Obsidian Mind by J M D Reid

Author:J M D Reid [Reid, J M D]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dreaming Between Worlds Publishing, LLC
Published: 2020-05-18T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Hours later, the fear still lingered in Ōbhin. Dje’awsa had an unnatural air about him. Even before Ōbhin knew the man was a sorcerer, the man had terrified him. Avena, too. They had both witnessed the foreign man, black tattoos gripping his shaved head like a clawed hand, standing over the dying Carstin, a wand of obsidian held gripped in the sorcerer’s bleeding hand.

There was nothing he and Avena could do about Dje’awsa. The feast was the following tonight. They had to focus on recovering her brain. Then they could try to find Dje’awsa again. He didn’t have much faith. Past hunts had always ended in failure. The man would vanish into the Brotherhood’s network.

So instead of wasting energy in a pointless search, Ōbhin watched Avena work. The moment he returned with the ingredients, she’d launched into making her concoction. She had the window open despite the chill flooding the room. Ōbhin quickly understood why when she began boiling the water of white.

“You should cover your nose and mouth,” Avena said. She had a scarf wrapped around her face. She stood before a warming plate, a coil of cast iron heated by a ruby jewelchine. The water of white, held in a large glass container, bubbled away. “And stay out of the fumes.”

The faintly yellow fumes rising from the boiling water of white burned his eyes. It had an acridness to it. A lungful had him coughing. It burned his throat. Even with the rag held to his mouth, he still caught irritating whiffs.

“What are you doing?” he asked, holding a handkerchief to his face.

“Concentrating the solution,” she said. “It’s diluted. As the level of water decreases, crystals will precipitate out of the solution. We grind up the crystal and we mix that with the muritate of potash to form a flammable substance called potcrate.”

“I see,” Ōbhin answered. “That doesn’t sound safe at all.”

“No, it’s not,” she said. “Potcrate burns with a great heat. Explosive, even. It will then consume the soda bread in moments, creating thick smoke. The saffron will dye it yellow, hopefully making it more ominous.”

“You just need to not die from inhaling . . . What are these noxious fumes?”

“Chlorine gas,” she said. “That’s what’s coming off and what we’re concentrating by boiling away the water.”

“Ah.” Ōbhin had never heard of the gas, but it was nasty stuff. His eyes watered. “Do you need to stand so close to it?”

“No,” she answered and backed away. “Just have to wait for the crystals to form.”

She leaned against the closed door. The yellowish fumes drifted out through the open window. Mostly. It spilled out into the falling rain, rippling as the heavy drops slashed through it. She hugged herself, her eyes red from the fumes. She squirmed beside him and muttered something beneath her breath, swallowed by the scarf wrapped around her mouth.

“You’re still angry about Deffona,” he said after a moment.

“Of course!” She stamped her foot. “That old, disgusting lecher is using her.”

“Fame and power are said to be the greatest aphrodisiacs.

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