The Amber Potion

Even by street of dreams standards, the stranger looked a shambles. He would have been tall had he stood up straight. He would have been handsome were he not unkempt and filthy, and he would have been formidable looking were his thrashed demeanor not so pitiful. His leather armor, cut deeply in several places showed through a ragged tunic of gray and dark stains. At least three month’s beard covered a youngish face framing very old eyes.

He made his way along the center way of the street of dreams, his feet shuffling slightly on the cobblestones. A makeshift crutch propping him up on the right made a tap-scraping sound as he closed the distance between himself and Griswald Grimm’s apothecary.

The stranger did not go completely unnoticed. Though he was the very picture of indigence, the sharp eyes of two thieves in the shadows fell upon the jeweled hilt of a sword peeking into the morning sunlight from under what was left of a travel worn cloak. It looked like easy pickings and they decided with a single thought between them to make it their own.

Crossing the street to the stranger’s front, the first thief moved ahead of him, blocking his path. The second crossed behind, flanking him. sensing danger, the stranger halted, not looking up from the street he’d been staring at as he hobbled along.

"That’s a pretty nice sword." Commented the first thief. The stranger offered no reply. "Give it up and I’ll let you pass unharmed."

There passed twenty heartbeats during which time seemed to stand still. Then each thief drew a weapon. The sound and the movement galvanized the stranger into action. In a single fluid motion, he dropped his crutch, came erect, brought his eyes up into the unfolding scene, whipped away his outer cloak and brought his own sword to the ready just in time to parry one thief’s attempt to backstab him, while the other hand loosed a hidden throwing knife that sunk hilt deep in the left leg of the other.

"Yaghhhaa!" Shouted the would-be robber in a howl of pain.

With a wrist twist and a single diagonal slash, the stranger disarmed the remaining swordsman and laid a half-inch deep diagonal slice into him from his right shoulder to his groin. That thief also fell to the street crying out in agony.

Satisfied that he was no longer in any danger, the stranger returned his sword to his belt and turned toward where he had flung his cloak. Standing, holding his possessions, was alchemist’s apprentice Fleet O’Feet with a big grin of obvious appreciation on his face.

"Guess you showed those guys," Fleet commented.

But all the animation had disappeared from the swordsman. "Yeah," he answered dully, "Guess I did."

Fleet was undaunted. The young apprentice had an unabashed appreciation for all aspects of combat, despite his master’s outspoken disdain concerning violence. Fleet, despite his tender age of fourteen, was a trained expert in several disciplines of personal protection, one of which was knife throwing.

"They’re just powderites." He emphasized the slang term for dream powder addicts with an edge of disrespect. "A true thief would have recognized the sword of a fighter and let you pass." He handed the stranger his cloak and crutch. "Those guys are lucky to be alive."

Accepting the items, the stranger said, in a low voice, "Thank you for holding these, but now I must be on my way. I have pressing business near to here and I cannot stay and talk." So saying, he offered the boy a copper coin, then slid-clicked away before Fleet could refuse.

Inside the little shop of poisons and potions, in a small alcove hidden behind a curtain, Griswald Grimm heard the bell attached to the front door jingle at someone entering. It was about that time of morning for his apprentice to be showing up for the day’s chores, so he did not glance up from the manuscript he’d been translating since before dawn. The bell rang a second time a few minutes later and the giant alchemist heard young Fleet’s voice register surprise.

"It’s you." The boy exclaimed in delight as the tattered swordsman from the street entered the room.

"And you as well, I might add." The stranger said evenly, with no trace of warmth in his voice. "Is your master about, lad? No offense to you but my business must be with the alchemist himself."

Fleet feigned being wounded and laughed aloud at his own joke. "Master." He called, raising his voice slightly to be heard by the ears Grimm always complained were going deaf. "Master, there is someone here to see you."

The curtains parted and Grimm entered the room. His voice rumbled slightly as he spoke. "I am Grimm." He said simply.

"I am Darrin." The stranger introduced himself. "Once called, ‘The Bold’ though no longer. I have questions for you that will require much discretion."

Fleet faded into the background, knowing instinctively, having been instructed to do so on the many occasions when serious affairs called for his master’s attention. The stranger and the alchemist moved to the comfort of two chairs arranged for the purpose of conversation. Fleet busied himself within earshot, preparing cups of water, a traditional first drink between unacquainted persons. He presented them and then faded back away.

"What of these questions then?" Grimm inquired.

Darrin reached deep within a pocket of his tattered cloak and brought forth a cut crystal bottle about the size of a dagger hilt. He said, mirthlessly, "I possess The Amber Potion."

