After a few hours on the road Freja finally found the last ingredient she needed for Sabec’s surprise gift. She retreated back into the wagon after allowing Bjorn to go off hunting again as he seemed eager. She opened the back tailgate flap so she would have light to work.
Sabec’s wagon had a small work station and even an anvil since he performed maintenance services as well. Freja cleared off the desk so she could set up her alchemy supplies. She was going to need to use a lot more of them in order to make the medicine for detoxification which would help with hangovers.
“I don’t have the recipe but luckily I remembered this one since we made them all the time in the academy.” Freja said to herself.
The wagon rattled along the uneven dirt road, the creaking of its wooden wheels a steady accompaniment to the clink of glass and metal in the back. There was just enough sunlight filtering in to illuminate the tools and ingredients spread before her.
Freja reached for a small mortar and pestle, placing it securely on the bench. She selected dried willow bark, known for its pain-relieving properties, and began grinding it into a fine powder. As she worked, she added crushed milk thistle seeds to the mix, renowned for their ability to cleanse the liver.
Next, she grabbed a vial of distilled water infused with mint from an earlier project and poured a small amount into a glass beaker. The refreshing mint would help settle the stomach, while the water served as the base solvent.
“Okay now lets really get started, First I need to extract essences.” Freja said as she licked her lips.
Freja lit her flare jewel bunsen burner and placed an iron tripod above it, setting the beaker on top. She smiled at how easy it was to use her mana now but didn’t dwell on it, she had work to do. As the water heated, she used a pair of brass tongs to carefully lower a small copper alembic over the beaker. The steam from the mint water condensed inside the alembic’s coil, dripping into a separate glass vial as a concentrated extract.
While the mint essence collected, Freja prepared her mana infusion. She retrieved a small, opal stored in a protective leather pouch in her alchemy kit. Before she would have to let one of the others in her class charge it for her but as she held it in her palm, she focused her mana into the stone. A faint blue glow emanated from it as her energy flowed through the crystal, charging it with restorative properties.
“That was way easier than expected.” Freja said as she looked at the glowing opal. “If only I could do this before.”
Once the mint essence was ready, Freja poured it into a larger mixing flask. She added the powdered willow bark and milk thistle, carefully measuring each dose with a silver spoon. The alchemical reaction began almost immediately; tiny bubbles formed as the ingredients blended.
To stabilize the mixture, she took a dropper and added a few drops of honey tincture, which she had made previously by dissolving honey in alcohol. This not only improved the taste but also acted as a natural preservative.
“Okay, now I am excited I finally get to use this.” Freja said with a smile.
Freja needed a binder to turn the mixture into a solid pill. She took a pinch of powdered gelatin, mixed it with warm water, and added it to the flask. Using a stirring rod, she worked the mixture until it thickened into a pliable paste.
She reached into her alchemy case and took out a small pill press, an iron contraption with a crank. She transferred the paste into the feeding chamber. Once she was sure it was ready she turned the handle until perfectly shaped, small pills dropped onto a clean cloth. She marveled at the first pill and couldn’t help but snicker at her abilities.
The ominous sound must have gotten Sabec’s attention as he turned around rubbing his head.
“Is something the matter Sif?” Sabec said. “You have been talking to yourself back there, no?”
Freja’s face burned with embarrassment as she looked like a child that got caught doing something she shouldn’t have. She quickly waved him off and fixed her glasses up on her nose.
“I am fine Sabec, sorry I am almost done.” She said.
Sabec merely sighed and turned back around to face the road.
Freja shook off her embarrassment and went back to work. She was able to make seventeen pills and placed them on a flat stone plate inscribed with simple runes. She retrieved the glowing opal and hovered it over the pills, her fingers trembling slightly as she guided the residual mana into them. A faint shimmer passed over the pills, imbuing them with a soothing, magical energy that enhanced their effectiveness.
She inspected her work carefully. Each pill was smooth and evenly shaped, their faint herbal scent mingling with a hint of mint. Satisfied, she placed them in a small clear glass bottle. She would have preferred a dark glass to protect them from sunlight but had to make do and sealed it with a cork.
“Done,” Freja muttered, wiping her hands on a cloth.
She leaned back, letting out a satisfied sigh as the wagon jostled over another bump nearly causing her to fall back out of the chair.
Sabec’s voice drifted back from the driver’s seat. “Are you back there making miracles, Freja?”
“Something like that,” she replied with a smirk, “You’ll thank me later.”
She packed up her supplies knowing that she would need to clean them thoroughly later but lacked the water to do so now. She wondered if she should ask Helina if she could help her with that. She shook off the thought for later and instead climbed under the box seat next to Sabec.
