The chest was, of course, heavy. Ninia, with the help of a Yishk, was tasked with carrying it behind Drags and Captain Alinyaln, along the pathway at the far end of Tusana that lead into the hills. Most islands weren’t really large enough to have substantial hills, though Tusana did, a vibrant green route lined with trees and wildflowers showing the way of a well-worn path. There was a group of Yishks following behind, pulling a wheeled cart behind them that had been rented from the dockmaster’s office. On the cart were a dozen large barrels of rum, tied down with ropes to keep them from toppling over. The four Yishks didn’t seem to be struggling with their task.
Drags the Dragonkin had a smaller chest in his arms, about the size a proper lady would have for jewelry, Ninia assumed, small enough for the man to cradle it in one arm and not even show the fatigue from carrying it. He glanced over at Ninia and chuckled, a small spout of smoke coming from his nostrils. Cursed man, he seemed to be enjoying watching Ninia tremble and sweat from the exhaustion of carrying the chest in this terrible humidity. Despite Loshbor as a whole having more of a temperate climate than Rythmar, the humidity of the region was absolutely disgusting.
At the very top of the hill, the group crested over it and at the top was… A house. A small house by the look of things, surrounded by a magnificent garden, mostly ornamental with flowers arranged by size and color, along with a few edible arrangements ranging from fruit bushes to vegetable patches. A tall spire of wood stood tall, the head seeming to be made of metal, overhanging troughs in the dirt, four of them in four different directions. The spikes of the spire were dripping water into them at a steady rate, which fell into the troughs and then trickled down to the plants that surrounded them.
This, despite the simplicity, was far more fascinating to Ninia than the rest of the house was, from a glance it was a simple dwelling, little more than a shack. Whoever lived there was clearly more interested in their gardening than their home. Ninia, who had never really had a home, could understand that feeling quite well, but she preferred the rocking waves over the dirt.
Along the house, likely to protect them from any sort of rain, were tall beehouses with large spigots on the bottom of them, the yellow insects flying around the garden and into the box, then flying back out after their job was done. Bees were rare, and it was surprising to see so many flying around at one time.
Ninia and her Yishk companion set the chest down onto the rocky gravel. Ninia hunched over and wheezed from the exhaustion. She knew full well what was inside of the chest, over 20,000 pieces of pewter and gold, that was almost enough to buy a new ship outright. Likely not one as grand as the Mercy of Dradinoor, but a ship nonetheless. She reached to her belt and pulled off the waterskin she had hooked there, putting it up to her mouth. Nothing came out.
“Lass.” Alinyaln said, noticing her actions. Ninia thought he was going to reprimand her, but he just pointed at a smaller spirelike device just off to the side of the path, this one pouring water at a far slower rate than the one that was being used for the plants. She filled the waterskin up with it and drank, the ice cold water almost painful in her throat as she swallowed, but it was refreshing. She gave the skin to the Yishk and he drank greedily, emptying it of its contents.
The Captain allowed them their small respite, then they continued up the walkway to the house proper. Alinyaln knocked on the front door and waited. There was no response. He knocked again when Drags tapped the man on his free arm and pointed out in a particularly large patch of bushes where an elderly woman kneeled, picking ripe berries and dropping them into a small woven basket filled with various other fruits. The woman wasn’t even making a sound as far as Ninia could tell. How sharp were the Dragonkin’s senses?
Captain Alinyaln walked over to the woman, bowing to her reverently. “Dear lady Kritin, it’s lovely to see you again.”
The woman, Kritin, glanced at him briefly then looked back at her work, pulling red berries off of the bush.
“We’d like to pay for your services.” Alinyaln said, trying to prompt a response from the woman.
“Good for you.” She said, her voice wizened. “And who says I’m still in business?”
“Crafted devices sure do cost a lot,” The Captain said, pointing at the taller of the two spires dropping water down below. “And, if you weren’t working it wouldn’t make sense to put one right along the pathway up to your home where it could be easily stolen, but would also make your clients happy when they bring you Gins.”
Kritin chuckled to herself. “Smarter than you look, Alinyaln.” She said, looking back up at the Captain. “And what happened to your face!” She almost yelled the words, now getting a good look at the Captain’s face. “Tarnation boy, were you being a fool with a fishing hook, like a child out doing his father’s work?”
“Gunshot.” Alinyaln replied simply.
“Toys, then.” Kritin said, shaking her head. She glanced at the rest of the group and at the cart full of rum. “You have work for me, you said?”
“Yes, lady Kritin.” Alinyaln said, addressing the woman properly. Despite the woman’s attitude, he was being far more respectful back to her.
Kritin stood, popping in far more places than Ninia assumed possible, pulling the basket up with her. Alinyaln took it out of her leather gloved hands, and Kritin led the group inside. The Yishks began to untie the rum barrels from the cart, rolling them in.
