January 14, 1693,
A stunning breakthrough has occurred before my eyes! Shortly before midnight, the coveted blue halos materialized, and encircled the orchid bulbs. By my count, the halo contained three distinct strata: the top and bottom strata appeared to be spinning clockwise and contained a light blue hue, and the center halo displayed a dark blue hue which rotated opposite the other strata. Together, its sheer color is beyond all marvel, in fact its very presence was extraordinarily vivifying, these blue rays dancing in undulating movements, like some mystical promenade. Simply staring into the halo's brilliance, I was overcome with a deep sense of, what I can only describe as life. A feeling of rebirth, anew, as if the colors were coursing through my own body, my own flesh. Ah, the beauty. This is what I've worked for, all this risk, all for this very moment. How I wish Qulin was here to have seen it, but he has been absent longer than usual, which is unlike him. How those trips to Boston always have me so worried. Sadly, in spite of this miraculous breakthrough, the joy was regrettably short lived. Davey Mayfield passed shortly afterward. The poor boy seemed to be responding well to the betony herbs and the intense dosages of fire and roots tonic, so much in fact that his Respiratory status stabilized to the point where Davey could speak and laugh, and he did laugh, as innocence seems so ignorant of its own suffering. His folks were quite ecstatic—and I was optimistic for a full recovery with my current treatment regiment. But alas, the flu continues to be unpredictable in its virulence, and certain in its deadliness. My heartfelt condolences go to the parents, as their grief cannot be properly captured by words. But all is not lost, Davey's death was not in vain. He played a significant role in my elixir research, as I will elaborate in the form of an ingredients list on my next entry. Now, with the completed orchid in my possession, I am absolutely certain I can cure all those currently afflicted.
Qulin flipped the page:
After a lengthy discussion with the Mayfield's, and with their blessing, I have proceeded with the application of the first ever Halogenic Orchid. Though my intentions weren't necessarily to have created this elixir to be administered to the dead, I have a strong intuition that somehow, this elixir will resurrect Davey. Along with the other essential ingredients, I administered the entire crushed bulb, in liquid form, via oral cavity, and now all we can do is anxiously await for his revival. If this proves successful, as I hope, I will return all those lost to the flu back to their loved ones. This is my true desire. Nothing would bring me greater joy than to rid this town of its suffering once and for all, and allow the return of peace and harmony.
Qulin rubbed his eyes and placed the opened diary on the kitchen table. He knew this entry word for word, every syllable, consonant and vowel. The entry, as much a part of his being as his eyes that read its words. The crux to solving this elixir was encoded in these few paragraphs and yet no matter how often he'd analyzed the words, looking for meaning or hints, it remained frustratingly enigmatic. He grabbed the cup and approached the kitchen sink. What was significant about Davey? In what way did he contribute to securing the halos?
No water flowed from the faucet as he turned the cold nob. He struck the faucet hard, taking out his frustration on the metallic apparatus as if that wold suddenly clarify Cora's diary entry or how to deal the kid in the basement. As the throbbing in his hand radiated up his arm and into his shoulder, an epiphany came to mind: Davey was young—about the same age as the boy locked up in the basement. Could fate have brought that boy here, not to interfere, but—to aid, as a vector that would usher in the completion of the elixir, like Davey was to Cora? Davey's death was not in vain, He played a significant role in the completion of the elixir. But how? Did the orchid elixir—he paused, quivering violently as a thought began to emerge—require the boy's death? Could that really be what Cora meant? Surely she wouldn't have considered such a thing. Did the elixir require...sacrifice?
The kitchen air felt frigid and stale.
Sacrifice? In the early days of the curse, he'd never considered something of this nature. But now, desperate for results, committing such an act seemed reasonable, acceptable. A pain shot across his head. In their rage the townsfolk didn't hesitate sacrificing Cora. Was that not born from their own necessity for survival, their plight to rid themselves of their own curse? Why should he be so hesitant to do the same? His chest tightened, a sick feeling settled in the pit of his gut that seemed to fulminate against this notion. Confusion and ambition clashing on the battlefield of scars. He pummeled the faucet repeatedly, a self-hatred poured from his fists with each blow for being absent the night Cora completed the elixir. If only he was there, this endless search could've been avoided, and this profligate mire of thinking, muted. But circumstance had come with its scythe, and demanded crop. Why had he lied back then?—Cora really believed he'd gone off to Boston. The truth was he'd abandoned her and his role of protective husband instead finding temporary solace in the unforgiving tomb of cowardice. Since the first days of his curse, his entire focus had been undeterred, his only craving was to complete the elixir and to return to Cora, and beg forgiveness. For the first time after untold years suffering subjugation to the two-headed feline, he'd been given a potential resolution to all his woes—only to hesitate. To kill the boy—to take another's life in order to remedy his, it couldn't have come to this, he pleaded.
A spurt of water oozed from the faucet and fell to the sink disappearing into the drain, followed by a thick steady stream. Before he could fill the cup, a knock came from the kitchen window. Som teetered on the window ledge, head cocked as usual. Grudgingly, he opened the window.
"I thought you left, what is it, now?" Qulin said, letting Som in through the window. Quietly grateful for the influx of cool air against his face.
"Did you get his name?" Som said ducking his head through.