“I made something for you.” Freja said as she presented the pills. “They are detoxification pills. They will help with your hangover.”
Sabec’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he accepted the bottle, inspecting the glowing pills inside. “You made this for Sabec?”
“Of course,” Freja said with a smile. “You’ve been feeding me and letting me tag along. It’s the least I could do to show my appreciation and to pull my weight.”
Sabec looked at her, then at the pills, as she began explaining their properties and how to store them properly. She noted that, given his size, he’d need to take three at a time for maximum effect, but with seventeen pills, he’d be feeling better in no time. Grinning, Sabec reached out and ruffled her hair, much to her dismay.
“Sif is full of surprises, little one,” he said, placing the reins in her hands.
Freja was confused as to why she was driving all of a sudden. “Wait, what are you—”
“Since you’re feeling so helpful, you can drive for a while,” he said with a chuckle, leaning back to enjoy the fruits of her labor. “This one has a headache so you can drive now, yes?”
Freja groaned but took the reins, her earlier pride tempered by the realization that generosity sometimes came with strings attached.
***
It was just past midday when they arrived at the riverside village of árdyrholt. The air was cool and fresh, carrying the faint scent of the river and wildflowers. Freja had already amassed a substantial stockpile of various useful plants during their journey. Though eager to prepare them for alchemical use, she resolved to set them aside for now. She wanted to focus on learning the art of trade from Sabec. If she was going to stand on her own one day, understanding how to sell effectively was essential.
árdyrholt had a distinct atmosphere compared to the previous village. This one exuded affluence, its cobblestone streets and well-maintained homes speaking of a community sustained by wealth. The wendigo here were primarily artisans, their livelihoods centered around creating delicate goods rather than tilling fields or laboring in the sun.
Freja couldn’t help but reflect on the diversity of her kind. The wendigo were divided into three main ethnicities, each with unique characteristics. The Black Nighthand, like her father, were known for their imposing stature, with skin tones ranging from ashen gray to deep coal-black. Then there were the Snowfallen, like her mother, with pale complexions often dusted with freckles, their frames slender and graceful. Finally, there were the Woodentail, the mixed children of the two groups, like Freja and her siblings, who embodied traits from both.
árdyrholt seemed to be predominantly home to Snowfallen women and children. While both sexes could be drafted for war, women with young children and those providing essential support for their families were permitted to remain behind.
Unfortunately, the affluence of the village didn’t bode well for Sabec’s business. His wares which were primarily tools, sturdy fabrics, and other goods suited for farmers and laborers had far less appeal here. The artisans and their families favored refined decorative goods. Despite his charm and persuasive efforts, Sabec found himself struggling to make sales.
As business slowed for Sabec, Joha called out for assistance, and Sabec gave Freja permission to help. She eagerly joined the enigmatic tiger demon, glad for the chance to speak with him. She had been hoping to ask him about his magic and whether he knew anything about Bjorn, but her focus on learning spices and sales techniques had left little room for conversation.
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Most of her time with Joha was spent observing his expertise in action. He moved with practiced efficiency, his deep voice smooth as he engaged customers and negotiated prices. Freja found herself mesmerized by his presence, her own role limited to processing transactions and memorizing the prices of the various spices. Despite her initial nervousness, she quickly adapted, feeling a sense of pride each time she handled a sale correctly.
As the rush for Joha’s spices began to taper off, a woman approached their stall. She was a typical Snowfallen, with pale skin, long black hair, and antlers adorned with a delicate pink-and-white ribbon, a clear sign that she was married. At her side was a little girl with wide eyes, clutching the hem of her mother’s skirt.
“Oh, dear,” the woman said with a warm smile, her gaze settling on Freja. “You remind me so much of my son. He just got accepted into Dorsehal Academy.” She paused, studying Freja more closely. “With mana like yours, you should consider applying.”
“I-I, um,” Freja stammered, caught off guard. She glanced at Joha, silently pleading for help.
Joha stepped in smoothly, his tone friendly but persuasive. “Ah, the academy, quite an honor, but as you know, ma’am, tuition there can be... steep.” He gestured subtly toward Freja. “Sif here has big aspirations, and if you’d like to support her, you’ll be pleased to know that a portion of today’s sales will go toward her future studies.”
The woman sighed, her expression softening. “I wish my son were as driven as you, young lady. Dorsehal Academy is no small feat. Do study hard when your time comes.”
Joha’s charm worked as effortlessly as his salesmanship. The woman ended up purchasing several spices, her little girl tugging at her ribboned antlers as they left. After the rush subsided, the stall grew quiet. A few more customers trickled by, their transactions uneventful and easy to handle. Joha finally allowed himself a moment of rest, settling onto a stool next to Freja beside the stall. With a practiced motion, he produced a smoking pipe, the vibrant, odorless red smoke curling lazily into the air as he exhaled.
