Analindë (The Chronicles of Lóresse) (32 page)

“It has calming properties.” Her soothing voice reminded Analindë of wind meandering through trees. “It is also used as a cleansing agent, and to purify.”

“Exactly. Now the question remains, is all chamomile the same?” He began to tap the row of jars on the lid one by one, “as any other bit of chamomile?” A faint shimmer in one of the jars caught Analindë’s attention. It swirled and sparkled promising things she–

“Anyone?”

Analindë glanced from the faintly shimmering jar to the one at the opposite end of the row, which was flat. “No,” she blurted out. Embarrassed at the outburst, she blushed and knew the tips of her ears were bright red, which made her blush even more.

“That is correct Analindë. Can you tell us why?” She shook her head. “Anyone else? Very well then, let us proceed.

“From the moment a plant begins to form, no even before that. From the moment you decide which seeds to use. No, again, even before that. At the beginning, when you decide where to plant, you determine the efficacy of your end product. The potential strength of the plant and how potent it will be depends on many things. Let us narrow the scope a bit and start out with good soil and great seeds.” He spun an illusion around them and they found themselves seated at their desks.

In the middle of a farmer’s field.

A mild breeze teased Analindë’s hair, bringing with it the smell of freshly turned earth. Mounded rows of dirt stretched before them in all directions as far as the eye could see, the sun beat harshly down upon them. Analindë wished she had a hat.

He walked along the bare rows. Pointing at one, he said, “What if this row receives infrequent watering? What happens? . . . The plant’s growth is stunted.” Leggy ragged plants sprouted up, with only a few buds ready to blossom. She reached over to her side and gently brushed the plant growing next to her with the tips of her fingers. It felt real. He was good. Really good. Analindë grinned.

“And what if there is too much water?” He pointed at another row. A line of lighter green plants sprang to life; their leaves were faded, potency diluted. The plants also battled root rot. A row sprang up on her other side. She was surrounded now.

“Too much sun? And not enough?” He skipped a row, and pointed further to the right. Two more rows of plants grew quickly, one with sickly yellow spots and the other lush but stunted.

“And when you get the right combination of water, heat and light? . . . Perfection.” A row of healthy chamomile plants grew down the middle row with heavy green buds ready to blossom. “And if they don’t have the right nutrients in the soil?”

All the plants wilted in front of them. The middle row still looked the best of the bunch, but less happy. Could that word be used to describe a plant?

“And if they are fed properly and nourished?” All five rows perked up, looking fuller than they had been, with more buds.

“And if they are helped to grow with a bit of Energy? Grow swift and strong, healthy and potent.” Analindë jumped in recognition as Master Roshär sent a swath of Energy out to nourish the plants. They grew a foot taller and even the least of them looked decently healthy.

With a wave of his hand the fields disappeared and they were back in the cool shaded classroom. It felt wonderful after the searing heat. “And how will you harvest the plants and blossoms? How will they be cut up, dried, and stored? There are so many variations, so many places to go wrong.” He tapped each of the jars twice; their lids unscrewed themselves. The last two in the row he left fastened tight.

“And that, my students, is why a good Herbalist is worth his weight in gold, should you decide not to spend the necessary time to grow needed plants yourselves.”

“This one,” he opened the jar that felt flat, “I purchased from a human market, in a barren corner of their land. . . . Can you sense it? You are welcome to try if you are able.”

She sensed tendrils of Energy snake out across the room in varying strengths. Some were as weak and flickering as hers had been a few months ago. Others were strong, born of practice and constant use.

Analindë sent a fine thread of Energy out to mingle with the others. She let hers hover over the jar seeing what, if anything, she could sense.

It wasn’t as flat as she’d thought, but the Energy radiating from the dried chamomile blossoms felt weak and dry.

“This one is of human origin as well.” He tapped and the lid flipped open. “Purchased it from the farmer himself.” It was stronger, but not at full strength. “This one I purchased from a human witch three hundred years ago.” The next jar sparkled with Energy, but there was an underlying weakness she couldn’t name.

“These three I purchased from elves who shall remain nameless, the first from the Forest City.” He tapped one jar. “The Eastern Plains and the Northern Hills.” He tapped two more as their lids flipped open to rest on the table. Then he paused as the students’ tendrils raced from jar to jar, seeking and feeling. Analindë restrained herself and sent her fine thread to hover over the twisting melee.

The first of the three jars radiated weakly. It had less Energy than the Human witch’s and was deeply flawed as if the elve who had grown this chamomile had pushed the plant to produce more than it was able.

The other two were beautiful. Energy swirled heavily through them, reminding her of lazy summer days under the warm sun. The dried bits of plants themselves felt fresh and healthy, strong and wholesome. One felt more soothing. The other felt bolder in a comforting sort of way. The latter sample was from the Northern Hills.

Two jars remained unopened and Master Roshär was twitchy. Which meant they were something special. “This one,” he laid his hand upon the second to last jar, “I traded for . . . from a human named Daniella.”

That caught everyone’s attention. “Daniella’s family has stayed in contact with elves through the generations and has,” he swallowed a smile, “reaped the benefits.”

He tapped the jar three times. It opened and contentment rolled through the room. Analindë had a strong urge to curl up and take a nap.

On the stone floor.

Warmth and strength pooled in her and her muscles relaxed. She hadn’t realized she’d been so tense. Before she could send her thread to explore the blossoms, Master Roshär flicked his wrist and his fingers moved in a complex pattern. All the lids snapped back into place, sealing the jars shut. But yet, they weren’t sealed.

Analindë sent her thread of Energy to circle one of the jars. There was a hole in the seal. She searched quickly and found holes in all the seals. Big ones. She wondered if this was a necessary part of the storage jars so that the plants didn’t go stale. Or was it a flaw, with the holes leading to staleness?

