. The giant Draph blinked his eyes. Mugen did not like this loud and angry Nehan and he bawled, wailing as he started to run towards the erune.
“Stop, Mugen!”
Nehan screamed, backing away as Mugen’s hulking form crashed onto him. His knees buckled and gave way, his arms flailing backward to knock against one of the racks of flat flower-filled baskets. The erune fell, landing hard on his bottom. Blossoms flew into the air, like bursts of bright white and pink fireworks and scattered down on the heads of the two. Nehan’s shoulders shook in exasperation and his hands lifted slowly, warily to tap the big Draph’s bulky shoulders.
“Get up, Mugen.”
The big Draph groaned and rubbed a big thumb over his eyes. Then he saw the broken rack behind the erune, the ruined baskets and trampled flower petals everywhere. He slowly moved his large body and sat back on his heels, a contrite, crushed expression on his face.
Nehan sighed. The erune heaved himself up, and pressed at his spine and legs, checking if anything was broken. He patted the big Draph’s head, picking away a few stray petals that were caught in the unruly dark brown locks.
“Throw the log away. The mushrooms are poisonous.”
“P-poi-sonous?” Mugen fumbled with the long, confusing word on his tongue.
“Look,” Nehan tapped his stomach, making an unhappy expression on his face. “If we eat those mushrooms, we will get very bad pain here.”
“Pain?” The big Draph touched his belly and stared at the erune.
“Yes, pain.”
The erune smacked his stomach again for good measure, and scrounged up his face, trying to drive his point across. Mugen nodded slowly. He was not upset any more and he understood.
“Mugen throw log away. Nehan wait.”
The erune nodded, but he did not smile and still looked very serious. The Draph got up and lumbered back to the broken log and picked up the two halves. He heaved one over a shoulder and turned in the direction of the forests. Once Mugen had departed, Nehan sighed, his shoulders slumping down. That was dangerous. He raised a hand to his chest, flattening his palm over the rapid thump of his heart. He would not know what he might do if the delirium from the fumes overtook his sensibilities.
Nehan slowly picked up the broken rack and the wrecked baskets, his shoes squashing scattered blossoms. At least the preserved flowers were not ruined and he could always pick a new fresh batch of blue songbelles and fairymosses tomorrow. He started to clean, pulling another muslin cloth over his nose and mouth and approached the pulverized chunks of scarlet queens on the ground. He spread a white powder from a packet over them, and only after the bits of fungi had disintegrated, did he remove the cloth from his face.
Daytime was giving way to early dusk and the sun was lingering over the horizon. Nehan straightened his back, thumping a fist on an ache in his lower spine. Mugen had not returned and he felt a dredge of worry grip his gut.
Was he too harsh with the Draph? Nehan reviewed the incident earlier in his mind and he could not fathom why Mugen insisted on eating that mushroom soup again. Food was food anyway. It was not anything special to Nehan. Food was important but only to deal with hunger, not for happiness or fulfillment.
The erune shook his head, feeling upset with himself for a moment. He walked back to his preparatory table and pulled out a few storage boxes where he kept his food supplies. He unlatched one and looked at the contents disparagingly. There was a sizeable box of bellabello mushrooms and a chunk of cured meat. It was just enough for a substantial portion for Mugen and a small cup for himself.
Just what was he doing? Nehan closed his eyes bemusedly. He was messing around cooking mushroom soup for an orphan Draph when he should be focusing on distilling antidotes from the island’s summer flowers.
He muttered to himself as he closed the storage box and walked to his preparatory table, clearing a small space for the box of mushrooms and the packet of cured meat. He was not planning to stay the night either in the tent but it seemed like he may have to. It was a good thing, Nehan supposed, as he started to light the lamps hung on the tent poles, tapping at each one to ensure that the wick burned steadily.
He did not like how night came so quickly on this island. One moment it was bright and the next, darkness would surprise him. It terrified him at times when night descended but he’d had gotten better. Perhaps it was Mugen’s presence or that his mind was often distracted with taking care and teaching the Draph, he’d had no time to think of his insecurities and fears.
The erune unfolded a thick canvas bag that held his set of knives. He started to work, chopping the mushrooms and meat into generous square chunks. From the storage box, he took out a tin canister of cream and a small container of flour. The Magasin provided amply for him and his work; what he wanted - supplies, necessities, equipment, they gave him everything.
Nehan sneered softly to himself. In return, he had given them everything they wanted - well, almost everything.
The erune set up a small fire outside the tent and propped the cooking stand above it. Nehan crouched down to start cooking, frying mushrooms and meat with a little oil in the biggest metal pan he owned. An old cook in the headquarters taught this particular recipe to his younger self. It used the cheapest ingredients - wild mushrooms that grew in the broken stone foundations of the headquarters, and bits of leftover meat stolen or salvaged from the kitchens. He mixed in large spoonfuls of flour, stirring quickly and then added a large pot of water.
A wry smile cracked the erune’s thin lips. He stretched himself lightly, waiting for the soup to boil. The darkness that he disliked had now settled in, and the lights from the tent’s lanterns burned bright, spilling in vast pools of yellow around the tent’s perimeter.