“You really helped me out today,” Joha said, offering a smirk as he tapped the side of the pipe. “I’ll tally up the sales later and make sure you get your share.”
“It was no problem. I actually learned a lot,” Freja replied, feeling a bit of pride in her contribution. She hesitated for a moment before continuing, “I did want to ask you something, though. Wyatt mentioned you used to hunt monsters?”
Joha chuckled, the deep sound reverberating in his chest. “Ah, that was a long time ago, young lady. Those stories are better shared over a mug of ale. For now, though, it looks like someone’s come to steal you away.”
Freja frowned in confusion until she noticed a familiar figure approaching the stall. A petite goblin woman with green skin strode up purposefully, her sharp features set in indignation.
“Joha, are you trying to monopolize our newest merchant?” Helina accused, jabbing a finger at him.
Joha raised his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “She’s all yours, Helina. I wouldn’t dream of getting in the way of the convoy mother.”
Helina turned her attention to Freja, her urgency cutting through the playful exchange.
“Come along, Sif,” she said, beckoning her. “We’ve got hares to prepare, and I think your familiar is getting tired of waiting.” As they walked, Helina explained briskly, “First, we’ll need to skin them, bleed them, and clean the meat. No time to waste!”
Freja quickened her pace to keep up, anticipation building. This was another chance to learn something practical and she wasn’t about to let it slip by. This was her new life and she was going to live it to the fullest now that she had a second chance.
***
Freja and Bjorn returned to Sabec with full bellies and a few hare skins for their trouble. Helina had been a great teacher and a better cook. Sabec was in the middle of packing up his stall so Freja immediately went to help. He stopped her and suggested she go look around for more material for her alchemy. Seeing that she wasn’t needed she gathered her druid war staff and knife and left.
As they approached the edges of the village going out to the river Freja had to think of what exactly she was going to sell. Making Vital Elixirs would likely be a constant income but she would have to compete with healers and pharmacists of any given area. Since she herself wasn’t a nature mage she didn’t have healing abilities.
“I should get an infusion basin at some point.” She said to Bjorn who was trotting alongside her. “Then I would be able to work with metals. That would likely not have a lot of competition and I could sell to blacksmiths.” Bjorn tilted his heads in confusion. “It’s a type of alchemy that involves putting the essence of one material into another. A decent sized cold infusion basin would probably cost all of my gold and an infusion forge is stationary.”
They rounded a corner and the sight that greeted her stopped her mid-step. The river wasn’t the serene, glassy expanse she’d imagined. Instead, it teemed with life and activity. Boats bobbed and bumped against rather robust docks, their hulls brimming with cargo. Nearby, workers hauled bundles of rags, bales of reeds, and crates of goods up and down the banks. Waterwheels churned noisily, mingling with the shouts of workers, dock merchants and the clatter of tools. The air was heavy with the scent of wet wood, damp earth, and a faint tang of something chemical Freja couldn’t place.
Freja stood frozen for a moment, watching as a pair of boys wrestled a wooden barrel onto a cart while a woman, likely their mother, barked orders. Further downstream, a group of men in leather aprons dunked something into the water, their motions synchronized. On the far side, a line of clotheslines crisscrossed the bank, draped with drying sheets of what was likely paper.
“This is… not what I expected,” Freja murmured, glancing down at Bjorn.
Freja had hoped for a quiet spot to forage near the river. This was anything but quiet. The banks were crowded, the river itself bustling with traffic. If she stayed here, she’d have to shout to be heard, and navigating the throng seemed exhausting. She realized why the town seemed to mainly consist of women; most of the men were down there.
She sighed and adjusted her staff. “Looks like we’re walking upstream, Bjorn. Somewhere quieter, I think.”
Bjorn rumbled in agreement, his heads already turning toward the more peaceful stretch of river beyond the commotion. Freja picked her way through the crowded bank, dodging workers and carts, until they reached a narrow path that wound alongside the water.
The farther Freja walked, the quieter the world became. The cacophony of the bustling river faded into a soft symphony of nature. The air cooled, carrying the crisp scent of water and earth. Trees leaned closer to the river, their branches dipping into the current like fingers testing its chill. The only sounds were the babbling of the water and the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the breeze.
“Much better,” she murmured, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Now, let’s see if we can find something worth the trouble. Bjorn, do you remember what fleron root looks like?”
Bjorn squawked affirmatively, his heads nodding in unison.
“Good. I’ll check this side of the river, and you can do the oth—”
“Lady Sif.” The voice cut through the peace like a blade.
