The Survivors: Point of Origin (book 2)

Apothecary, pt. 1

I FOLLOWED LIZZIE DOWN THE STRANGE NARROW HALLWAY, CRAMPED against dusty walls. I could feel my powers come back to me the moment I crossed the threshold. Adelaide followed behind me, and the door closed and faded back into the wall. We were in total blackness. Lizzie whispered something under her breath and the hallway lit up from what seemed to be a torch, but when I looked at Lizzie’s hands, I saw a ball of fire hovering inches above her open palm. I audibly gasped. Adelaide laughed.

“Lizzie, the church backs up to the mountainside. Where are we?” I asked, deciding not to ask about the fireball she was controlling.

“Inside the mountain,” Lizzie said matter-of-factly.

“Has this always been here?” I asked.

“We built it before we built the church,” she said.

“How come I never knew about it?” I asked.

Lizzie stopped abruptly and turned on her heels to face me so that the fiery light was between us. I felt its heat on my face. “Because you are not an elder, and so you are not privy to all our secrets. I know you have forgotten that you once had a place in this society that was not at the top of it, and I do not ever remind you of it, though I should. There are some things you do not know because you are not supposed to know them. Our unique circumstances have made it so that we have recently told you things we otherwise wouldn’t, but please don’t take that for granted.”

She turned around and continued down the corridor.

“Adelaide knew,” I muttered.

“Because Adelaide is a witch. She could teach me things,” Lizzie said. “But she isn’t even a Survivor!” I argued.

“Now you are being childish,” Lizzie said, and I shut up.

We continued walking deep into the earth. Eventually, I saw a faint

glow coming from the end. When we reached it, Lizzie closed her hands around the fireball, extinguishing it.

We walked into a room that was nearly the size of the church. The walls were misshapen and angular, as if carved haphazardly, which they likely were. In the middle of the room, small lights barely brighter than oil lamps formed a large circle a few feet above our heads, as if they were a part of a giant chandelier. But they were attached to nothing. I checked.

A very large, circular table sat beneath them. Vessels of all kinds, many of which were filled with brightly colored liquids, packed the table’s surface. There were a number of setups that looked like old- fashioned chemistry sets, along with kettles and cast-iron pots. Many hovered above small fires, attached to nothing. Small glass jars filled with herbs and powders, wooden spoons, mortars and pestles, and various other utensils littered the large surface of the table.

Lining the walls beyond the table, huge wooden cupboards seemed to have held up well considering they had likely been built when the Survivors arrived here over 300 years ago. Along the sidewall, from floor to high ceiling, there were tiny wooden drawers with markings on the front of them, looking much like old card catalogs in libraries.

Lizzie went to the far side of the table. As my eyes adjusted to the dull lamp light, I saw Rebecca, John’s wife, and Sarah, Lizzie’s closest friend, awaiting us.

“Hi, Sadie,” Rebecca said warmly. “Adelaide,” she nodded.

“Hi, Becca,” Adelaide said. Becca? I thought incredulously. “What is all this?”

“The apothecary,” Lizzie said. “It’s where we make things.”

“Like what?” I asked.