Grimm seemed not to breathe for a moment, then let out a sigh of resignation. "I knew this would surface again," he said. "I was hoping it would not, but I knew it would. How came you by it?"

"There is a cavern entrance in a hidden ravine, far back in the mountains to the north of this city," the man began, as Fleet O’Feet momentarily forgot his sweeping and strained to hear the man’s soft voice.

The stranger who called himself Darrin sat facing Griswald Grimm inside the apothecary on the street of dreams. He spun a tale of youths gone adventurin’ in the wide, wide world. He was a skilled fighter, adept with both sword, knife and edged throwing star. He’d been a soldier of fortune of some reputation in his country far away, beyond the delta river valley that formed the eastern terminus of the Great Road and had joined a small troupe of like-minded youths seeking storied treasure to the west.

Though none of these adventurers were guild inducted, all were highly qualified within their chosen skill. Archer, magic user, lock pick-thief, blade fighter, together, they formed a quartet equal to any challenge or danger or so they believed. They believed any treasure would be theirs for the taking.

Fleet O’Feet abandoned any pretense of work and pulled up a chair. Grimm shot him a look that said, "Be still," but offered no other resistance.

"The entrance to the cavern was exactly where the map said it would be." Darrin went on with his narrative.

On the journey west from the River Delta, the young adventurers had occasion to stop off at the Inn of the Crying Lion, where chance arranged a meeting between them and a sad-eyed beer drinker with a map for sale.

"I know it was a foolish thing," Darrin elaborated. "But this old coot, a long time back from the dungeons, was down to his last copper and desperate for a pint. We figured he couldn’t possibly be lying when he showed us the treasure map."

He held the crystal bottle up against the light streaming through the window to the front of the apothecary. You know," he sighed, "If that old drunk had mentioned silver or gold or gemstones or armor or anything else, we’d have probably sent him on his way. But there was something in his voice when he told us that the biggest prize to be had in that cavern was The Amber Potion. We all took him very seriously."

"Wait a minute," piped up Fleet. "I know every poison and potion in this shop and every one in master Grimm’s, Tome of Powders and Liquids of The World, and I never heard of this ‘amber potion.’ What is it? What is all the whispering and gloomy attitude about?"

"Lad," said Grimm in that very patient voice that always seemed to precede the throwing of some object in Fleet’s general direction. "The Amber Potion is listed in ‘Forbidden Liquids and Dark Magic Powders.’ You will not be permitted to study that tome until you have been bonded as a journeyman."

Fleet groaned in disappointment. He was always too young for the really good stuff.

"But this once I will explain." Grimm continued, cutting Fleet’s protest short. "The Amber Potion is a chambered crystal bottle containing three dragon’s tears."

Fleet gasped. Dragon’s tears were quite literally, an immortality serum. That much he did know.

Grimm instructed Fleet patiently. Three dragon’s tears made up the amber potion. Swallowing one dragon’s tear dispensed immortality. A second drop dispensed the wisdom of a thousand tomes. A third dispensed the death of a thousand agonies. The effects were cumulative.

"But, but. . ." Fleet stuttered. "I always thought dragon’s tears were just a legend. You mean they’re real?"

"Very real." Darrin said sadly, "Too real."

Emboldened by his master’s allowance of participation, Fleet pressed, "If that bottle contains what you say, then you possess one of the greatest treasures in the world." His eyes were bright with enthusiasm.

"Or one of its greatest curses." Grimm said quietly. He turned his attention back to Darrin. "You’ve already swallowed the first drop, haven’t you?"

Darrin nodded slowly. "Everyone in my party met their deaths in that cavern."

"Except you," Fleet interjected.

"Including me." Darrin emphasized. "We were ambushed by goblin archers. We found the potion in an alcove at the edge of an underground river just before they attacked. I took four arrow strikes in less than a second and knew I was done for. I panicked, uncorked the first chamber swallowed the first drop. Then I slipped into the river and left my friends to their fate." His voice quivered with the emotion of the memory. "I purposely saved my own miserable life with the act of a coward." It was now almost a whisper.

"And so you’re here." Prompted Grimm. For once, Fleet remained silent.

"I am searching for an antidote." Darrin said hopefully.

"None exists." Grimm replied. "The effect of the first drop is permanent and cannot be reversed."

"Then I am doomed to a thousand lifetimes of shame." Darrin’s misery welled up from deep within him.

"Or blessed with the wisdom of a thousand tomes." Fleet reminded him. "That’s what you said the second drop does, right master?"

"The boy speaks truthfully." Grimm said. "But there is a heavy price to pay, for this knowledge which is magical in its effect."

"What is the price?" Darrin whispered.

"Your humanity." Grimm replied. "It will cost you your human form."