Freja’s head snapped up, and her gaze settled on Embla stepping out of the shadows. The effect of Embla’s magic was disorienting to witness. The minor shade beneath the trees seemed to split and fold, a dark veil parting to allow her entry. She emerged like a phantom, her eyes sharp and unyielding as they swept over Freja and Bjorn. Her gaze lingered on Freja’s druid war staff and the dagger tucked into the bindill wrapped around her waist. A faint sneer curled her lips as they pressed into a thin line of disapproval.
“Maiden Embla,” Freja greeted, her voice carefully placating. “I’d be more than happy to talk.”
“Good,” Embla replied curtly, clearing her throat. “First, what are you doing out here?”
“Gathering herbs,” Freja answered. “I’ve decided to start selling potions, like the one that saved Wyatt last night.”
“I see,” Embla said, circling Freja with the measured pace of a predator sizing up its prey. “So, you’re an alchemist or herbalist? Where did you learn?”
“I studied at the Dorsehal Academy,” Freja replied. “When you said you wanted to talk, I didn’t realize you meant to interrogate me.”
Embla ignored the jab. “Where are you from?”
“The Salstar Domain. I was born in Vetrfjall.” Freja said.
“If you were born in the Salstar Domain capital and studied at such a prestigious academy, why are you a Shia?”
Freja turned sharply to face Embla, her expression hardening. “Family expectations. I didn’t measure up.”
“Who’s expectations?” Embla pressed, stepping closer. “Your family was clearly well off. Wealth and influence are written all over you, Dorsehal tuition, a rare familiar. So, who were they?”
Freja’s hand tightened around her staff, her voice dropping dangerously. “I was forbidden from mentioning my family name by the patriarch. The church may have the authority to ask, but that doesn’t mean I have to answer, least of all to a fr?eikona. Unless you’re accusing me of breaking the law, Maiden.”
Embla’s eyes narrowed, her palm rising as if to strike. Bjorn hissed loudly ready to defend, but the moment froze as the air shifted. To Freja, the sensation was a wrongness that made her skin crawl. It felt like a sacrilege, a twisting mockery of the Forest Father’s will. Embla’s head snapped toward the river, her stance shifted defensively.
A deep explosion rattled the ground, followed by the unmistakable sound of panicked screams. Freja’s eyes darted to the horizon, where smoke began to rise in curling, angry plumes above the village. Her breath caught in her throat. This wasn’t right. What were druids doing here? They were hundreds of miles from the frontlines, on the opposite side of the country.
Before she could process the thought, Bjorn bit into her kvinskappe—robe and yanked her to the ground. A stream of water sliced through the air where her head had been a moment before, cutting cleanly through a tree branch behind her.
Darkness flared around Embla, her aura rippling outward like a storm unleashed. Her expression twisted with fury as two curved, serrated swords materialized in her hands. Another stream of water shot toward her, but she deflected it with precise, practiced motions, her swords flashing in the dim light.
“Get out here, you filth!” Embla bellowed, her voice thunderous.
Bjorn leapt in front of Freja, hissing and snarling as a man stepped out of the river twenty feet downstream. The water remained eerily undisturbed beneath his feet, no ripples, no splashes. It was as if he commanded the water to obey him. He emerged completely dry, his mossy green robes marked with the insignia of the druidic military. His staff mirrored Freja’s own wood and metal druidic war-staff. A combat knife rested at his hip.
The man’s laughter rang out, cold and sardonic, as his eyes locked onto the village in the distance, its rooftops now engulfed in flame. He didn’t even glance at Freja or Bjorn, his focus fixed entirely on Embla.
“Well, well, well and here I thought my assignment would be boring.” he said, his voice dripping with mockery, “But it looks like I get to kill a wendigo blasphemer. I will show you how far from the Forest Fathers' graces your wretched kind is.”
With deliberate ease, he raised his staff and pointed it toward the river behind him, his gaze never leaving Embla’s. His aura crashed outward like an unrelenting tide. A single word escaped his lips, a word of power of devastating simplicity.
The staff flared to life, its twisted form radiating an eerie glow. The river churned violently, and then, as if answering his command, spikes of water erupted from its surface. They shot outward with terrifying force, impaling boats and splintering structures downstream. Agonized screams filled the air as the deadly projectiles found their marks, cutting down the unfortunate and scattering survivors.
Embla didn’t hesitate. Darkness coalesced beside her, folding in on itself to create a portal, and in an instant, she vanished. She reappeared at the man’s side, her blades arcing through the air in a blur of lethal intent. The druid moved swiftly. One blade sliced past his torso, missing by a hair’s breadth, while the other met the unyielding block of his combat knife. Sparks danced in the air as steel collided, their deadly dance beginning in earnest.
