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Twilight shadows, cast by the brightly lit upstairs greenhouse of Undermere’s horticulturalist shop fell softly on Forest Vair’s maimed face.
No choice but to return here. His current Dranthium supply would last him a week and no longer. If he stopped burning a small amount every day and breathing in the fragrant smoke, he would die soon after. His people, the Draer were taught from young age how to source and prepare the herb while starting their training in hunting supernatural creatures. ‘When far from home, it is best to make fast allies with the local apothecaries and pay them well to keep stock on hand ', his mentor once said. It was perhaps the most important thing she’d told him that didn’t have to do with maintaining his weapons.
To his shame he felt a certain small resentment towards the owner of this particular dispensary, though they had not truly wronged him. They succeeded where he failed. They walked away unscathed after defeating the creature he intended to vanquish himself. He’d watched sullenly from afar as they laid secret herbs on the ancient altar in the deep woods and the old woman did her powerful incantations. The Servant was held back briefly by its final victims, and old magic finished the job. The last drops of the elixir against fear he’d purchased were not enough to steel him to jump back into the fray. Forest regretted he couldn't save the investigator, or even the foolish priestess who tried to control the Servant.
The voice in the back of his head was loud about it. Was it not his duty to hunt such things? Had he not followed faithfully the path his mentor set him upon? How dare his heart quail as weaker folk lost their lives.
Just another side-effect of the herb. Dranthium dictated both his purpose and separated him from the rest of the world. Its price set him free from worldly constraints to concentrate his efforts upon eliminating evil things. Its price weighed more heavily when his efforts were wasted.
Forest cupped his hand over the fresh bandages wrapped across half his face, and opened the door to the pleasantly warm shop. Immediately, he was overcome with a mix of scents, the strongest of which were wet earth and moldering wood. The surgeon said his left eye had permanent damage. Only time would tell if he recovered any sight; his other senses were already somewhat making up for his loss.
He fought the voice in his head. It was good that the Servant was destroyed, regardless of who did the deed. Other monsters would come and Forest would slay them, and herbalists like this one would keep him alive long enough to do it. Those who knew the greater and lesser mysteries of growing medicinal herbs had their own power and he was fortunate that this one appeared to use it for the benefit of their community. He could think of stories enough where a rogue apothecary withheld relief from folk they didn't care for, or even dispensed poison.
Small brown baskets full of waxed paper envelopes sat on the shelves behind the shop’s plant-strewn counter. Each with their contents written on the front in fine script along with a neatly printed name at the top. He could hear scuffling upstairs. If he didn’t ring the bell they would never know it if he simply took his envelope and left. He could just leave his pennies on the counter.
Well, the cat would know. Velvety black, it leapt up onto the counter, staring and giving a chirp. It matched his own eerie gaze almost a little too closely as it blinked at him. His remaining eye was just as livid green as the cat's from Dranthium use, though the green in his extended into the sclera. The cat startled as he sighed and rang the bell. Just as quick it resolved into a purring puddle near his hand. He gave it a good scratch behind the ears.
The shuffling from above shifted to quickened steps, and down came the herbalist, a young but otherwise nondescript person wearing an oft-washed apron over plain, baggy garments, stained from potting and pruning various plants. Their face lit with a pleasant smile at seeing him.
“You’re looking better, Mr. Vair.” They pulled off their work gloves and tossed them in a basket near the stairs.
“I’m glad you think so, Sage. The bandages cover the worst of it.” They asked him to call them by their first name since their deceased uncle had had the same last name. They claimed that it alleviated confusion, but Forest suspected they just preferred the informal address.
“Ah, I can see if I have anything to aid in healing."
"That's not necessary, the Dranthium accelerates my healing if I take it on time." Though it could not regrow entire organs, unfortunately.
"Right, how could I forget. You know, I’ve propagated a second pot of Dranthium. I don’t think my current plant will fail, but I understand it's dangerous for you to be without. Speaking of which...” They turned around and sorted through one of the baskets on the shelf behind the counter, extracting the one with “F. Vair” and Mens Fortis delicately scrawled on the label. Then they took out their ledger and inscribed the time and date and the amount to be collected.
“Yes. To my shame, my injuries will likely keep me here a while. I appreciate the thought though. I’ll need to replenish my stock to last weeks at a time if I wish to travel again. You’ve been quite helpful.” He counted out the coppery local coins from his pouch, glad that Dranthium was not painfully expensive here. The few small jobs he could find kept him fed and housed and little else.
“No trouble at all.” They closed the ledger and then watched him tuck the herbs into his threadbare coat.
“Good day, Sage.” He started to turn to go, but the cat jumped down to wind itself against his legs.
Seeing his predicament, Sage moved from around the counter to scoop up the cat, who still purred relentlessly.
“Hellebore seems to like you. He likes most people, but he doesn’t usually try to keep them from leaving.”
Forest nodded. “Then I am pleased to have his good will for as long as I stay in Undermere.”
At that Sage's expression shifted to one of concern. “Mr. Vair, I know you didn’t ask, but there might be an antidote if you ever needed to stop using Dranthium for an extended time, or if you couldn't find it locally.”