She looked up to catch Master Roshär’s attention and found his eyes locked on hers. She opened her mouth, words half formed waited to leap out. He’d watched her perusal of his jars and read the question in her eyes.
Caution
was what his eyes said back to her.

She looked around at her fellow students. Some lounged in their desks like they hadn’t a care in the world, others unaffected by the potency of the energies swirling in those tiny jars still paid rapt attention. Her mouth snapped shut and her polite society mask descended. Master Roshär nodded his approval and his stance relaxed. He’d been nervous. She hadn’t realized it.

“Time to wake up.” He snapped his fingers.

“Everyone wake up.” He clapped his hands; a wash of peppermint filled the room followed by a crisp clear breeze of winter wind. He’d opened the window. A moment later everyone was back to the edges of their seats, clear-headed and perky.

“One last sample,” he said as he placed his hand reverently upon the last jar. “This one I traded for from my mother.” He grinned. “It was from one of her more spectacular crop successes.” Unlike the other jars, only about a quarter of this one was filled with blossoms, but it was enough. Newly sensitized and knowing what to look for she watched the Energy crackle and spark just beneath that glass lid. She knew that this batch of chamomile was potent. Very potent, judging by what leaked out of the gap in the seal.

“Some of you may feel it more strongly than others,” a questionable grin slid onto his face and he leaned forward in anticipation.

“You may want to reach your senses out; I’ll only take the lid off for half a moment.” A dozen tendrils of Energy darted out at his suggestion, ready and waiting. One of the younger members of the class had sent a particularly fat strand of Energy out, obviously not wanting to miss anything so special. Master Roshär’s lips twitched as he suppressed a smile. Analindë sent a very fine thread of Energy out to join the others, half the size of the one she’d used before.

“And now, here it is.” He began to tap the jar and a shield sprang up around the professor moments before he touched the lid. It was a trick! Try as she might, she couldn’t react fast enough.

Energy rushed up and over her with her shield only half formed. She gasped and then everything went dark.

She was nestled down into the softest bed she’d ever slept on. She hadn’t felt like this for ages and decided that she’d stay here and not move for at least another very long while.

“Analindë.” The pleading voice sounded like Pedar’s. “Wake-up. Class is over.” Someone pushed her shoulder; she felt herself slide to the side, and then she was falling. Hands grabbed at her shoulders and then she was back on the fluffy bed again.

“Stars, Analindë. Scare me to death why don’t you.”

Go away Pedar
, came out as, “Mmmmm mmmm.”

“Can’t you do something?”

“I’ll try again.” She smelled mint and her mind began to clear.

“Does it always happen like that?”

“Yes, sometimes less, sometimes more. Never quite as much as this.”

Were they talking about her? Her thoughts began to circle. Why were Pedar and Master Roshär in her bedroom? Sleep began to fade. Questions circled faster, and her soft bed slowly stiffened, becoming less comfortable. Her head felt heavy, the right side of her face was squashed against something hard. Not a pillow. Was she drooling? She pushed herself upright and away from the desktop, a hand at her face to check for anything moist.

The room spun wildly and she closed her eyes until it stopped. Breathing deeply, she rubbed hands over her face and pressed them against her eyes. She felt more awake, so she peeked her eyes open and looked around the room. Most of the students were already gone.

Another three were just staggering out the door. Pedar sat in the desk next to her looking dazed. Master Roshär half leaned against his table, an arrested expression on his face. Analindë looked over at the final occupant of the room. The youngster. He was out cold and
was
drooling on his desk.

“Oh, he’ll be out for a while yet,” Master Roshär chuckled. Analindë grinned back when she remembered the fat strand of Energy that had waited, hovering just above the jar.

“You’ll be all right now? I can leave?” Pedar asked, looking a little more awake.

“Yes, I’ll be fine, no need to wait on me.” She sat up straighter even though she really felt like slinking back down and resuming her nap on the desk.

“Before you go, I have one more thing to tell you. Pedar, you were still asleep when I told the last group.” His eyes were serious now and Analindë marshaled her scattered thoughts together so she could properly focus. Pedar slipped back down into his chair and waited.

“This is more than a lesson about herbalists and chamomile. I find this a mostly harmless way to help you learn a bit of first-hand knowledge and hopefully gain a bit of caution at the same time.” He reached back and plucked up the jar containing his mother’s flowers. “You’re both fairly powerful already. Pedar, what do you see?”

“The Energy is powerful and the jar has shields woven into the glass.”

“And in those jars?” He pointed to the others on his desk.

“Those jars are shielded as well, but less so. The contents appear practically flat if not completely so. Except for that one.” He pointed not at the one Master Roshär held, but to the second to last sample shared with the class. “It swirls with Energy as well. Although not as strongly as the jar you hold.”

“Good. So here you learn caution. The powerful something within the shielded jar. What should be the first thing you ever do when approaching an unknown situation?” He looked between the two of them. “Shield yourself. You never know what’s going to be inside,” he chuckled.

“Definitely don’t send out a huge bit of Energy and stick it inside the moment the jar is open just to see what it is.” Analindë exchanged glances with Pedar; he looked unhappy.

“And I’ll leave you with this thought. What if there had been something else in that jar beside chamomile?” He glanced down at the sleeping boy to check if he was beginning to wake. His gaze flicked away from the student, then moved between Pedar and Analindë several times. The stare pinned her to her seat.

“You are both becoming quite sensitive to energies already; remind me . . . how fine a strand of Energy did you send out?” He raised a hand up, “No. Do not say it aloud.” He glanced around the room, then spun a shield out to surround them, locking and sealing them away from anything that could listen. Pedar shifted warily in his seat.