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The Courier and The Alchemist’s Soup

 

The man had only one thought in his mind, “How did I get here?” Knee-deep in the sloppy muck of Ogre’s Marsh, he dragged himself through the heavy waters of a shallow river. Swarms of black flies and mosquitoes buzzed around his mouth trying to chew off his face. Though the sun barely shone through the thick leaves of the jungle trees, the heat and humidity caused the poor man to sweat all over, down to the cotton of his undies. The man’s name was Sigmund. He was a courier.

His assignment was to deliver a letter to a lady of the court, a courtier named Karolyn. “But still!” he thought. “What business does a courtier have in a marsh? What business does she have being so far away?”

They were friends since the eve their childhood days and Sigmund always knew Karolyn to a bit of an odd girl. She never failed in any of her courtly duties, but Karolyn always seemed to have a fascination for stranger things. As a young girl, she’d catch large beetles and dissect frogs other girls hoping for a prince would try to kiss. As an adolescent, she took a fascination to herbs and would try to make tea out of flowers cut from her parents’ garden. When Karolyn became old enough to hold a ladle, she took up cooking as a hobby and would often try to invent new kinds of meals with things, ingredients she picked from the forest. But lo, she was a terrible cook. Who’d make a soup out of tea, frog legs, and cow bits but Karolyn? Who could serve that charcoal on a plate called steak but Karolyn? Besides Karolyn with her stomach of iron, nobody was willing to eat her food but Sigmund. As a youth, Sigmund forced those meals down his throat out of kindness, because it was proper that a friend take sample of their friend’s food, no matter how terrible it was. And always, after she asked him for criticisms so that she could improve, he would gladly criticize. But Sigmund would stop eating her food as well, when, after eating an especially undercooked heap of boar gut, he received a terrible sickness that threw him into a state of bedrest for two weeks. When he recovered, the girl cooked only for herself. Yea, Karolyn always had an adventurous spirit to her. Such was the kind of girl she was, and growing into womanhood, she seemed to have kept every little thing that made her odd as a child.

It was by the light shadow of those memories that Sigmund trekked through the marsh. They were pleasant, and distracting, and a small part of him didn’t mind meeting her again for he hadn’t seen her in a long time. In retrospect, Sigmund realized that a place like Ogre’s Marsh would have been the perfect place for Karolyn’s hideous curiosity—with all its lush greenery, vibrant wildlife, and titanic trees that were both as tall beyond sight and as wide as village houses. Even in the years before her departure, Karolyn often spoke to Sigmund about going on journeys out to the more exotic places outside of Enotria, outside of the “dull, pasture-grazing,” country of their birth. “Do you want to wave that spear around forever, Sigmund, wagging it out on the jousts? We should go West, adventure, me and you as my escorting knight. Then, as my knight, you may stab real human flesh! I’ll just lay back and watch.” She used to say all manner of ridiculous things, sometimes with her back turned to him and her eyes raised up to whatever sky or ceiling happened to be above. Did Karolyn imagine hiding her face from him or staring up to Heaven made her ridiculous requests more dignified? Either way, Sigmund, the kind lad that he was, listened to her fantasies out of politeness, but never took them seriously—at least until she actually decided to leave by sneaking out from the court.

Under the pretense of a delivery, Karolyn got Sigmund to meet her in the central courtyard of the castle. She was hidden in the maze, and it was his order to find her there to deliver a letter written to her. Sigmund found her at the center, where she sat under moonlight by a placid lake graced with floating white lilies, falling leaves of Fall, yellow-orange fireflies, and the musical croaking of a frog which Karolyn had trapped in a glass jar to sit with her on the rocks. It was there that Karolyn signed the cross, stated her plan to leave on God, and made her proposal to bring him with her as the friend who most tolerated her passions. However, Sigmund decided to stay, citing his duties as courier to Karolyn’s brother. So, Karolyn left, but not without voicing bitter insult against his character.

The memory of that night was sour, so the man shook his head to focus back on fonder times.

Eventually, the river Sigmund walked through led into a large, shallow lake, its still waters shimmering in the afternoon sun. It was one of the few places in the marsh where the sun was able to shine. Wiping sweat from his eyes, Sigmund exited the dark jungle and stepped into the lake. He looked across, observing the placid waters for a moment’s rest. Then he took his first step.

Sigmund’s foot sloshed into a bit of mud more wet and more soft than to his liking. He carried on. Slowly, a stench came on with each step Sigmund took into the lake. From the people of Ram Village, the courier heard rumor of gigantic beasts who lived in the marsh. It was said that his recipient frequented the town which bordered the marsh, so he heard the rumors as a warning from the villagers before he went on his way.

“We call it Ogre’s marsh for a reason. There’s an ogre in the swamp.”

“And there be dragons!”

“And drakes!”

“And large slithering snakes!”

So said the townspeople.

On Sigmund’s end, he only asked, “If there be so many dangers in this marsh, then why is your village placed right next to it?”

In truth, nobody ever saw any of the fantastic beasts which they claimed. It was just the village lore. There were beasts in Ogre’s Marsh, so children better not wander there, lest one goes in and never finds their way back. Adults were free to go though, as always. Not that there was much reason for any good farmer or folk to stink themselves up in a marsh, so nobody ever went, save for Sigmund, who with every step, found the village tales more and more convincing.

However, thoughts of dangerous beasts were dashed by the more immediate threat of the rising stench of defecation biting at Sigmund’s nose. If such toxicity caused him to pass out, he would never wake! Also, there were flies, big flies who bit, who in their jovial hospitality played a game as to see who of their brethren could buzz into Sigmund’s mouth the fastest.

Sigmund tried his best to ignore them. He kept his mouth closed, and held his breath as he started to sprint through the sunny lake, his waterlogged boots sucking against the ground with each step.

It was during this sprint when his foot got caught beneath the infested waters at the center of the lake. As he tried to lift his foot up, something rough tugged. A second later, a net of rope kicked out of the water and all around him, trapping him like a fish, albeit a huge fish with his head above the water. Then the net pulled, dragging him through the waters and through the forbidden dirt like the arm of a kraken. This arm carried its prey eastward for fifteen seconds then immediately jolted upwards for twenty till, with the loud ding of a cute brass bell, its prize hung from the thick branch of a tower-tall, mossy tree.

When Sigmund’s dizziness faded his sight returned as the wet dirt (he told himself) slowly dripped off his face. Rolled upside down, the man turned himself to sit upright in the net. Before him, suspended in the high air in attachment to the tree’s trunk was a modest treehouse made from light wood. The house was a shack with a few cut out windows and a small flight of stairs sloping down to the circular deck which surrounded the whole trunk. Out of the shack came a young woman, twenty-years-old, with straitly combed black hair, a charming white face with freckles, and nose-plugs. But noble looks were quickly shattered in light of what she wore, for she dressed like a wizard, similar to the storybooks young children read. She had on bright green robes flowed about her like a blanket and a pair of large circular wooden spectacles that while inoffensive were made comical in combination with her fantastical robe. By her eccentric dress, Sigmund knew the woman before him was his courtier. Indeed, it was Karolyn. She walked down the stairs and skipped over to the net to revel over her catch.

With a bemused look and a wide smile, she yelled, “A savage, a savage! I’ve never seen anything like it! An indigenous tribesman of the marsh! Go on, speak.”

Sigmund thought she sounded like a mouse excited over cheese. He spoke while doing his best to ignore the toxic taste in his mouth. “Lady Karolyn, it’s Sigmund, your friend from the Royal Mailing Department that still functions even during civil war. I come with a letter from your family, your older brother Morcant.” Sigmund dug into his backpack whilst having in mind how he didn’t get paid enough for the efforts he put forth in keeping his deliveries protected and invincible from all weathers and bandits. After some time, Sigmund took out a black cylinder one foot in length. It was dripping wet, but relatively clean compared to its deliverer. He stuck his arm through a hole in the net and held it before Karolyn.

Karolyn frowned. She tapped her foot for some seconds, huffed, then took the cylinder. She said, “Sig, ah, so it really is you. I see you now that the mud is dripping off. Apologies I couldn’t tell since you were covered.” She took a long breath. “Why! How long has it been? At least two years I imagine! Please, stay. I’ll let you out and give you directions to a bath so you can wash off. But don’t come inside the house till the moon rises. I can read the letter myself and I’ll be done writing my response by then. Also, I like my time alone. Understand?”

“Yes I do.” Stuck in the net, Sigmund, grateful for Karolyn’s offer, bowed his head. With little concern for cleanliness, she grabbed the net and roughly pulled it to the deck. Karolyn loosened the knots and opened the net. Then she gave him the promised directions. So, with a wet trail of slosh dripping behind him, the courier descended a ladder and left the treehouse. Sigmund traveled to a hot spring, a short walk through a trail that led deeper to the dryer part of the marsh where the ruins of a bathhouse from the Old Empire was located.

Meanwhile, Karolyn, the courtier of the swamp, washed her hands in a bucket of clean water and bundled herself in the green blanket she called a robe. She sat at her study, rolling back and forth on her rocking chair inside the cozy shack, cylinder in hand.

Now the shack was the size of a small apartment, one she would have lived in back in the king’s castle. A well-furnished abode, it had a kitchen, living and dining areas, and a single bed. The kitchen was by the eastern wall and was comprised of a stone firepit with a chimney, cutting table, and iron cauldron right. Above were open shelves containing all the lady’s tools. The living and dining area took their places in the middle of the apartment, where a rectangular dining table stood in the center and a long couch sat against the the western wall. Embroidered carpets lay across the floor, and Karolyn’s bed was pushed against the furthest back-left corner of the shack. Karolyn’s study—where her rocking chair rolled and where her desk sat ready with bookshelves, cabinets, and all manner of artifacts: jars, goo, flitting fireflies, and so on—the study found itself in its exalted place in the rightmost corner of the shack.

Looking inside one would rather fancy the woman as more a witch than a courtier. However, Karolyn fancied herself an alchemist. Upon the fiftieth roll of her chair, Karolyn tapped her finger on the desk and breathed a heavy sigh. With a twist and a pop, she thumbed the cap off the cylinder. She read her brother’s letter under the afternoon hymn of the jungle marsh.

True to Karolyn’s orders, Sigmund climbed up the ladder and returned to the little treehouse by the light of the rising moon. He opened the door, and found the place dimly lit, with a warm and cozy atmosphere like that of a late-night inn. A fire crackled in the stove and chimney next to the wall. An iron lantern glowed in the middle of the dining table where Karolyn sat reading a thick book. Karolyn motioned for Sigmund to sit down across from her, so he did.

Then Sigmund smelled something nice. He took notice of an iron pot hung over the firepit burning behind his host. Karolyn didn’t look up from her book. Plainly, she said, “There’s a frog-leg soup cooking in the pot. It should be done in about five minutes. And, ah, I see your face. No, you won’t die from eating this soup. Have faith Sig, and know that it is good. Oh, and just so you know, I read the letter, but I am not coming home even if it’s a part of your assignment to bring me back. Should you need a place to rest, there’s the couch there, and then there’s the option of a hammock outside on the deck. I haven’t set it up now, but I can fix it up for you.”

Sigmund protested. “I don’t mind resting here, and I think I’ve got a good enough gut as an adult to try another one of your dishes, but if I may ask. Why do you not want to come home? That makes my job more difficult.”

Karolyn sneered and put her book down on the table. “If I may ask, sir messenger. Why is the oldest son of House Lars debasing himself to a common mailman? Really Sig, have you fallen so low as to work for my brother, the person who killed yours?”

Sigmund tried not to think about the night Karolyn left, nor the memories associated with his fallen family. Sigmund’s teeth closed. They gnashed together. Then he took a long breath, and answered, with a purse smile. “My family… what happened during the split in our faction was unfortunate.” A slight pause followed. “But Karolyn, Albert was slain because he refused to incorporate our territory into Morcant’s. I’d know. I personally fought, and lost alongside my brother. As commanding officer, Morcant’s punishment was execution. As the brother who fought alongside Albert, my punishment was the loss title and land. It’s not something anybody would be happy about, but ultimately, I thank God for your brother’s generosity in sparing me with my life and honor. I was granted a new position, though lowly, in his court. And though I am no longer a lord, I am grateful to be alive.” It was an honest answer.

“Sigmund!” Karolyn yelled. “My brother is a Machiavellian maniac! He’s a tyrant! He promised that Al—I dare not speak his name—he promised me he’d be okay! He was your family, and he was our friend! Goodness! They were practically brothers growing up and he killed him!”

Sigmund sighed.

Karolyn rattled on. “You know, Sigmund, you could have come with me. I thought you were always sick of politics, that you had no taste for it. You told me once that you were tired of playing games of power. That you were tired of looking behind your back twice, that you didn’t like putting on a face for the other lords in court, that you felt government work to be an unchivalrous, dishonorable job. Yet here you are, a courier in service to Morcant’s court!

“Wouldn’t it be great? To be as we were children? Before the wars, before the famines in Enotria. Nobody bothers me here. No soldier raids out here. The frontier between the Sultan’s lands and Enotria’s lands—we keep to ourselves. I read; I study nature. The marsh, I’ve made a home in, and Ram Village—I know it’s modest, I know it’s unclean and quaint compared to palace life, yet, there are bits about this place, this countryside that is so idyllic. Why! I could walk through the ruins, at night under the moon along the white marble of the Old Empire ruins for ages. How silver moonlight shines off the rock, it’s like a haven from another world! I could just camp there, here, forever, among the souls of past heroes, whilst counting the endless stars and constellations above. You could have been there with me, so why… why did you stay to do something you never enjoyed?”

Sigmund pointed and Karolyn looked behind her. The water was overboiling in the pot and leaking like a river into the flames. Pink rising to her cheeks, she immediately ran over, put on a glove, and opened the lid to let the steam out whilst grabbing a spoon in her other hand to stir quickly. The courier continued to speak while the Karolyn tried to save dinner.

Doing his best to stay calm, he said, “Karolyn, maybe it’s because your family were kind in raising you, but you never did care for things like responsibility—which is fine for you, since you probably don’t care for anyone beyond yourself. But know this, know that a man, men like myself, has his duties to his people whether he is a noble or not. I told you once, and I will tell you again. I do not like politics, nor do I care about jousts or the pointless battles they supposedly train us for, but it is my purpose to serve my people. By that end, I will never abandon the people of my home and shall always be there to care for them in whatever role they ask me for—even, mind you, if it is for a role I dislike. The way that you are Karolyn, you can not say the same.

“But goodness, why then? I told you this before, and I will say it again. If you wanted to go somewhere where you were free to do what you wanted and far away from your so-called tyrant brother, why didn’t you get married to that Sultan out west. Sure, it was Morcant’s idea, but that aside, why didn’t you go through with it? You are a pretty lady. You are also smart. You’d make a good wife. And sure, it would be a political marriage, but you would get more than most of us. You’d be rich, doted on, living a life of leisure and pleasure, free to pursue all your research in the safety of another country while your brother uses what he gains from the trade to fight here. You’d be safe Karolyn, and you’d be happy.

“But no, instead of marrying, you’re out here walking through the mud, in a marsh, on a frontier of settlements between West and East that nobody cares about. You dress like a witch, a lowland scribe, a court occultist who gets cross-eyed over heavy textbooks full of snails when you could have been dressed in silk dresses, flowing tresses, beautiful clothes that’d bring all to envy. You could have had the Sultan, the freedom you have now from the war plus the riches. A king’s bounty would fund your science!

