“What is it?” asked Will suspiciously.
“Something to make you feel better, unless you’d rather be a wet rag for the next few days. You’re of no use to me like this.”
As soon as he took the vial in hand he felt something, and when he unstopped it he could see a strange though faint light stirring in the dark fluid. It reminded him of one of his mother’s herb infusions, except that the energy within didn’t remind him of any plant. It reminded him instead of the old man who had just handed it to him.
“Is this blood?” he asked in alarm.
The hermit began to laugh again. “Why would you think that?”
“Because it feels like you,” said Will, unsure how to communicate his feeling.
The old man’s eyes widened slightly. “You’re a little more perceptive than is good for you.” Then he chuckled. “Blood—that’s a good idea. No one’s done that in a long time. It might be easier to make that way, though I doubt it would keep as long. Drink it.”
Will clenched his teeth. “No.”
“Suit yourself,” said the hermit. “You can sleep out here tonight. We’ll call that your second lesson.” He turned away and started to go back inside.
“Wait,” exclaimed Will. “I don’t want to sleep out here.”
The old man looked back at him. “Then drink it. Those are your choices. Drink it and come inside, or don’t and sleep on the ground.”
“What is it?” asked Will sullenly.
“Elixir of turynal,” answered the old man.
“I don’t know what that is.”
The hermit sighed. “Turyn is what the old wizards called the energy that fueled their magic. Think of it as mana, spirit energy, or just as magic, if that helps you understand. Drinking it will help restore what you’ve lost.”
Will’s eyes lit up. “This is magic?”
The old man nodded, his face serious.
Tilting his head back, Will drank the contents in a single gulp, ignoring the bitter taste. It burned as it went down his throat, and he felt a warm glow begin to radiate from his belly. A moment later, a wave of nausea passed through him.
The old man stepped close and grabbed his head then, gripping his skull with one hand and holding his mouth shut with the other. Will struggled in his grasp, but the man’s hands seemed impossibly strong.
His stomach rebelled, sending their contents upward, but the old man wouldn’t release him. “Hold it, boy. Just a few seconds, that’s all it takes,” said the hermit. Then he began to count backwards from five. When he reached ‘one,’ he released Will and leapt back with surprising speed.
Choking and coughing, Will began to vomit, emptying his stomach onto the weeds at his feet. Even after his belly was empty, he continued to heave for several minutes, retching and spitting. His abdomen was sore and tender even once the heaving had stopped, and the nausea was far from gone. “You poisoned me,” he gasped at last.
“That’s a valid observation,” said the hermit, grinning down at him. “From your limited perspective, at least. I prefer to think of it as teaching through experience. The sickness you feel is called ‘spirit poisoning,’ but my intent wasn’t as malicious as you might think. Once your body recovers from the shock, you’ll find that you feel much better.”
Will’s stomach contracted once again. It relaxed a moment later, and he drew a deep breath. “I think I’m dying.”
The old man arched one brow, then replied, “I highly doubt that, but given your lack of ability, I suspect you’ll feel ill for half an hour or longer.”
“Why?” asked Will, spitting to clear his mouth of the taste. “Why would you do that to me? What did I ever do to you?”
“Besides being born?” stated the old man, answering his question with a question. “Nothing. I don’t hate you, boy, though I’ll admit to disliking you. But that isn’t the reason I gave you the elixir.” He sat down on the porch and stared at Will thoughtfully. “My real reason was to get you back on your feet quicker, and to illustrate a valuable lesson. The turyn in that vial was mine, as you correctly observed. If it had been yours, you would have suffered very few side effects, or even none at all. Why do you think that is?”
Glaring at him, Will answered, “Because you’re evil.”
The hermit laughed. “Guilty as charged, but that isn’t the reason. Try again.”
“You aren’t human,” Will suggested. “Or maybe you’re a half-fiend, the wicked product of the union of a demon and a human woman.”
“Better,” said the hermit. “You certainly don’t lack for imagination. Still wrong, though. At least your answer has a testable element to it.”
“Testable?”
The old man nodded. “If you could convince a half-fiend to produce the elixir of turynal for you, you could take it and see how it affected you.”
Will was dumbfounded. “But, demons aren’t real. Right?”
“Oh, they’re quite real,” said the hermit matter-of-factly. “And while I’ve never had one make the elixir for me, I did devour the essence of a demon once, which amounts to almost the same thing. It wasn’t too different from that of another human.”
“You what?” Will gaped at him.
Waving his hand, the old man went on, “That isn’t the point, boy. The important thing for you to know is that even if the elixir I gave you had come from your mother, or a saint, the effect on you would have been much the same. Try to reason out why that is.”
“I don’t believe you,” said Will abruptly.
“As if I give a shit, boy,” said the hermit dryly. “Stick to the question at hand.”
Will stared at the dirt in front of him, then scooted back to put some more distance between himself and the mess he had expelled from his stomach. He didn’t know what to make of the old man’s claim regarding demons. It couldn’t be true. He’s just trying to scare me, he decided. Glancing up, he saw that his new guardian was still waiting for an answer.
He thought about his mother’s herbs then. Each one was different from the others; they all had their own subtle properties. Even plants of the same species were different, as he had come to learn from his newfound insights. If people were the same, or rather the magic within them, would that account for the sickness he felt?
“Because they’re different?” said Will hesitantly, unsure how to explain his thoughts.
The old man’s eyes perked up, sending his bushy brows to new heights. “What’s different?”
“Their turyn, or whatever you call it. If everyone’s is different, maybe that’s what makes you feel sick when you get someone else’s…”
“Now you’re starting to think,” said the hermit. “Here’s something else to consider. Long ago, some mages would make the elixir of turynal and sell it to more skilled wizards. Even today, warlocks use it to barter with their patron spirits. If it makes the user sick when they imbibe someone else’s turyn, why do you suppose it has value to others?”
It sure isn’t the taste, thought Will sourly. Then he remembered something the old man had said a few moments before. “You said I lacked ability. Maybe someone with skill can use it without getting sick?”