Qulin turned away.
"So, that's a no," Som said. "I've been watching you pound on that poor faucet like a madman. I know tormented thoughts are swirling in that head of yours— I've been with you for over a—what was it called, you know, a ten-year period?—a cent...nope...a millennia..."
"A Decade."
"Ah, yes that's the word—I've been with you for a decade. I'm much smarter than you give me credit for, Qulin. I see things. As I fly around this town, I pay attention to the people, and their ways. I've seen many give charity to that down-on-his-luck homeless man, Jimmy, you remember him, always peddling down by the art store?"
"Yes, what are you getting at. Go on and spit it out."
"He no longer needs charity anymore because he got himself on his feet. I'd like to think its in large part from all the help people gave him."
Qulin grunted. "For all you know he's dead in a gutter."
"Nonsense," Som quipped, "I've just seen him living well, a clerk now at the corner market. Cleanly shaven I might add."
"One man's luck is not anything to relish over."
"I'm not done—I've seen a truck driver, who pulled over to help an elderly woman cross the street. I'm sure he must have had a tight schedule and yet he helped. Kindness is all around, if you look for it. You want to get the boy to keep quiet start by extending a friendly wing—I mean, hand. However difficult that may be, you never know where a kind gesture can give way to a valuable friendship."
"Friendship? Have you lost whatever remained of that bird brain? I've given the boy toast, and now I'm fetching him water like a servant. That is as friendly as I will be." The idea of friendship, even courtesy, seemed to be the furthest thing from his mind, especially considering the ominous proposal of sacrifice brooding in his thoughts.
Som persisted, keen on breaking through Qulin's guard. "I still think it is wise to show you don't intend on harming him in anyway."
Qulin nearly dropped the glass cup. It was as if Som possessed some manner of telepathy.
"You're not going to hurt him, right?" Som said, sensing the subtle shift in Qulin's demeanor.
"Of course not," Qulin replied, sharply. "The issue is simply I just don't know what he's read in Cora's diary. He may know too much about our work...too much about what I am. There's much at stake. Besides, something, has come up. Something that may finally bring me the elixir."
Something in Qulin's defensive tone hid something deeper. Som felt this in every tingling feather of his body. He asked the rational question. "So, what has come up?"
Qulin remained silent.
"I don't like this—not one bit. What are you planning?" Som lamented, feathers perked on edge.
"You wouldn't understand," Qulin said, squeezing the cup. "This may be my final chance."
"Give me a try" Som replied, his voice growing more uneasy, "remember, I've known you for a decade, that means you can tell me anything."
Qulin pointed to the kitchen table.
"The diary?" Som said, confounded. Sure the diary was quite dear to Qulin but to clam up over something they discuss everyday, seemed extreme. He glided to the kitchen table, and scanned the diary entry as Qulin began to speak. "Cora had Davey. And I have this boy. You see, somehow Cora took Davey's energy, and used it to finalize the elixir. Transferred his life force into the flower."
Som shuddered. "Are you thinking about harming him? That..that is absolute madness. You cannot—you simply cannot!"
Qulin hurtled from the sink, ripped the diary from the table tucking it safely in his cloak. "I knew you would protest. How could a simple creature possibly grasp the insights of a sorcerer's mind—the boy is the key." A sharp gust of dry musky wind flooded into the kitchen. "Cora witnessed the halos form upon Davey's death. That's the final energy source, it's what she meant by procure the essence of proper innocence. It's settled, that boy, he was meant to break into this house. It wasn't mere coincidence, it was fortune, that now rests in my possession."
"But, you don't know if this will work with absolute certainty, " Som pleaded, "this is a wild guess, at best. You're being compelled by desperation—it's blinding your senses. After all the stories you've told me about Cora, her unwavering compassion for others, her love and selflessness, to propose that she sacrificed a boy, it doesn't add up."
Som inhaled nervously and continued. "Forgive me for saying this. If you harm that boy, you'll be...no better than those who burned Cora."
Qulin motioned as if to strike to Som.
Som cowered behind a wing and waited for the blow but it never came. He peaked through his feathers, and watched Qulin stagger towards the sink with the cup shaking in his hand as he held it under the rush of water, filled with a strange mixture of contrition and gratification over what he'd said. It was harsh but he hoped it would find its rightful place in Qulin's conflicted mind. He cared about Qulin, and his struggle, and if he was faithfully adhering to his duty of being a good friend than the remark was necessary. In spite of the elixir failing time after time, he stuck around. How easy it could've been to simply fly off, and never return. How life could've been much easier getting as far away as possible from this morose sorcerer who cut his leg every night for his own self-serving aim. But he didn't. He saw something in Qulin that was struggling underneath his veneer of anger and blame, an innocence blemished by a corrupted action seeking a rectifying path back to sanity. He couldn't fathom abandoning Qulin, not before breaking him free of the curse. He firmly believed Qulin was good, just hurt. Above all, he wasn't like the townsfolk who murdered his wife.
Som cleared the knot in his narrow throat. "The boy has a mother, too."
Qulin hid his pained expression, while watching the water in the cup quiver.
"If you go through with this," Som added, "you'll only succeed in taking the boy from his mother, permanently."
Qulin paused, if only to appear convinced by Som's appeal. But his decision was made.