“And why, about dressing like witches. The children back in Ram think you are witch, a pretty witch. I know you called yourself an alchemist, but I’d have to agree with those kids. Why are you a pretty witch instead of the pretty wife a Sultan!”

The thunk of a sloshing bowl of soup interrupted Sigmund’s talk. He turned and saw Karolyn looking down on him with her arms crossed, her lips tightly closed. She had a harsh expression in her dark-brown eyes. She looked like she wanted to yell, to scream, but she only let out one breath, and sighed ruefully as she returned to her side of the table where her own bowl of soup was placed. She spoke softly, “Just shut up and pray grace, so we can eat Sig. We don’t have to hold hands.”

They prayed, and while praying the wispy smoke rose up from the wooden bowl to Sigmund’s nose. To Sigmund’s surprise, the smell was pleasant. After finishing the prayer, he looked down at his soup and more to his surprise it looked edible. Sigmund knew Karolyn as the girl who burnt or undercooked or made unholy everything she touched in the kitchen, but far from unholy, the soup had a fine brothy color, an acceptable odor of spices, and bits of frog-meat appropriately proportioned floating in the broth. He blew down on it twice and then gingerly took a spoon to his lips, wanting to believe, yet not quite believing that Korlund made something edible. Eventually, he closed his mouth around the spoon and had his first taste. Sigmund gagged, but only out of habit. To his greatest surprise, the soup had a taste. And lo! The taste was more than bearable! He had to say something. “The soup, the soup, the soup!”

“What about the soup, Sigmund!”

“The soup is good, Lyn!” Dropping his formalities, the courier called Karolyn by her childhood nickname.

Karolyn blushed and with a hint of pride, bashfully said, “Well now! It’s what two years of lonely practice will do for you Sig! You really aren’t saying that not to hurt my feelings?

“No, not at all! You think I’d ever lie about anything you make. I used to say unholy things about all your dishes. Why, you couldn’t even roast a marshmallow without it melting off the stick when we were young! But, look here Lyn, the Sultan would have been a lucky man to have this kind of cooking. Though, I imagine he would have had to survive the first two years of experiments first.”

Karolyn spoke joyfully. “Sigmund, you mean to say that my meals can compare to the royal chef’s?”

The courier took another joyful swallow and said, “No, it’s incomparable to the chef’s, better even. I’ve never tasted anything like it. For all the meals I’ve been served this is the sweetest one I’ve ever had. Perhaps, because it’s more out there. What kind of frogs live in this marsh? Never mind that. Don’t tell me the ingredients you used to make it. If some rot was added as the secret ingredient I don’t want to know. It’s just, by the Lord, Korlund made something edible for once.”

Karolyn’s joy swelled. Suddenly, she became aware of her hands. They sat still on her lap and she still had yet to taste her own soup. She stared long at her old friend. Then she swallowed some spit and said, “You know Sigmund. I’d make these kinds of soups for us every day, if you stayed and lived here with me.”

Sigmund laughed cheerfully, completely unaware of the proposal. “No can do Lyn.” Karolyn felt stabbed as he used her childhood nickname again. “Not everyone is as lax on their responsibilities as you are. Even now, I have to leave for Enotria tomorrow to report my failure since you aren’t coming back, and I have to take some time off to volunteer my hands to rebuilding my fief. I may no longer be a lord, but I can still pitch in. But until then, I’ll just enjoy this lovely soup!” He took another spoonful.

Karolyn chuckled softly and took her first sip of the soup. It was bitter-tasting. “Yes, that’s just like you Sig,” she softly said. Then she whispered under her breath, “my most noble knight even as a common mailman.”

“What did you say Lyn?”

Karolyn smiled. “I said you were a simpleton Sig. Now take your time. I wouldn’t want you to choke.”

The two ate the rest of their meals. Sigmund found the soup delicious all the way through. Karolyn found hers bitter to the last drop.