The Promises of the Potion-Master

The Key to what we were seeking

Recap: Our narrator is a young maiden, unable to say her own name and cursed to wander the fairy woods until the spell on her is broken. She is followed by a talking fox (also cursed), and they have entered the North country, hoping to find a way to break their spells. They have just arrived at the Enchanted Lake.

I felt like I was in a dream.

The Enchanted Lake was a giant sapphire oval, radiant in its beauty, placid as the water in a well. It was the loveliest sight I had seen since Fox and I had laid eyes on the Crystal Castle.

Surely we’d be able to break our spells here, somehow.

Fox and I had been lured by the prospect of a potion-master who was said to live nearby. As we approached the Lake, we saw a chimney peeking out of the tops of the nearby trees. We wandered that way to find a colorful, lopsided cottage.

The cottage seemed to be situated in a huge patch of greenery — everything from various shrubbery to exotic flowers, herbs, and even poisonous plants. Several sets of wind chimes made of glass and bone tinkled in the breeze. A wooden sign, hung over the door, depicted a bowl of steaming green liquid.

We had found the potion-master.

I had lots of gold thanks to the Triplets, but I still feared I might not have enough. How much would one curse-breaking potion cost, much less two?

We climbed the front stairs, and I rapped on the front door.

After a few moments, the door burst open, revealing the generous form of a frazzle-haired old man, tall and wide; I would have called him a giant if I hadn’t already met one. Over his brown attire, he wore a large cloak covered entirely in pitch-black raven feathers.

“Seekers?” he said. “Do you come for a potion?”

I nodded, staring at the glistening feathers. “We do,” I said.

The potion-master glanced at Fox. “Yes, two curses, two-o-o-o,” he said, pointing his finger at us both. “Come in, come in!”

We entered the potion shop, which was oblong, its walls covered in shelves stacked with bottles of every color and shape, jars of bugs suspended in liquid, bags of spices from distant lands, skeletons of long-dead creatures, and a countless number of bird feathers. Pots of overgrown herbs crowded the floors and window sills.

A cauldron sat just outside of the fireplace.

“Who might you be, pray tell?” the potion-master said, looking a bit twitchy as he glanced between the two of us.

“I am… Beatrice of the North,” I said, making up yet another name since my curse prevented any mention of my real one. “And this is the Duke of the Wilder-Land.”

“Yes, it is very grave indeed!” the potion-master murmured. “Miss… Be-a-trice and the Duke! Bound by time and fate. Grievously driven from your homes. Yes-s-s, I see it!”

I grew excited. “So, you believe you can help us?”

“I am Nary, worker of mi-i-i-racles!” he boomed. “Of course I can give you the cure to these terrible spells. Alas, I can send you home again! You have money to pay?”

“Um, how much is it?” I asked. “For both of us?”

“Five — er…” he said, watching me dig in my bag, “six gold pieces per person, pul-ease.”

It was a hefty sum, but I had enough. I think I would have paid just about anything at that moment.

Fox was emitting a low growl, though I paid little attention to it then.

“Very well, very well!” cried Nary, taking my money and stuffing it into his pockets. He danced around the room in his feather coat, pinching herbs from the pots and grabbing bottles from the shelves.

He poured liquids and dumped leaves into the hefty cauldron, stirring now and again, saying, “Ah, that’s nice,” after every few turns. Then he heaved the cauldron into the hissing fire.

“A few minutes, a few minutes!” he cried.

Fox was pacing, but I stood still, my mind completely consumed with thoughts of home. How quickly could we leave the North and retrace our steps? How soon could I embrace my mother, father, and brother again?

Soon the potion-master was pouring his pungent mixture into a glass for me and a bowl for Fox.

“Dri-i-i-nk!” he said.

The potion tasted bitter, like dirt and raw wheat, with a hint of sour vegetable flavor. I nearly gagged, but I managed to choke it down. Fox did not have as much of a problem, but his tail was swishing impatiently.

We waited.

“How long does it take?” I asked.

“Oh anytime now, anytime,” said Nary.

We waited some more. We waited until it was awkward to wait any longer. Fox did not change form. I tried to say my name, but the curse knotted up my words.

“You… said you would work a miracle,” I said, feeling my eyes begin to burn with moisture.

Nary frowned. “No, no, no, you are wrong!” he said, shooing us toward the door. He pushed us over the threshold.

“If you don’t get a miracle, it’s because you haven’t be-e-e-lieved enough!” he cried. “Only the best believers will get true magic!”

Then he slammed the door.

“I’ve got a bad taste in my mouth,” Fox mumbled.

I crumpled, unable to rise from the front stairs. Then I heard a woman’s voice.

“Do not be afraid,” she said.

I looked up to see an elderly woman holding a bushel of beautiful yellow flowers. Her plain dress looked familiar to the kind I had seen women wear at the monastery.

I tried to wipe my eyes. “Is it true?” I asked. “Did I not believe enough?”

“Miracles are about mercy, not merit,” said the woman with a gentle smile. “You need only have faith that you will never miss what is meant for you.”

A dreadful thought crossed my mind. “What if what is meant for me is something painful?”

“What doesn’t feel good can still turn out for your good,” she replied. “People come here seeking magic. What they really need is transformation. And if transformation is what you want, then… you’re already on your way, aren’t you?”

I thought about this for a moment. “Why do you come here?” I asked her.

“To pick flowers for the sick,” she said, extending a flower to me. “I believe you will feel better soon. Perhaps you ought to see the Wish Fish out in the Lake.”

“Thank you, good lady,” said Fox. “That’s what we’ll do.”

We said good-bye, and I didn’t put my flower in my bag. I held its bright yellow gleam closely to my chest. The potion-master’s promises were empty, but maybe the elderly lady was right.

Maybe I was already on my way to transformation.