Quiran relished his work as an apothecary, most of all during the quiet nights when he could test new formulae without interruption—or worse, meddling. In Aravit, a riverside hamlet at the edge of the Thrasonian empire, such interruptions came rarely, as was often the case in peacetime. Quiran stared balefully at the potion in hand. The harsh sunlight of the Thrasonian desert reflected off the flasks in his shop—except for the one in his hand. The potion of darkness was not of his own making, but a secret relic of the previous apothecary, Nidaba. She’d taken great pains to explain how little she knew of its function. 

Quiran adored Nidaba; he was no stranger to her penchant for flouting standards and conventions—it was the very thing that had united the two. He interpreted her admission of ignorance as a warning as much as a plea to ascertain what she could not about it. Unlike their other work, there was no suitable opportunity to test. He’d learned from her that the council of so-called academics who governed the cultural and intellectual development of Thrason cared more for regulations than they did for progress. This regulatory governing stood in stark contrast to the more practical other half of the government, run by the imperator.

The door to Quiran’s shop burst open. Quiran fumbled with the flask, nearly dropping it. He set it on the counter before plastering a fake grin on his face.

“May I help you?” he asked. The smile turned genuine as he recognized the patron. “Ah, Lelantos. How may I help you?”

Lelantos ignored the greeting in favor of eyeing the flask on the counter. “The hell is that? Something else you cooked up?”

Quiran waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing.” Lelantos was the closest thing he had to a friend here. Still, there was little to be gained by sharing his work with others—particularly something as politically fraught as dark magic and its byproducts.

Lelantos stared intently at the potion. “Is it…moving?”

Quiran’s breath came shallowly. He should have known better than to examine such a thing during the day, when anyone could walk in on him. Last time he’d done something like that, he’d dropped the flask entirely, wasting a fortnight’s worth of work in seconds. He supposed the damage was done now. It couldn’t hurt too much to explain, as long as he left all the important information out. Never mind that he had none to disclose, anyway.

“Yes, it does move on its own,” he said. 

Many mysteries surrounded the potion of darkness, not the least of which was its failure to settle the way most liquids did. Like the ocean in a storm, it rolled and crashed in its container without any apparent influence from the outside world, gyrating one moment and undulating the next. The old woman had once referred to it as an elixir of chaos. Regrettably, she’d died before Quiran could get her to elaborate further. It was quite possible that she couldn’t. Quiran flinched as Lelantos picked up the flask.

“What are you doing?”

Lelantos raised an eyebrow. “…looking at the strange brew you got here. Problem?” Without waiting for an answer, he popped the cork and peered inside. “No reflection? How’s that work?”

Quiran pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “I have no idea. Please, put it down before you drop it!”

Lelantos wiggled the flask, presumably to see what the liquid inside would do. Rather than splash up the sides and out of the flask like any other liquid might have, it continued to turn over itself at the same lethargic rate it always had, as if it still lay on the counter. He turned a thoughtful eye on Quiran, who was wincing at the flask’s rough handling.

“You mind if I…?” he asked, wiggling the flask.

“What? No!” Quiran said. He shook head. “Absolutely not. I’ve no idea what it will do—no one does.” He sorely missed his mentor in that moment. Even though she lacked the answers he needed, it had been wonderful to work with someone who cared so little for convention, as he did.

Lelantos levelled a serious look at him. “Then let’s find out.”

Quiran shook his head wordlessly. Maverick or not, there were certain lines he could not cross in his work. 

Lelantos sneered. “This ain’t like you. I thought you’d jump at the chance to have someone try it out. I’ve seen you starin’ at it when you think no one’s watching. You pine for it like a lover.”

Quiran glared at him. “My curiosity does not permit experiments on the general population, Lelantos.”

Lelantos replied softly. “I’m not ‘the general population,’ I’m just one man—a willing one, at that.”

A hot flush climbed from Quiran’s neck to his cheeks. He turned away. His pulse quickened briefly as he considered the statement. Lelantos was little more than a recurring acquaintance, but that alone made him significant, given Quiran’s tendency to avoid such connections. They generally only served to dissolve his focus and interfere with his work. And people seldom understood what his work meant to him, no matter how “close” they got.

After a moment, Quiran successfully steered his mind back to the matter at hand. He addressed Lelantos without looking at him. “There are more ramifications to this than you know. The best scenario is that absolutely nothing happens to you—and more importantly, no one finds out about this. The worst…I don’t want to think about.” Though Lelantos was only a notch past ‘anonymous,’ that made him one of the people Quiran was closest to.

“Then don’t,” Lelantos said.

Quiran felt his hands become clammy. His pulse thundered in his ears. The apothecary’s shop, while spacious—a safety measure more so than a preference—seemed incredibly small in that moment. Behind him, just out of arm’s reach, stood his friend, Lelantos, raising the now uncorked flask of darkness to his lips. Quiran could hear the man’s throat move as he swallowed the potion. Two large gulps. Quiran wanted to scream and make him spit it out. He also wanted to see what would happen if he didn’t. Together, the thoughts made his stomach churn. The beaker was returned to the counter with a telltale clink. Quiran vomited.

Background photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash