Meanwhile:
Somewhere in the Cordillera Isabelia mountains
Thick heat lay heavily on the afternoon. Even the incessant insectile clicks and whirrs that were the forest's pulse had slowed, the few remaining songs shivering feverishly through sluggish air. In the emerald shadows that scattered the forest floor, a figure was crouched, as still as the surrounding arboreal stupor. A tall man, bent a little awkwardly on long limbs, and leaning slowly towards the large, trumpet-shaped flower before him. The bloom was a vivid scarlet, veined with gold, and the petal tips gently flexed, in and out, glittering in the fevered air.
Very slowly, the man's gloved hand reached out towards the base of the flower, a thin silver wire held between the fingers. The petals pulsed abruptly, he halted, and the air shivered as a burst of pink powder blossomed, so fine it was barely more than coloured air. The dust flowed over him, shimmering an inch above his body, but for the gloves and his head, where the glittering wave highlighted the thin bubble of air clasping his thin features. He waited, until the flower resumed its slow flexing, and gradually reached forward again.
It took a further half an hour - and another two bursts of barely-visible dust - before he had looped the wire carefully above the apple-sized, viciously spiked ball that hung beneath the flower. The hooks twitched as the thin metal settled; the herbologist gently eased a small grey pouch underneath the fruit, and pulled the wire. Silver bit deep, and the hooked ball, spines wriggling madly, dropped into the bag - and the man was suddenly jerked backward and slightly into the air, as if by some invisible hand. As it was, the tips of his boots scraped on razor-spines as the ground around the plant surged upward in a nightmare trap of writhing, fanged leaves, shattering the hot stillness. The leaves smashed together, then collapsed inward, crumbling to fibre even as the flower spasmed, spraying dust high enough to hit the lower leaves of the shading tree; which began to dissolve.
John Archer hit the ground, and the air shivered as the ward dropped down around him, a moment before the wave of caustic powder washed over the invisible dome.
"Throw," a female voice said, sharply, and John carefully tossed the still-wriggling bag into the centre of the warded area. It stopped part-way down its arc, suddenly hanging in the air as if nailed to reality's backdrop. John stood up, pulling off his gloves carefully so he didn't touch the outside, and dropped them into a proffered bucket. Finally, he looked up, and grinned.
"We, I think it's safe to say, are good."
Eileen Archer met his smile, genuine triumph on her round face, but her expression sobered quickly.
"Let's get this thing dealt with properly before we celebrate, shall we?" She motioned to the one of the four-strong party's local members - Hwan, a swarthy young wizard with a very broad grin - who hurried forward with a large wooden tray, covered in small bottles and wrapped equipment. They positioned it under the floating bag, which was still twitching. Eileen pulled on a pair of gloves of her own, and drew her wand.
John watched her start work, then smiled to himself again and moved away to the ward-edge. She'd always been better at actual spellwork, so he'd step back from something this delicate. He used the time to remove his layered protective charms, and look out at the swirling shimmers of air and plant dust that surrounded them.
"Nice work on the warding, Esteban."
Their final companion, a stocky wizard with an impressive crop of eyebrow, nodded to him.
"It is one thing I do, Jonnathon."
John pushed his glasses further up his nose and leaned forward, squinting at the barely-visible shimmer of the ward.
"I'd say. This teaming-up lark's worked rather well." He glanced back at where his wife was working. "Datura nostradidia. Hasn't even been seen up here for decades. Amazing. Got rather a reputation as a dark plant, you know, but anything that needs fresh blood to seed would, really. Fascinating adaptation to a nutrient-limited environment of high competition and magical field. Attract, mesmerise, drug and bam - " he slapped his hands together, and rubbed them " - perfect fertiliser, ideal nutrients. Only member of the genus to have gone carnivorous, or thaumic, and doesn't that make an interesting combination in effect - "
"John! You want to see this, right?"
Grinning even wider, John nodded to Esteban - who had a slightly glazed expression, for some reason - and hurried back to where his wife was leaning over the levitated tray. The seed pod was resting in a small glass bowl, its remaining thorns still spasming gently. They had to do this quickly - too long off the plant without germination, and the pod would die.
Holding out her wrist above the bowl, Eileen held out her wand again. At a mutter, the skin opened, spilling a thin stream of scarlet onto the pod, where it flowed oddly around the spines. The witch pulled away, waving the cut closed, and trained her wand on the now-shivering pod. The precaution was unnecessary, as after a few more strange shudders, the leathery skin split into quarters, and oily black seeds spilled free, scattering into the liquid pooled in the glass.
John leant over as his wife pulled the pod fragments from the bowl, and poured the contents of a glass vial over the dark shapes. The liquid swirled, catching up the last dregs of crimson, before settling in a whitish layer over the seeds, turning them grey. Eileen scooped the coated seeds into the empty vial, sealed it, and set it into the collecting tray alongside its fellows. Her sudden smile appeared again and she turned, catching John's hand and giving it a squeeze.
"Now? We're good."
"I never doubted," Esteban said quietly. Clapping his hands together brightly, John completely missed the narrowed glance that his wife aimed at their companion.
"So, I suggest back to base, then crack open a bottle of something celebratory? I'm rather bored of augmenti-water, myself."
- - - -
The fire crackled and popped as damp wood succumbed to the flames, spilling a circle of reddened light into the falling darkness. John, sat on the curve of a large root, raised his mug towards the other figures perched on logs around the blaze.
"To a successful venture!" he toasted, taking a swig and nodding happily to Eileen. "And to the twin miracles of shrinking charms and transport-proof red."
"And great fortune."
John looked up through the dancing sparks, to where Esteban was sat opposite him. The fire pooled odd shadows around his face, but his gaze was fixed on the ornate wooden sample box at John's feet.
"Fortune?" John took another drink. "I daresay we'll dine out on these papers for a few years, alright. Still get the occasional speech request for eighty-four's wahoonie, eh Ellie? And that's hardly mealtime conversation, so - "
Esteban gave a short sound, like a strangled hiss. He finally looked up, his expression strange in the firelight.
"Do you even know what you have, Jonnathon?" he asked sharply. "You talk much, do you listen? True visions are so rare, of such value… and you speak of dinner-talk? That plant - " he leaned forward, and stopped abruptly as a dull thud broke the air. Eileen's boot had come down suddenly on the box's lid, thick treads of her heel covering the clasps.
" - will be going straight to the Arcanum herbological garden, as soon as we get a bird," she said, and there was ice under her words. The two dark stares met. Esteban turned away first, a thin smile rising onto his lips.
"Of course. The value of such knowledge. Excuse me, I am very tired." He stood up, nodded deeply, and stepped back into the darkness. John watched the lumos light vanishing between the trees and turned back, in time to see Hwan's hand drop from his sleeve, and Eileen relax her leg. He frowned.
"What was that all about?"
"I don't trust him, John." Eileen picked up her mug, and swallowed the contents in one gulp, glaring into the fire. "I said he was weird, and he's not going out of the way to prove me wrong."
"Well, he's a bit abrupt, yes, but we're all excited - "
"You're excited. He's frustrated, and probably scheming." Eileen nudged the box with her toe. "I'll be glad when this lot is on their way, and we get to part company with out esteemed warder."
"Ellie…" John caught his wife's hand, and squeezed it gently. "We'd never have got close to this without him. It's a fascinating discovery, maybe he's worried we'll take all the credit? I'd be."
Eileen looked hard at him, and then her expression softened a little.
"Yes. You would. I just don't think a lack of accreditation is the problem."
John shook his head. Always the worrier.
"Two days, and you'll see there was nothing to worry about." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Don't fret so much. It's herbology, Ellie, it's the orchids you have to watch out for. Let's turn in - busy day tomorrow!" He stood up, finished his mug and stepped out of the firelight. Behind him, the two remaining companions shared another glance.
"That's what I'm worried about," Eileen muttered, before following her husband.
Thick heat lay heavily on the afternoon. Even the incessant insectile clicks and whirrs that were the forest's pulse had slowed, the few remaining songs shivering feverishly through sluggish air. In the emerald shadows that scattered the forest floor, a figure was crouched, as still as the surrounding arboreal stupor. A tall man, bent a little awkwardly on long limbs, and leaning slowly towards the large, trumpet-shaped flower before him. The bloom was a vivid scarlet, veined with gold, and the petal tips gently flexed, in and out, glittering in the fevered air.
Very slowly, the man's gloved hand reached out towards the base of the flower, a thin silver wire held between the fingers. The petals pulsed abruptly, he halted, and the air shivered as a burst of pink powder blossomed, so fine it was barely more than coloured air. The dust flowed over him, shimmering an inch above his body, but for the gloves and his head, where the glittering wave highlighted the thin bubble of air clasping his thin features. He waited, until the flower resumed its slow flexing, and gradually reached forward again.
It took a further half an hour - and another two bursts of barely-visible dust - before he had looped the wire carefully above the apple-sized, viciously spiked ball that hung beneath the flower. The hooks twitched as the thin metal settled; the herbologist gently eased a small grey pouch underneath the fruit, and pulled the wire. Silver bit deep, and the hooked ball, spines wriggling madly, dropped into the bag - and the man was suddenly jerked backward and slightly into the air, as if by some invisible hand. As it was, the tips of his boots scraped on razor-spines as the ground around the plant surged upward in a nightmare trap of writhing, fanged leaves, shattering the hot stillness. The leaves smashed together, then collapsed inward, crumbling to fibre even as the flower spasmed, spraying dust high enough to hit the lower leaves of the shading tree; which began to dissolve.
John Archer hit the ground, and the air shivered as the ward dropped down around him, a moment before the wave of caustic powder washed over the invisible dome.
"Throw," a female voice said, sharply, and John carefully tossed the still-wriggling bag into the centre of the warded area. It stopped part-way down its arc, suddenly hanging in the air as if nailed to reality's backdrop. John stood up, pulling off his gloves carefully so he didn't touch the outside, and dropped them into a proffered bucket. Finally, he looked up, and grinned.
"We, I think it's safe to say, are good."
Eileen Archer met his smile, genuine triumph on her round face, but her expression sobered quickly.
"Let's get this thing dealt with properly before we celebrate, shall we?" She motioned to the one of the four-strong party's local members - Hwan, a swarthy young wizard with a very broad grin - who hurried forward with a large wooden tray, covered in small bottles and wrapped equipment. They positioned it under the floating bag, which was still twitching. Eileen pulled on a pair of gloves of her own, and drew her wand.
John watched her start work, then smiled to himself again and moved away to the ward-edge. She'd always been better at actual spellwork, so he'd step back from something this delicate. He used the time to remove his layered protective charms, and look out at the swirling shimmers of air and plant dust that surrounded them.
"Nice work on the warding, Esteban."
Their final companion, a stocky wizard with an impressive crop of eyebrow, nodded to him.
"It is one thing I do, Jonnathon."
John pushed his glasses further up his nose and leaned forward, squinting at the barely-visible shimmer of the ward.
"I'd say. This teaming-up lark's worked rather well." He glanced back at where his wife was working. "Datura nostradidia. Hasn't even been seen up here for decades. Amazing. Got rather a reputation as a dark plant, you know, but anything that needs fresh blood to seed would, really. Fascinating adaptation to a nutrient-limited environment of high competition and magical field. Attract, mesmerise, drug and bam - " he slapped his hands together, and rubbed them " - perfect fertiliser, ideal nutrients. Only member of the genus to have gone carnivorous, or thaumic, and doesn't that make an interesting combination in effect - "
"John! You want to see this, right?"
Grinning even wider, John nodded to Esteban - who had a slightly glazed expression, for some reason - and hurried back to where his wife was leaning over the levitated tray. The seed pod was resting in a small glass bowl, its remaining thorns still spasming gently. They had to do this quickly - too long off the plant without germination, and the pod would die.
Holding out her wrist above the bowl, Eileen held out her wand again. At a mutter, the skin opened, spilling a thin stream of scarlet onto the pod, where it flowed oddly around the spines. The witch pulled away, waving the cut closed, and trained her wand on the now-shivering pod. The precaution was unnecessary, as after a few more strange shudders, the leathery skin split into quarters, and oily black seeds spilled free, scattering into the liquid pooled in the glass.
John leant over as his wife pulled the pod fragments from the bowl, and poured the contents of a glass vial over the dark shapes. The liquid swirled, catching up the last dregs of crimson, before settling in a whitish layer over the seeds, turning them grey. Eileen scooped the coated seeds into the empty vial, sealed it, and set it into the collecting tray alongside its fellows. Her sudden smile appeared again and she turned, catching John's hand and giving it a squeeze.
"Now? We're good."
"I never doubted," Esteban said quietly. Clapping his hands together brightly, John completely missed the narrowed glance that his wife aimed at their companion.
"So, I suggest back to base, then crack open a bottle of something celebratory? I'm rather bored of augmenti-water, myself."
- - - -
The fire crackled and popped as damp wood succumbed to the flames, spilling a circle of reddened light into the falling darkness. John, sat on the curve of a large root, raised his mug towards the other figures perched on logs around the blaze.
"To a successful venture!" he toasted, taking a swig and nodding happily to Eileen. "And to the twin miracles of shrinking charms and transport-proof red."
"And great fortune."
John looked up through the dancing sparks, to where Esteban was sat opposite him. The fire pooled odd shadows around his face, but his gaze was fixed on the ornate wooden sample box at John's feet.
"Fortune?" John took another drink. "I daresay we'll dine out on these papers for a few years, alright. Still get the occasional speech request for eighty-four's wahoonie, eh Ellie? And that's hardly mealtime conversation, so - "
Esteban gave a short sound, like a strangled hiss. He finally looked up, his expression strange in the firelight.
"Do you even know what you have, Jonnathon?" he asked sharply. "You talk much, do you listen? True visions are so rare, of such value… and you speak of dinner-talk? That plant - " he leaned forward, and stopped abruptly as a dull thud broke the air. Eileen's boot had come down suddenly on the box's lid, thick treads of her heel covering the clasps.
" - will be going straight to the Arcanum herbological garden, as soon as we get a bird," she said, and there was ice under her words. The two dark stares met. Esteban turned away first, a thin smile rising onto his lips.
"Of course. The value of such knowledge. Excuse me, I am very tired." He stood up, nodded deeply, and stepped back into the darkness. John watched the lumos light vanishing between the trees and turned back, in time to see Hwan's hand drop from his sleeve, and Eileen relax her leg. He frowned.
"What was that all about?"
"I don't trust him, John." Eileen picked up her mug, and swallowed the contents in one gulp, glaring into the fire. "I said he was weird, and he's not going out of the way to prove me wrong."
"Well, he's a bit abrupt, yes, but we're all excited - "
"You're excited. He's frustrated, and probably scheming." Eileen nudged the box with her toe. "I'll be glad when this lot is on their way, and we get to part company with out esteemed warder."
"Ellie…" John caught his wife's hand, and squeezed it gently. "We'd never have got close to this without him. It's a fascinating discovery, maybe he's worried we'll take all the credit? I'd be."
Eileen looked hard at him, and then her expression softened a little.
"Yes. You would. I just don't think a lack of accreditation is the problem."
John shook his head. Always the worrier.
"Two days, and you'll see there was nothing to worry about." He leaned in and kissed her cheek. "Don't fret so much. It's herbology, Ellie, it's the orchids you have to watch out for. Let's turn in - busy day tomorrow!" He stood up, finished his mug and stepped out of the firelight. Behind him, the two remaining companions shared another glance.
"That's what I'm worried about," Eileen muttered, before following her husband.