The inside of Kritin’s home was as plain as Ninia had anticipated; a bed, a small hearth in the corner with a chimney leading into the roof, and a table accompanied by a chair where the woman likely ate. A small crate of fruits and veggies sat on the table, which Kritin then dumped her basket into, adding to the collection.
Ninia looked at the crate, inspecting what was inside. For the most part, everything looked normal: strawberries, grapes, carrots, potatoes, even peppers and truffles. Ninia picked up a strange looking pepper and inspected it. It was a vibrant blue color, a lighter shade than the sky, shriveled with an incredibly long tail on the bottom of it. The stem Ninia was holding it by was completely black.
A smack came from nowhere causing Ninia to drop the pepper and pull her hand away, cradling where it had been struck by Kritin. “You leave that pepper alone, fool girl. Godkiller peppers aren’t named that for the fun of it!”
“I—I’m sorry,” Ninia said, stunned at the reaction. “I—” She hesitated. “What’s a godkiller pepper?”
“Never you mind that,” The woman said, placing a different pepper in Ninia’s hand, orange and plump. “Quiat peppers are closer to what you can deal with.”
Ninia sniffed the pepper, enjoying the slightly floral smell that came from it. She went to take a bite from it when Alinyaln grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Don’t eat anything she gives you, lass.” The Captain warned. “Not unless Higlim is nearby.”
“Ah, the fool is still kicking, is he?” Kritin said as she sat in the chair at the table.
“Aye, your husband is well cared for, I assure you.” Alinyaln said.
“I trust that he is.” The old woman said, then pointed at a spot on the floor where the barrels could be placed. Drags set his burden down onto the table, opening it up. Inside was a wealth of gemstones, all of various cuts and colors, each worth a small fortune.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
Ninia then worked with her Yishk to pull the larger chest the remaining distance to the corner of the room, and Ninia wondered which chest was worth more.
“Bucket.” The woman said, pointing to a pail that had been nailed to the wall.
Alinyaln, anticipating this, grabbed the bucket swiftly and placed it in front of the woman. Ninia could see the bucket was filled with a crumbly dark material, but she couldn’t tell what it was.
Kritin looked at the larger chest. “How much is in there?”
“23,143 pieces.” Alinyaln said, waving to the chest. “We counted it last night.”
The woman nodded. “For twelve barrels of rum. Are there any bottles?”
Alinyaln nodded, then pulled out two bottles from the inside of his cloak. Where had those been? He placed them on the table. “Just two.”
The woman nodded. “More than enough, then.” She said. “Cursed pirates, always wanting that which you can use to kill other men.”
Alinyaln stiffened at the rebuke. “We’re not pirates, lady Kritin.”
“You always say that, Alinyaln,” Kritin said. “If that’s the case then where did this wealth come from? Where do the spoils you sell for profit come from?”
“We take them from—”
“Yes, yes, from the ‘corrupt,’ and it’s alright because the goods are usually insured for such an incident.” Kritin smiled as she said this. “I’m not admonishing you, boy, if it weren’t for you and your ilk I’d be poor.” She gestured and Drags set a barrel of rum in front of the woman. He opened the top, prying the top metal hoops off of the barrel with his clawed hands. Removing the lid, he held it and presented the barrel to the woman.
Ninia gasped as the woman removed her gloves. Her hands—well, specifically her fingers—were black and nearly skeletal, the tips having shriveled down to boney points. This was the same on both hands, showing that something terrible had happened to the woman.
She selected a gemstone from the chest, a ruby roughly the size of a thumbnail. Kritin held it up and dipped a single finger into the barrel of rum. The woman closed her eyes and there was a pause. The next moment alongside a brief flash of green, the rum had shrank down to the size of a fist, frost now developing on the outside of it as if it were chilled. It was affixed to the woman’s finger, hanging there. The gemstone, held between her thumb and forefinger, dropped into the bucket below, now a superheated liquid that splattered as it struck the bottom.
Kritin didn’t wince at the pain. She only flicked the now cooling black material that clung to her fingers off into the bucket and then pried the frozen lump of rum off of her other hand. Ninia was dumbfounded at the sight. “How—Doesn’t that hurt?”
“Not anymore, girl.” The woman responded, setting the frosty gemstone onto the table beside her. “Not in many years in fact.” She said.
Ninia stepped closer and inspected the bucket that the molten gemstone had been dropped into. It was radiating warmth still, just as the crystal on the table was still so cold as to form frost. “How does it work?” Ninia asked. She had never seen the State Shift in person, only heard about it, but the ability was so rare that most of the stories were fanciful.
“Ye don’t give a woman much space to work, do you?” Kritin snapped, waving Ninia away, the girl actively recoiling at the thought of those brutalized hands touching her. If Kritin had cared about the reaction, she didn’t show it.
“Moscin is solidified rum,” Kritin said, repeating the process with the next barrel and gemstone, this time a smaller diamond. “The best kind is fossilized, made over hundreds of years, but that’s mighty rare.” She spoke, not missing a beat as she turned the third barrel. “This is a simplified process, handed to us by the Triplets before they died.”
“The Triplets aren’t dead.” A Yishk called from the corner of the room. Ninia was surprised at the outburst as most Yishks tended to be placid folk.
“They are whatever you want them to be.” Kritin said dismissively. “But, girl, the point is the same. The State Shift allows one like myself to force one material to shift from one state of matter to another, replicating the process for the materials used in the process.”
“Which makes a great deal of heat.” Alinyaln pointed out. “That’s why the gems melt.”
“They melt because that is how you liquefy a gemstone, boy.” Kritin corrected, though the difference seemed minimal to Ninia. “And to turn something solid you remove the heat.”
“So, you’re making large chunks of ice then?” Ninia asked, not understanding.
“No.” Kritin said, working on the eighth barrel of rum. “It’s ice you could say, but only because ice is the solid shape of water. Truly, however, there is no more water in the resulting material, what you are left with is solid condensed alcohol, imbued with the power of the quait above.”
“Quit feeding the lass nonsense.” Alinyaln waved a hand at the woman. “It’s like anything else in the world involving the Triplets: strength is multiplied under certain conditions. Rum is touched by the power of the Triplets, that’s why it’s used for moscin crystals; when you decrease the volume of the rum by forcing it into that shape through Shifting, you are also exponentially increasing the burning power of the alcohol within the rum.”
“Watch your tone when you’re trying—emphasis on the word 'trying'—to correct me when you know so little, boy.” Kritin snapped.
“I want to give the lass accurate information.” Alinyaln protested.
“Math isn’t accurate.”
“Math is far more accurate than faith, lady ‘They are whatever you want them to be.’” Alinyaln said, crossing his arms.
“I don’t speak of faith, I speak of fact.” Kritin snarled, throwing an emerald at Alinyaln’s head. “Useless!”
It bounced off and Alinyaln turned to glare at the woman, rubbing the side of his head where the gemstone struck. “You cursed—” He looked as if to draw his quiat when Drags set a hand on his shoulder, huffing.
Alinyaln stared deeply into the eyes of the Dragonkin, then sighed. “You’re right, lady Kritin. I apologize for my tone, you are only speaking your own truths.”
Kritin spared a huff for Alinyaln, then transformed the last barrel of rum into moscin.
Ninia watched as the now molten gemstone splattered down into the bucket. She wanted to touch the contents, but she knew that would be a terrible idea based on the heat radiating off of the metal. “Why don’t you reuse the gemstones?” She asked, nodding at the bucket in question. They turn solid again after a while, won’t they work again?”
“Syrin could explain better, lass,” Alinyaln said before Kritin could reply. “But gemstones have a structure to them that makes them harder than almost anything, and what lady Kritin here is doing is she’s forcing the rum to take that structure, making the crystals as hard as the stones.” He reached down and grabbed the emerald from the floor. “Emeralds are softer, hence being ‘useless.’ If a gem is softer, it’ll burn up faster and wear down more when stopped.”
“And a melted gemstone isn’t nearly strong enough for its purpose.” Kritin said, not correcting Alinyaln’s comment. “It turns into something else, almost like coals.”
“Carbon.”
The woman huffed at Alinyaln. “You’re not nearly as smart as you believe, boy.”
Alinyaln didn’t reply to this, instead he tossed the emerald back into the small chest and waited for the woman to Shift the bottles of rum. As she did, Ninia lifted the first moscin crystal that had been Shifted, the frost now melting as the crystal had warmed enough. The stone was translucent with a deep green coloring to it, far heavier than she had anticipated it to be.
“Wait,” Ninia said, looking at Kritin. “Shouldn’t the moscin be larger? How did that massive barrel turn into something so small?”
“It’s the way of the Shift.” Kritin said, suddenly looking exhausted as she set the last moscin crystal on the table. “Unless you are specifically shifting water, it is burned up in the process. Even when you are shifting water some of it is lost. There’s no water inside of that chunk of moscin anymore, it’s all in the air now. All that remains is pure power.”
Ninia looked at the crystal in her hand, her reflection visible in the warping ridges of the fuel. “And if this were to be made smaller…”
“It would be more potent.” Alinyaln agreed. “Given years and years moscin will grow smaller on its own, and will burn far longer, but there’s not a practical reason for doing so.”
Staring into the dark green crystal, Ninia could almost see something deep within, but when she tried to find it she saw nothing. Just a trick of the light, that flicker of a green glow within.
