Unbound Divinity: The Art of Divine Inconvenience

The Salt Draught

Chapter 20: The Salt Draught

The workshop smelled intensely of scorched vinegar, wet parchment, and a variety of dried herbs that had clearly passed their expiration date several decades ago. Master Vane stood over a sputtering brass burner, his hair standing on end as though he had recently experienced a minor electrical discharge, glaring at the three intruders with rheumy, bloodshot eyes.

"You brought it?" Vane demanded, his voice cracking like dry kindling as he pointed a stained wooden spatula directly at Nyxara’s nose. "Do not tell me you dragged yourselves through half the lower cisterns just to ask about my rheumatism. I want the salt. The blue salt from the third dock warehouse, specifically crate seventy-four. Do you have it?"

Calista hoisted the heavy canvas sack onto a rickety wooden table, the contents clinking together with a dense, muted weight. "We have it. Now stop shouting and look at him. His left shoulder has been flickering like a dying tallow candle for the past two miles."

Aether offered a weak, lopsided grin, leaning heavily against a stack of ceramic crucibles that immediately began to wobble dangerously. "Good evening, Master Vane. I must say, your choice of interior fragrance is truly... distinct. Does the scorched sock aroma come standard, or is that an artisanal touch?"

"Silence, boy!" Vane snapped, hobbling over to the table with surprising speed. He snatched the canvas sack open, peered inside with one squinting eye, and poked at the iridescent blue crystals with a dirty finger. "Hmph. Pure grade. Not entirely ruined by your amateur handling. Hand me that glass beaker with the green residue, girl—no, the other one, the one shaped like a distorted pear!"

Nyxara didn't move, her arms crossed over her leather vest, her dark eyes narrowing at the old herbalist. "You get your salt when he’s cured. Not a second before, Vane. I know your tricks. You take the payment and lock yourself in the cellar while your brewing copper explodes."

"Insolent little rat," Vane muttered under his breath, though he hastily reached for a shelf lined with dozens of odd-shaped glass phials. "I have a reputation to maintain in these dismal waterworks. I am a scholar of esoteric physics, not a common street quack."

"Your reputation currently consists of hiding from the Gilded Regulators behind a curtain of rotting cabbage leaves," Nyxara countered without missing a beat.

"That was one time!" Vane squeaked, his face turning the color of a bruised plum as he began dumping various powders into a wide-mouthed brass mortar. "And the cabbage leaves were entirely necessary for dampening the magical back-signature of my atmospheric distillation project."

Calista watched the old man's frantic movements with a deep, lingering frown, her hand resting instinctively near the pommel of her rapier. "Just make the draught, Master Vane. His physical cohesion is deteriorating faster than it was an hour ago. Every time he breathes, another patch of his collar turns into amber mist."

"I am well aware of what over-saturation of the Hearth-Core looks like, Captain," Vane retorted, grinding the blue salt with a metal pestle that screeched horribly against the stone mortar. "The estate's primary vault didn't just break; it imploded directly into his bio-field. He is essentially a walking windowpane at this point. Hold still, you magnificent idiot, or I will pour this down your ear instead."

Aether blinked, his right eye momentarily shifting into a transparent outline before snapping back into focus. "My ear? Surely, Master Vane, my digestive tract is far better suited for your culinary masterpieces. Though I must protest the lack of wine-pairing suggestions."

"Drink," Vane commanded, thrusting a thick ceramic mug filled with a violently bubbling, iridescent blue liquid directly under Aether’s nose. The concoction gave off a faint, sulfurous steam that smelled alarmingly of peppermint and old copper.

Aether stared at the mug, his smile faltering slightly as a bubble popped on the surface with a tiny, sharp snap. "Is it supposed to glow in the dark like an angry jellyfish?"

"It is supposed to keep your internal organs from turning into decorative lawn ornaments," Vane snapped, shoving the mug harder against Aether’s chest. "Drink it before I lose my temper and let you dissolve completely."

Calista grabbed the mug with both hands, ignoring Aether’s dramatic sigh of impending doom, and pressed it firmly against his lips. "Drink it, Aether. All of it. Now."

With a pained grimace, Aether swallowed the foul-smelling liquid in three long, desperate gulps. For a terrifying second, nothing happened. Then, his eyes widened dramatically, his entire body stiffened, and he let out a loud, resonant hiccup that produced a brilliant, neon-green bubble the size of an apple.

"Oh," Aether wheezed, clutching his stomach as a second green bubble burst near his ear with a soft pop. "Oh, that is... remarkably unpleasant. It tastes like I swallowed a brass doorknob covered in peppermint."

"Quiet!" Vane hissed, leaning in close with a critical eye.

A sudden, sharp wave of amber mist rushed outward from Aether’s chest, swirling violently around the small workshop before snapping inward with an audible crack. The semi-translucent gaps in his arms and shoulders abruptly darkened, knitting back together with solid flesh and bone. The persistent, ghostly shimmer faded from his skin, replaced by a healthy, if slightly pale, natural complexion.

Aether exhaled a long, shuddering breath, testing his fingers by clenching and unclenching his fist. "Well. My left hand is back. That is a distinct improvement over being a breeze."

"The salt worked," Calista said, her shoulders slumping just an inch as the heavy tension in her chest finally released. Her silver divinity faded beneath her skin, leaving her feeling suddenly exhausted.

"Of course it worked," Vane muttered, turning back to his counter and aggressively sweeping stray blue crystals into a tin box. "I am a master of my craft, not a street-corner charlatan. Now get out of my workshop before the Gilded Regulators smell the residue and burn this entire block down."

"We aren't finished yet, Vane," Nyxara said smoothly, stepping forward and blocking the narrow exit between the shelves and the door. "We need information on Magistrate Vance's secondary security protocols. The ones he keeps locked in the western wall safe."

Vane stopped sweeping, his shoulders stiffening as he glared over his shoulder. "You are insane. Vance has half the city watch in his pocket and a small army of private mercenaries patrolling his estate."

"We already have the first shard," Calista said, stepping up beside Nyxara, her voice dropping into the cold, authoritative register of a military commander accustomed to obedience. "And we are going after the rest of them whether you help us or not. If you know anything about his vault mechanisms, you will tell us now."

"I am an apothecary, not an information broker for suicidal thieves!" Vane shrieked, throwing his wooden spatula across the room.

Aether strolled over, inspecting his newly restored hands with exaggerated admiration, and flashed Vane a dazzling, completely unrepentant smile. "Consider it professional courtesy, Master Vane. After all, you wouldn't want your finest creation—this magnificent physical form—to dissolve out on the street after only a few hours of proper functionality, would you?"

Vane opened his mouth to retort, but the heavy iron knocker on the outer door suddenly banged twice with a loud, metallic echo that rattled the glassware on every shelf.

"Regulators," Nyxara whispered instantly, her daggers flashing into her palms with practiced silence.

"Out through the back drainage chute, you fools!" Vane hissed, scrambling toward a low, iron-grated hole in the ba

se of the back wall. "Before they kick the front door in!"