Page 39 of Trivium

Two weeks had passed with Ahmina holding on by a thread. Somehow, her condition worsened even further, and Zeina became desperate. If Ahmina died, Zeina would lose everything she had come to love since she arrived at the Academy: education, Alchemy, and regular meals to name a few.

In the dead of night, she snuck into the Apothecary to work on her potions. She had only pulled down a few bottles from the shelves when she heard footsteps outside. Quickly, she folded herself into the room’s closet, leaving it open a crack to peer through. It was odd to hear someone approach this late. She had spent night after night here, practicing her skills in the moonlight, and not once had anyone so much as walked by.

Barrow’s fiery hair hung in his eyes as he entered the room, looked around, and pulled bottles off the shelves. He paused, noticing the ones Zeina had left out, and looked around the room again. Zeina stiffened, not daring to breathe again until he started his recipe.

Clover, mugwart, rose spine—he mixed together with deathly precision—before dashing over to Hashiluna’s desk to rip through the drawers. Searching its contents, he pulled out a monstrously heavy book—an ancient, chaotic collection of pages, sticking out in unnatural ways. It was clear the book had seen better days, its paper wrinkled from moisture and potion spill. Barrow set it on the desk with a quiet thud and ran his long finger down the page, pausing somewhere in the middle before returning to his potion.

Minutes later, with a fresh bottle in hand, he slipped out of the Apothecary as quickly as he came. Zeina waited longer than usual to reveal herself. She had to be sure he was gone.

Barrow had cleaned up after himself, but he’d forgotten one thing: the book. Sitting face open on the desk was Hashiluna’s personal text: a worn book of potions with scribbles of ancient Jarrian language in the margins. Zeina curved around the desk carefully, eyes settling on the recipe Barrow had used.

Slowly, she pieced together what it was: Death Falsification. She closed the book and put it back in the desk drawer, her mind racing as she returned to her hiding place in the cellar. It wasn’t until the next day when she spotted Barrow exiting the infirmary that she understood. The medicine Ahmina received from the Alchemists was working, but Barrow’s potion created a different illusion.

He was trying to fake Ahmina’s death.

27

ZEINA

The following night, Zeina stood in the Apothecary, turning the pages of Hashiluna’s ancient book of potions in her hands. As she ran her fingers along the text, something in her awakened. The edges were frayed and its gold inscription faded, but even so, it felt magical. Ever since she saw Barrow use the book, she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

She couldn’t stop thinking about why he would want to fake her death.

Now, she sat huddled in the damp Apothecary air, clutching the book in her hands, studying every word, every symbol, every scribbled note that had been added.

Maybe it had something, anything, that could help her break Barrow’s potion. If Ahmina died or disappeared, even under false pretences, Zeina’s time at the Academy would be over. She was used to moving on, starting over, having nothing. The difference was, for the first time in her life, Zeina had something. Not just a warm place to sleep, a continual supply of food, and access to clean clothes. Now, she had Alchemy. For the first time in her life she felt she had purpose. A passion. Something to live for more than simply suriving. The thought of giving it up made her desperate, frantic even. More so than any pair of shoes, warm meal, or soft bed. More than anything she had ever known.

She spent the next two nights in candlelight, struggling to understand the words. Her poor literacy meant that every instruction took forever to decipher.

She didn’t have time for this.

Ahmina didn’t have time for this.

On the third day, the Alchemists said Ahmina wasn’t going to make it through another night.

Whatever Barrow wanted with Ahmina involved everyone believing her to be dead. And despite Zeina’s motivations being selfish, she still didn’t think Ahmina deserved whatever Barrow had in store for her. In fact, a protective fire ignited within her, one she hadn’t thought herself capable of. It became all-consuming.

Heartbroken and bitter, she snuck back into the Apothecary to say her own goodbye. Zeina couldn’t remember the last time she cried, but as she sat on the floor, looking up at the shelves of herbs, flowers, roots, seeds, and tonics, she wept at the beauty of it all. For the first time ever, she was excited about something and felt like she belonged somewhere. Right there, in the Apothecary.

And now, it was being ripped away from her before it even really began. Even though she didn’t have any friends—in fact, no one even knew she existed—she felt at home here in the Apothecary, for reasons she couldn’t explain.

She even, in some strange way, felt at home in Ahmina’s shadow.

With blurry eyes, she lifted Hashiluna’s book off her lap. She was clumsy, clouded with grief, and it dropped to the floor with a heavy thud. When she glanced down, she noticed a piece of paper had fallen out. She couldn’t understand the title or description because it was written in old Jarrian. But one single word was clear: desperate.

If she were anything in that moment, it was desperate. No matter the reason Barrow intended to fake Ahmina’s death, she couldn’t let it happen. It wasn’t clear what the potion did, but it was her only option.

Wiping her eyes, she twisted the cap off the first bottle, eager to get the potion started. Just then, something swooshed overhead, startling her. She looked around the room, her eyes met with dark corners and shadows.

“Who’s there?” she whispered. Nothing.

She went back to pouring her potion: first the thorn of a sweet tobacco vine, then the tiniest bit of blood cherry.

Moonlight poured in from the Apothecary’s upper windows and reflected off the various jars and bottles storing herbs and plants. It was the same blue hue that draped over Ahmina at that very moment. The image seemed poetic to Zeina, but she forced herself not to hang onto the thought. She couldn’t afford to get soft now.

She didn’t need the moon’s glow to follow the mysterious recipe as her eyes had adjusted to working in the dark, but it helped nonetheless, and she let the music of the ingredients chime harmoniously, serenading her while she mixed. One thing that intrigued her about Alchemy was its unusual sort of energy work. If one followed the instructions exactly, their potion would work as intended. But if one felt the instructions, the result was much more powerful. She didn’t know why, but she could just sense the energy transfer within her when she worked. It was cathartic.

As she put away her tinctures and materials, something gleamed from the upper shelves, catching her eye. Only a few shelves above her reach was a small bird, wings flapping in such rapid succession that they could barely be seen. Occasionally, they caught the moonlight, sending a small flash of light. Sliding the attached wooden ladder over, Zeina climbed to the bird’s height to find the creature’s legs caught in between two heavy bottles, trapping it in place. It struggled, flapping anxiously to free itself. “Don’t worry; I can help,” she whispered. Cautiously, she touched the bird's tiny leg. It flinched.