Witch of the Wood

Chapter 3

For the next few years, I studied magic under Wilmot's tutelage. He was ever a patient teacher, always answering my barrages of questions to the best of his ability. Naturally, I learned the basic principles early on, though I often needed to practice control. It wasn't so much the case that I was impetuous, more so that greater power required an equal nature of control. My eagerness to reach the next step, learn the next spell, face the next trial, however, did on occasion overcome concentration. A wizard must always be focused, Wilmot often said.

Nonetheless, I had proved to be a quick study. There were strengths and weaknesses, of course. My aptitude for alchemy and arithmancy was abysmal. Yet when it came to things like nature, the elements, charms, transfiguration, I was quite adept. Perhaps this was due to fervent interest in these subjects as opposed to others. Wilmot cultivated these strengths but he always made sure that I knew a little bit of everything.

"So what exactly is the difference between potions and alchemy?" I asked Wilmot, who sat across the table from me.

I was now in my twelfth year and still taking my lesson in Wilmot's home. It was autumn, the trees shedding their coats of crinkling leaves the shades of fire. The chill bite of winter was edging into the forest. Mother kept the fire in our hut burning day and night, though Wilmot rarely set anything to light in his house outside of our lessons, inside it was always warm and smelled of earth basking in the summer sun. Outside I could hear the rustling of drying laundry on the clothesline.

My mentor peered over the cauldron sitting on the tale between us. Even sitting on top of a pile of sturdy tomes, he still had trouble meeting me at eye level now.

"An excellent question, my dear," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "Now what do you know about potions?"

I rested my chin on clasped hands as I stared down at the ingredients in front of me. They were potion reagents, common among magical folk like us, oddities among humans, or so I was told. Eye of newt, toe of frog, wool of bat, adder's fork and a pinch of cloves for flavor.

"A potion is like cooking. You gather ingredients, measure them, do what you need to do to them, then, put it all together to create the desired product. Each ingredient adds to the desired effect you wish to create."

"Very good," remarked Wilmot. "And alchemy?"

I held back a groan. What did I know about alchemy? Practically nothing if my skill was any indication.

"Alchemy...while it is similar to potions, also uses bits and pieces of arithmancy and transfiguration. It's also very concerned with 'purifying the soul'. What it means to have a pure soul, I don't know."

"And why do you not know?" he inquired.

"Because I have no idea what makes a soul pure," I elaborated, my brow creasing. "There's all this talk about purity in alchemy but I don't even know what purity really is because even that means different things."

Wilmot smiled, pleased with my answer.

"A thoughtful answer, Merlin, so long as you do not dismiss the field entirely."

"Are there many alchemists?" I asked.

"It's quite popular in the East. There are some in these lands though. Rather reclusive and prone to dying in explosions sadly." he shrugged, pointing to the map on the wall behind me.

Wilmot had taught me enough geography that I knew what he meant by the East. I knew there existed large expanses of land under singular names, like Asia, Africa, and Europe. I still could not wrap my head around the fact that we lived on an island separate from it all, and we were but a tiny of that. Just looking at a map, I could not tell whether the world was small or vast.