Inheritance - The Dark Sorcerers: Book 1

Chapter 15: Mrs. Berrywood

Mrs. Berrywood made us halt at a two-story house in the middle of the main street. The house itself looked rather ordinary, but its mailbox immediately captured my attention. It had the shape of a birdhouse, though with a horizontal groove instead of a round hole as the opening, and it included a robin sitting on the roof and miniature blades of grass, tulips and forget-me-nots surrounding the base.

Rowan quickly carried Ellie inside. Mrs. Berrywood was kneeling in front of the fireplace and tried to light the fire, but her crooked fingers were still numb due to the cold breeze outside. I snapped my fingers and the logs caught fire. Mrs. Berrywood gave me a startled look, an implicit warning in her eyes. I frowned, puzzled.

Ellie had been right when she'd said that there were many people in this world who didn't appreciate the art of magic. Perhaps I should consider keeping a low profile for a while.

The elderly woman paid no further attention to my magical abilities and gestured for Rowan to come closer. "Lay her down in front of the fireplace. Her temperature mustn't drop any further."

Rowan obeyed and laid Ellie gently on the soft, fluffy rug by the fireplace whilst Mrs. Berrywood rushed to the kitchen and began rummaging around in closets and drawers, grabbing all kinds of ingredients. Some of the plants she laid on the counter looked familiar, whereas others were downright strange, such as a blue-colored branch dotted with blood red flowers.

Larry sat down next to Ellie, who was shivering with fever, and stroked her damp hair while Rowan searched around the room for a blanket to keep her extra warm. Meanwhile, Mrs. Berrywood worked in the kitchen, grinding the ingredients and mixing them in a bowl. When she noticed me standing around and twiddling my fingers, uncertain of how I could contribute, she beckoned me closer and handed me a kettle. "Would you be a dear and go tap some water? I need boiling water to finish the potion."

So she was a potion maker. I took the kettle and went outside through the back door, heading in the direction of the water pump at the back of the tiny garden. The rusted lever screeched when I started pumping, but the water that came out of the tap was crystal clear. I hauled the heavy kettle full of water back inside and placed it above the fire to boil. Mrs. Berrywood gave me a grateful smile.

I leaned in the doorway and crossed my arms over my chest while I watched her work. "How long have you been potion making, Mrs. Berrywood?"

"Ever since my mother taught me to cook, dear child," she answered. "I think I was eight or nine years old."

"Do you make a living from it?"

"I used to. That is, I tried to run a business without offending too many people. You see, the people in this village are not all too keen on magic and everything that is even remotely connected to it." 

Ah, now I understood why she had given me such an odd look earlier. 

She sighed. "They're just afraid. Fear has a strange effect on people and often brings out the worst in them. The locals here are not much better. They despise Sorcerers, both Light and Dark, claiming that magic goes against nature and that it should be outlawed."

"You're not kidding," I whispered, shocked. How many people actually shared that opinion on magic?

"Potion making is in the grey zone: it's not exactly magic, since non-magical folks like myself can practice it as well, but the effects of the potions lean toward the supernatural. That's why I always kept a low profile, trading mostly with merchants and travelers who were only passing through." She looked up at me, her azure eyes expressing concern. "If I were you, I wouldn't showcase my abilities here, child. The villagers won't appreciate it, and I don't want them knocking on my door all day and night because I'm lodging a Sorceress."