"Will this knowledge relieve my shame?"

"Only you can forgive yourself for your acts," Grimm said. "Gods nor man may intrude. You will have a thousand lifetimes to decide how important a single cowardly act relates to the way you live them."

"So my fate is sealed."

"No," Grimm emphasized. "Your fate has been delivered into your own hands. If you swallow the second tear, once each year you will remorph to human form for a single day. On that day you will decide if you will live for the coming year."

"The third tear!" Fleet exclaimed. "The third tear is a deadly poison, one that will end your immortality by your own hand."

"True, lad," Grimm said sadly. "But you fail to appreciate the cruelty of the amber potion. The legend states only that it dispenses immortality. The effects of the second and third drops are known only to the guilds of wizards and alchemists. It was a trap set long ago by its discoverer."

"I don’t understand." Fleet said.

"Darrin’s dilemma is threefold." Grimm explained. "Having swallowed the first tear, he has achieved physical immortality, but at a terrible cost. He must live with the manner in which he obtained this state and he can never father children or know the love of a woman."

Fleet shivered at the thought. Though only fourteen, and being male, he understood plainly the cruelty of that fate.

"Secondly," Grimm continued. "The knowledge contained within the second tear will cost him his human form. It is a heavy price to pay and knowledge does not always equate to wisdom."

"And last of all," Darrin added, his voice returned, "I may die only by my own hand and must decide my own fate each year into forever. It is a curse no man should be forced to endure."

Fleet fell silent.

Darrin rose and extended his hand. "Thank you Master alchemist for your explanation and your hospitality."

Grim rose with him and grasped his hand firmly. "You will make the right decision when the time comes." He said. "Perhaps in your travels you will come across someone or something that will relieve your suffering."

Darrin turned his attention to Fleet O’Feet. "And you, apprentice alchemist, be careful and listen to your master. There are fates worse than death and they lie hiding like snakes under rocks, waiting to strike you down."

"I will remember your words and heed them." Fleet said with more humility than Grimm had ever seen the impetuous lad show.

The bell on the door of the little shop of poisons and potions jingled cheerfully upon Darrin’s departure. Grimm slumped back into his chair and now seemed lost in thought, the lines on his weathered face creased even more deeply than usual.

"Fleet picked up on this instantly and said, "Master, are you all right?"

Grimm sighed and with considerable effort sighed, "No, lad, I am not." He exhaled heavily.

"What’s wrong?" Fleet held much affection in his heart for the giant alchemist and was genuinely concerned.

"You probably should know this." Grimm said with resignation, "For it is more likely that you will be the one who sees him next, many years from now."

Fleet read the seriousness in Grimm’s tone and knew that this was not one of those times he could crack wise and break the heaviness of the moment.

"I was hoping to spare you this before your making as a journeyman." Grimm continued. "But now you need to know, and this knowledge must never pass to anyone save one like yourself, an apprentice securely on his way to being bonded."

Fleet caught the compliment and did not blink at it.

"The Amber Potion does more than what I told him it would because he did not ask all the questions he should have. If he does not drink the second tear, he will go slowly mad. If he does, the creature into which he will evolve will be a phoenix. At the end of each of his yearly days as a man, after this evolution, he will be compelled to build a pyre upon which he must endure his own cremation."

Fleet interjected his own comprehension. "From that pyre, he will arise again as the phoenix to live for another year. Why didn’t you tell him that?"

"Because he must ultimately make his own decision free of coercion."

"And if he drinks the third tear?" Fleet sensed that there also, was more.

"When he drinks the third tear, it must be for love." Grimm said. "He will learn in his travels that love is his only salvation. For love alone, will he be willing to die a thousand deaths. That will win his release. Then he will discover that the third tear returns his mortality to him for a single day. This is  time enough for him to father a single child."

"And the death of a thousand agonies?" Fleet was nearly breathless.

"Won’t be a torture of physical pain," Grimm said quietly. "He will suffer the anguish of knowing he will never see his child or hold it. Nor will he be able to spend more time with his beloved. After this one day of return to mortality, he will die.  His death will be a physical release but an emotional torture beyond the ability of most mortals to endure."

Fleet just stood for a moment, understanding for once why he was too young for some things. He turned away from Master Grimm, took his abandoned broom back in hand and began to sweep.

Outside the apothecary, the stranger made his way down the street of dreams toward the cloth bazaar. The tap-scrape of his crutch fell on deaf ears. His ragged demeanor attracted no attention. His eyes cast downward; he set himself on a course out of the city, already having decided what he would do when he reached the seclusion of the desert.

After a time, he was gone and except in the mind and memory of Fleet O’Feet. It was as if he had never existed at all.