Book One – Chapter 18

Slowly, Yu turned back. And then, very still, very aware of the mask staring down at him, he lied with a nod. “The glass. I mean, it’s … odd.”

It was true enough. While the flask was shaped like an ordinary tube, the glass seemed extremely thick, like you could not smash it if you tried. Even with its length, there could not be more than a few drops of liquid inside. It was the faintest thread of red.

“Indeed so,” the shaman placed it back. “The potion must be handled with care. It is difficult to create and rare to acquire.” Her voice lowered, unfolding into secrecy and intimacy. “It takes the fragment of a witch’s giving heart to make, wherefore it also known as The Giving Heart.”

Her hand slid next to a squat vial that was sealed in wax. The glass bulged unevenly, swollen in its middle, as though the liquid had once pressed to burst through. “The Purging Draught. A creation by Bubs himself. To drive poison from the gut. Violent, when necessary, and therefore only necessary for the most violent afflictions.”

The cupboard door closed with a soft metal click.

“I see that you wish to speak about something else,” said the shaman.

Yu did not wish to speak to her at all.

“Should we not … take care of him?” His words came thin, and his step toward the selder’s cot too hasty, too willing.

“Can you?” The mask followed his movement. Her tone threw him off balance. It had substance beyond mere sound; the weight a burden forced from her shoulders onto his.

“Can’t you?” Yu threw it off. The question fell heavy, but not far. It was a shackle to his fears and suspicions. Was she still toying with him? Toying with the selder’s life?

“I assume you carry the misconception that shamans are akin to healers,” the shaman said.

That is not an answer. And you are not a real shaman.