The Herbwitch's Apprentice by Ireen Chau (great books to read txt) 📕

The witch gave a nod. I thought I detected a twitch at the corner of her lips. “Potion making is the most important of the bunch, but I suppose you had to familiarize yourself with basic witch history first.”

I recalled what the volume on witch history said about King Humphrey’s Non-Magic Age. There wasn’t a hint of malice in the passage despite being written by a witch. It could have been in a standard book on Olderean history. I wondered how the witches could be so compliant as to willingly leave because a human king said so. Though, I supposed that they managed to live perfectly well underneath their homeland.

“I’ll try my best to finish it this week,” I said earnestly. “I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”

Lana’s gaze strayed to my bracelet of silver bells. I had gotten so used to its weight on my wrist that I barely took off.

“I see,” she said. “Well, no matter. I intend to teach you the basics of potion making today, anyhow.”

She covered the cauldron with a lid and beckoned me to the main room, which I began to refer to as her storage room if anything else. The chamber was cluttered with herbs and bottles and papers. Lana pulled out a bench near the fireplace and gestured for me to be seated.

“Today we will cover poisons and antidotes, the former of which is the first thing that comes to humans’ minds when they hear about witch potions,” Lana said dryly. “If you were wondering why I put venom in the antidote, it is meant to work with the purifying ingredients to stagnate and at some point, reverse the effects of any mild poison. I find that poison itself, if used in small quantities, can be used for healing. Antidotes, too, can be poisonous if used in great amounts. There is a delicate balance between the two, and any small change can tip the scale.”

I nodded, wishing that I had brought fresh parchment and a pen with me. My younger self would have scoffed, as my old governess’s lessons were as dull as a barrel of turnips. But this was different.

“Mind you,” she said, “making poisons with intent of killing humans or fellow witches alike is not allowed. Not one witch is allowed to use magic for malice. It is the only law we have.”

“So you can’t make poisons?” I asked, confused.

“We can,” Lana said after a beat. “I suppose it’s not a law. More of a code of honor, really.”

Lana proceeded to list the most common types of witch-made poisons, which were only made to kill off pests or to get rid of mold, that wouldn’t be fatal to humans or witches if ingested. Most of them could be cured with the basic antidote Lana had made out of toad venom.

“And you will find that all witch-made potions will stay on any object it touches,” Lana said. “Magic always leaves a trace.”

I asked her what she meant by that.

Lana went to her cupboard and pulled out a vial of murky liquid and a dented tin mug. She uncorked the vial and I touched my crystal. Rat poison.

“Watch carefully,” Lana said. She dripped the poison into the mug, swirled it around, and poured it back into the vial. A puff of gold emitted from the tin when the poison made contact, then faded away. Lana went to her cauldron where she rinsed the mug with water.

“All witches can sense where a potion has been, in their own way. For you it will be visual,” Lana said, tilting the mug to me. “Do you see anything?”

A pulsing gold aura emitted from the mug where the rat poison had been, even though it was clean. “I do,” I said. “It’s like a magical footprint.”

“It is,” Lana said. I thought I saw a hint of satisfaction in her expression. “And luckily, it is possible to extract and identify that footprint with a special extracting potion. Very handy for witches who forget the recipe of something they previously brewed.”

“So you could make more rat poison appear from that mug?” I asked, amazed.

“That’s right. I will show you how to make that extracting potion next time,” she said.

“Are there any other examples of magic leaving a trace?” I asked, wondering at the possibilities. “If a charmwitch casts a spell, does that leave a trace too?”

“Magic works in mysterious ways. Sometimes things happen that even witches can’t comprehend,” Lana said. “Legend has it there was once a powerful witch who passed away. When she breathed her last breath, her enchanted object glowed and her body disappeared.  The object was passed on to her granddaughter, who claims her grandmother has appeared before her many a time, as real and as solid as any living person.”

I stared at my crystal, wondering if I’d be stuck in there if I died. Lana seemed to read my thoughts. “But of course, it is just a legend,” she said. I realized she was looking at my crystal too. She tore her gaze away and cleared her throat. “Never mind that. It is getting late.”

The strong sunlight streaming through the circular windows told me it was near noon. My stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl as I bent over to retrieve my bag.

“Will you stay for lunch?” Lana asked just as I stood.

“If you will have me,” I said, sitting back down. I’d be a fool to refuse Lana’s hospitality after taking such pains to convince her to teach me.

Lana disappeared into another room, and before I could react, dishes of food shot out and skidded onto the table. She emerged and sat calmly, as if levitating dishes were not out of the ordinary.

“Go ahead.”

A bowl of mixed grains sat before me. The other dishes held assorted vegetables and a hunk of steamed fish. I took a small bite, noting that the grains and vegetables tasted rather bland. We ate in silence until we finished. Lana waved