The soup was boiling. Nehan wondered if Mugen was lost. Surely, he knew his way around this remote island better than he, Nehan, did. The erune started to pour the whole canister of cream into the sizzling mixture, recalling a time where he had to steal milk from the kitchens and was whipped for it. Slowly, he stirred the soup, scattering a pinch of dried herbs and watched the white streaks of cream disappear into the silky mixture. So engrossed was Nehan in watching the soup, that he did not notice Mugen returning.
“Nehan!” Mugen shouted, lumbering forward, his arms full of glittering opalescent flowers, and he cried again, nearly tripping over his own big feet. “Nehan!”
“Mugen,” Nehan’s mouth went slack on seeing the big Draph clomping towards him, and he nearly dropped the stirring ladle. Mugen stopped, his nose turning up to draw in the scent of mushroom soup. His eyes curved into happy slits as he made his way to the campfire.
“Nehan cook soup,” The big Draph announced as if he was proud of something, and suddenly if he was shy, he offered the sparkling flowers in his arms to the erune, “Nehan like flower. Mugen find flower.”
“Where… what?” Nehan’s eyes widened in astonishment as he realized the nature of the flowers that the Draph had found. He pulled out the ladle, hooking the utensil to the side of the metal pan. “Dragon-tongues… You found dragon-tongues?”
Mugen cocked his head and stared at the erune who was hastily approaching him. Nehan picked out one of the flowers from the bouquet Mugen was holding, and he twisted the stem around in his hands, marveling at the gleaming play of sea-green, silver and blue on the petals.
“Dragon-tongues…” The erune gasped to himself. The flower was a pharmacist’s dream. Yet it was so rare that no one ever believed it existed. If distilled properly, this essence would be an excellent antidote to just about any curse and poison out there. This flower would become a terrible trump card for the Magasin indeed.
He could use it to bargain with the bosses. To obtain more resources for his revenge. To destroy that person he hated. Nehan frowned deeply, his hands clamping tightly over the fragile stem of the flower.
“Nehan, Nehan…” Mugen blinked his eyes, bending down to peer at the erune who was still staring intently at the flower that he held. “Mugen hungry.”
The big Draph offered the bouquet in his hands to the erune, and his thick lips twitched. Nehan sighed, shaking his thoughts out of his mind for now. He collected the flowers, looking over each blossom contemplatively. He would have to wash, strip the stamens, and soak the petals in the next hour; else, the essence would lose its usefulness even if he managed to keep the blooms alive the whole night. The erune’s lip curled, and he scoffed mutely at himself.
“Yes, we will eat. Let me put your flowers away.”
He assured the hungry Draph and hurried back to the tent to find a large glass beaker. He filled it with water and arranged the flowers in it. The silvery-green petals drooped over the beaker’s rim, swaying gently in the night breeze. Nehan took one last look at the flowers and raised his face to the night sky, a little awed, a little beaten.
If there was anything that he must not do, that was to turn sincerity into a weapon.
Nehan returned to the campfire to find Mugen already seated on the ground, his giant legs crossed. The Draph was looking longingly at the bubbling pot of mushroom soup, his mouth wide with anticipation.
“Nehan cook. Mugen love soup.” He beamed up at the approaching erune, his head canted in such a manner that his giant horns looked comically askew. Nehan grunted softly. He scooped a generous portion into a big tin bowl.
“Be careful. It is very hot,” The erune warned, handing the bowl of soup to the Draph, “Do you remember what to do?”
“Mugen blow.” The Draph smiled widely, holding the large bowl gingerly between his thick fingers. He pushed his lips together and started to make noises, attempting to blow across the surface of the soup to cool it. He laughed as his breath made ripples across the creamy mixture.
Nehan settled down on the ground, resting a tin cup of soup on his knee. Mugen laughed again and held up the bowl, slurping down the soup in gulps. Mugen held out his emptied bowl for seconds and started to drink again noisily.
Such carefreeness and innocence, Nehan thought as he took small sips from his cup, watching the Draph eat with abandon. His mind wandered to something that old cook had told him,
“Dear Nehan, if you always look for nothing but evil, you will always see evil triumph. But, if you learn to look upon simpleness and sincerity, you will discover that, there is another way to live.”
Nehan smiled into his cup, a smile small and faint. Tomorrow will be a good day.
Fin~
Nehan’s Mushroom Soup
Serves 6
Two tablespoons of a good cooking oil.
Twenty bellabello mushrooms, quartered in thick chunks
Two cups of cured meat, diced into large chunks
A quarter teaspoon of dried thyme leaves
Four cups of water
One cup heavy cream
Over medium heat in a heavy metal bowl or pan, heat oil.
Add in mushrooms. Saute until just mushrooms start to soften and release juices.
Add cured meat, thyme, water and cream. Stir to combine and bring to a simmer.
Continue to simmer for around twenty minutes until mushrooms are tender.
Ladle into soup bowls and garnish with fresh herbs if like.