The candlelight shone off the colored glass of the bottles that lined the shelves, flickering
and illuminating the old, faded labels.
Lightning of a summer storm.
Winter wind.
Time (1 yr).
“Sir?”
The old potion-maker looked up from his ledger-book, the rim of his glasses glinting in
the dim light.
“Yes?”
“How do you get all of this? I can understand some of the plants and animal
components, but how could you bottle lightning or time?”
“Ahh. I was wondering when you would ask me that.” The elderly man got to his feet with
a quiet groan as his hip popped, then grabbed his walking stick and looked back with a
mischievous smile on his face. “Follow me. It’s time you learned how I collect my best
ingredients.”
The potion-maker picked up another candle and started hobbling down the halls, looking
back every minute or so. Finally, he came to a large oak door; weathered and beaten, and
pulled out an ornate golden key from his pocket.
“Here it is. Now, come come come!” He beckoned quickly before slipping inside the room
and holding his candle to a sconce near the door. “Let me just light the candles. . .”
Once the space was illuminated, it was easy to see the hundreds of bottles lining the
walls, as well as the tables of strange objects scattered around the room. The potion-maker
moved to the nearest one, picking up something that looked a bit like a cheer horn, except it
was made of brass.
“Catching the wind is easy with this,” the man said, picking up an empty bottle. He put
the smaller end into the bottle. “All you need to do is hold it sideways, so the wind blows into the
end. Then flip it up and put a lid or cork on quickly, so it can’t escape.” He set the items down
and went to the next table.
This one held several metal rods and cables. He selected one of the smaller ones.
“You’ve seen lightning rods, I’m sure? Well, it’s easy enough to put the end of the cable
in the bottle and set the rod out to catch a lightning bolt. Then add one of these—” he picked up
a small box of dull black cubes, “and it will keep the lightning from dissipating before you need
it.”
“It’s that simple?”
The potion-maker laughed.
“It is difficult to believe, isn’t it? And true, some of these components are harder to
collect—but some are easier than you’d think.”
“But. . .what about time? Or joy, or love? Those aren’t physical things.”
“Ah yes. . .those are rather difficult to collect. Time is, at least. You see, the trick for
those is to ask.”
“Ask? Ask who?”
“Anyone, I suppose.” The potion-master shrugged, heading over to a third table.
“Usually, it comes from our customers.” He turned and chuckled. “Wipe that scandalous look off your face; I wasn’t done explaining. You’ve seen all the people who come into the shop, looking
to heal a broken heart or forget a traumatic event. You’ve seen people come for de-aging
potions.” He waited for a moment, then continued. “That’s where we get emotions, memories, or
time. You cannot truly destroy love, so when a customer drinks a potion to fix a broken heart,
rather than simply erasing the love that caused it, it transfers it to one of the bottles.” He pointed
to the rack of bottles, each one with a small amount of liquid inside. “That liquid in the bottom is
what allows the transfer to happen; I’ll teach you the recipe soon. It goes into most of the
potions we make here.” He went to the corner of the room and opened a drawer, pulling out a
familiar vial. “You’ve added this plenty of times, haven’t you?”
“And. . .the same process applies to time or memory or. . .anything?”
“Exactly.” The potion-maker nodded approvingly. “You’ve always had a good head for
this business.”
“But isn’t that. . .unethical? Taking that from people without their consent?”
“But they do consent. When they take the potion, they are making that choice, and the
effect is the same as if we’d simply erased whatever they wanted to remove. It’s much less
wasteful if we make use of it for the benefit of others.” He walked around the room,
extinguishing the candles. “Now, it’s quite late, and we’re opening the store early tomorrow. You
should get some sleep.” Then he chuckled softly as he blew out the last candle.
“Besides, I’m sure you’re tired. Learning new things can be so exhausting sometimes.”