They looked even younger than he thought with that worried face. Exhausted from his injuries, Forest couldn’t muster much annoyance let alone anger, though he justifiably could have.
“The Draer are my people and my people take Dranthium. It is simply part of who and what we are. You would not ask your Hellebore to sacrifice his claws.” The cat blinked slowly at him and then seemed to fall asleep in the crook of Sage’s arm. Sage’s eyebrows shifted upwards, though if mortified or frustrated Forest wasn’t precisely sure.
“Oh, I apologize. When I’m researching herbs ofttimes I find clues to other interesting things. I don't know, it feels wrong not to share what I’ve learned. My uncle left guidelines for confidentiality, but not much for how to deal with giving clients herbs that could kill them so easily. I know you know how to use it, I just...”
Sage seemed like they'd only recently learned to their chagrin that there were quite a few more layers to being an apothecary and herbalist than just growing and distributing odd greenery.
“So you're feeling a bit over your head with such responsibility?"
"Yes, very much so."
Forest shrugged. "Perhaps one day you will meet one of the Draer who has given up the hunt, as unlikely as that is. I am not one such, but I can see where there are cases in which temporary mitigation might be useful. There are reasons the Draer are not known for taking long voyages by sea. What exactly did your uncle tell you of such things?”
“Just that I should use my own discretion on a case by case basis. Trust the client to know their issue; trust yourself to know whether it can be resolved with the tools you have at hand.” They frowned at the last part.
Forest could sympathize. Learning to trust oneself in the face of uncertainty was a challenge many a young Draer faced, even with the help of something so powerfully magical as Dranthium. Trusting oneself too much leaned over into arrogance, trusting too little made one ineffectual. There had to be a balance.
“A wise fellow, your uncle. As I said, I do not think I will ever need such a cure, but it is not bad information to have. It would be terrible for someone who was not of the Draer to be given Dranthium unwillingly and have that used against them. If you learn more I will pass it on—for where a Draer goes there is always Dranthium.”
“Thank you, I’ll do that. Be well, Mr. Vair.”
Forest gave a final nod, patted the front of his dark jacket to make sure his purchase was secure and left the humid, green-smelling shop for the soot and dark of Undermere’s narrow streets.
Preoccupied with healing, the conversation slipped from his mind; the herbalist however, did not forget. Weeks later, while Forest consulted with the local occultist in the parlor of the house where he rented a room, a thick envelope was delivered. The bearded postman didn't have to tell him Sage sent it, Forest was well familiar with the slight sheen of the waxed paper they used for packaging herbs. He ignored the itch in his head that hoped the contents included more Dranthium. It didn't look like his usual parcel, which he always picked up himself.
Curious to the point of distraction, he still managed to learn a little more from Mrs. Green. Her methods of quelling such creatures as the one so recently defeated were very useful to have access to if he should ever need assistance. He knew himself well enough that only desperation would bring him to call on her. Once she departed he hurried to open the envelope.
Dear Mr. Vair,
I recently had reason to spend time in Haverigg with some friends. While discussing certain trivia with my good friend Marjorie Leach—also a horticulturist—and Percy Felding, a librarian I met there, he mentioned there might be some items of interest not far.
We visited the old library at Pernon Sanctuary and uncovered a useful treatise some two-hundred-years-old penned by Lord Albert Pernon himself. It held many recipes I’d never seen before, including one with information about the "efficacy of certain herbs when used in combination to lessen the severest consequences of Dranthium dependency". The extensive detail here leads me to think Lord Pernon must have picked up an addiction to the herb during his time in the military.
It is not a full cure, it seems, but as you said there are situations in which it would be good to have access to such knowledge.
Within, I have provided sketches of each plant needed, where to find them, detailed preparation instructions, and enough of each to make the draught. Hopefully you will never need this, but the elixir exists and from records it seems to work.
Yours, Sage
Forest tucked the letter and it's contents away, and then began writing a letter of his own.
His mentor might burn it, or she might already have known of this all along and never mentioned it. In any case he needed to tell her what had happened here—and, perhaps, she could point him in the direction of a new hunt.
Lord Pernon’s Elixir:
For certain relief of the Doom wrought by the herb most commonly called Dranthium.
Ingredients:
Shortleaf Borewhitthistle
A thorny thistle look-alike which often grows on exposed poplar tree roots, with small alternating leaves and large, many-petaled fuchsia flowers and long yellow stamens. It smells sweet and pleasant, but the pollen is also a potent hallucinogen. Use gloves and a mask when harvesting.
Kindlefig
Not actually a fig. This plant grows close to the ground with sprawling red-brown leaves, often giving the impression to those unfamiliar with it that it is dying or in poor health. In spring and summer Kindlefig stems are rife with yellow flowers and small furry orange edible fruits. The leaves are good for countering poison and for flavoring soups.
Perharmonie
A tall, narrow flowering plant, with large orchid-like pink and blue blooms. In the windy moors where it grows sometimes there is a faint musical hum from their hollow stems. Very rare, intensely magical, impossible to propagate outside its natural environs. The crude nickname for these flowers is well-earned, but I shall not repeat it here.