Capítulo 57: The Frothy Spell
Time passed slowly or so he thought … The boy couldn't really tell what time it was or how long he'd been sitting there. Did the Bork expect him to count his fingers second-by-second and minute-by-minute until the four hours were up? Nonsense… He was nearly ready to give up and go to sleep himself that was until he found a wooden clock, tangled in webs, at the far end of the room. It was almost invisible in the dark, with the hands on the face dangling off, and the numbers faded, but it worked nonetheless. Click! Click! Click! It clicked though didn't ring on the hour. The bell must've been broken long ago, he assumed.
Once Boone figured he'd been waiting for an hour, he began to pace the room, doing laps around the table. His boots clicking on the stone. He thought that it'd help pass the time, it only made things worse. Everytime he got to the far end of the room he'd look up at the clock. "Only three minutes?" He grumbled. After that he tried to walk slower. "Five minutes…" He grumbled once more then tried doing a few laps without glancing at the clock. That only worked for two laps. "Six minutes?" He asked himself, quickly realizing the he walked faster when he didn't look at the clock.
"There's got to be something that can drain the time away..." He eyed the old clock, tempted to turn the dials a few hours ahead, but decided against it. That won't cook the brew any faster… He thought. Defeated, he plopped back down by the fire, and gazed into the flames. They moved like tiny devils, dancing and crackling as his laughing, while sparks swooped and spun up the chimney and over his head.
Boones eyes glowed red while images faded from the flickering flames: his Ma Jean cooking at the cauldron, his grandpappy puffing on his pipe on the porch, Rynan and him doing another Wildgun and Mammoth the kid adventure, and Leslie riding her horse on the ranch .... and then he thought of his mother and father both lost before he had a chance to imprint their faces into his mind forever.
Boone then heard his Ma Jeans words. "She was as kind a woman as there was … and my Remmiron was a lucky man to have her." Boone then recalled asking, "what happened to her?" He saw the somber look that fell upon her face. "She died giving birth to you, child…" Boone felt guilt before building up the courage to ask, "and my father … what happened to him?" Ma Jean was much more hesitant to answer. "He too was taken much before his time … rescuing a man he loved dearly." And that was all that he knew about them, not the color of their eyes or hair, where they worked and what they did, he didn't even know who his mother's parents were…
"Once we rescue my grandpappy I'll ask him," he swore. "I'll ask him everything about the both of them."
He blinked and came back to the dark cellar, the boiling cauldron, and the loud snores of the man on the table. How long have I been sitting here? It must've been at least an hour… glanced back at the clock. "Ten minutes?" He slapped his face and groaned… He began to scan the room, "there has got to be something I can do—"
He saw it from the corner of his eyes. The large, squared brick of leather resting next to the large man on the table. "The tome!" He whispered, rising to his feet, and slowly walking towards it. But Grotknot said not to touch it … Unless we was kin.
He rubbed his chin softly. "But we are kin … My grandpappy told me he was like a brother to him … and surely one peek won't hurt anybody."
The boy crouched low tiptoeing towards the table, the floor creaking and his boots clicking with each step. He stopped and slid off his boots, then tossed them aside. "Don't want to wake him." Once again he was on the move, this time much more agile, sneaking like a cougar, and tiptoeing as he did when snuck out his grandparents cottage.
He reached the table and Grotknot gave a loud snort, rolling to his side, the table shrieking beneath his weight. Boone held still until the large man settled then slowly reached for the book. It was impossible to lift with one hand, and so, he hoisted it with both, grunting, then bringing it to his shoulder.
Maybe that's why the Bork had me lifting so many bags, he thought, because one day I'll be carrying the Rigger Tome. And if it's as heavy as this then I'll need the extra muscle… He gave a hushed laugh. Then tiptoed back to the fire, where there was plenty of light, and plopped down.
Boone folded his legs, looking upon the black and gold curved lettering. He rubbed his hand gently on the leather and it was surprisingly smooth … a bit dusty … but smooth while smelled of sweet, musk. His hands trembled, "let's find out what you've been hiding, old grouch." The boy slowly opened the cover, fighting the stiffness.
Inside the pages were a grayish-tan, while the sigil of the Borks was stamped on the front; two crossing boar tusks. He was told of the sigils in Professor O'hares class; when they covered the different regions where alchemy existed.
He glanced at the curved lettering and it was as queer as the lettering on the cover. "No wonder this is only for the Bork Kin …" He chuckled, "they're the only ones that can read it."
Boone flipped through page after page, his eyes widening with each new image: men frozen from being shot, hands black from an alchme frostbite, wounds healed by snow, frost bombs, vials that raise the body's temperature. Suddenly time had slipped away and he was nose deep in the book, no longer aware of his surroundings. He turned the next page and stopped near midway through the book, gasping at what he saw; the image of crystal glowing of light. "There it is…" He whispered. "The lightstone—"
A blur whipped passed his face and the book was gone from his lap.
"You thieving Tome Bandits!" Grotknots voice boomed. Boone spun around facing the hairy man who loomed over him like a giant. "How dare you defy me and disrespect my kin …"
Boone stammered, "it was just a peek and —"
"And you thought you could learn my kin's secrets?"
"No! I promise it wasn't that ... I can't even read that gibberish." He admitted. "Truth be told, Grandpappy always said you were his brother … so I thought we was kin."
Grotknots furrowed eyebrows rose. "Is that so?" He muttered to him. He closed the book that slapped loudly then he eyed the cauldron. "The brew is ready for the final ingredient." He walked over and set the tome on the table, and pulled a purse from his pocket and a mug from inside his coat. He walked over to the cauldron and emptied black and blue stones into his hands. "You know what these are, Laddy?" Grotknot held them out for Boone to examine. They were like looking at ice over a running stream.
"Runestones?"
"Precisely!"
"But I thought you said they were rare and expensive."
"They are!" Grotknot nodded. "But without them you can't make a proper alchemy spell … that is, unless you have enough ice and snow, which we don't have here," He held his hand over the cauldron," But that's not all … they quicken the cook." Suddenly the cauldron sparked blue while a cloud of cold, white mist doused out the flames and darkened the room. Grotknot chuckled. He then lit a candle on the mantle. "It's ready," he smirked at the boy, grabbing a ladle and pouring icy, frothy golden liquid into his mug.
Boone nose picked up the scent of frozen earth and he smiled. "What is it? A frost bomb, Ice achellet, or maybe a healing gem?" He peeked into the glass.
"Nonsense!" Grotknot guffawed. "This, my lad, is frost brew … finest in all of Civiland." He lifted the mug, "cheers!" then drank the mug empty.
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