The Zero Blessing

by Christopher Nuttall

  And then I can show my mother, I thought, as classes ended for the day. I’m sure she’d love to watch.

  “You’re going to have half-marks in Charms,” Rose predicted. “Is that enough to pass?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, as we made our way to the potions classroom. I regularly scored high marks in my theoretical work, but my practicals were a joke. “I think I’d need at least a certain level before they allowed me to advance into second year.”

  The thought made me scowl. There were two sets of qualifying exams; the uppers and the lowers. I’d need at least a couple of lowers if I wanted to have a degree, let alone find work, although they really had to be in magical subjects. Maybe Rose and I could open a shop together. It wouldn't be that bad, would it?

  I pushed the thought aside as I opened the door to Potions Lab Thirteen. It was a smaller version of the classroom, so dark and dingy that I wondered if Magistra Loanda was just trying to save on cleaning bills. My detention might have been much more useful if she’d set me to cleaning the lab instead. The lights came on a moment later, flickering madly for a long moment before settling down. I glanced up at the cobwebbed ceiling and sighed. She was breeding spiders. No other explanation made sense.

  “We’re going to have to do some cleaning,” Rose said. She glanced at me. “Are you sure she didn't give you detention instead?”

  “Yes,” I said, rather crossly. How long had it been since someone had used the lab? “You go get some water and soap - I’ll check the supplies?”

  The supplies, at least, looked usable. Someone had wrapped a powerful preservation spell around the storage cabinet. Most people found such spells a little uncomfortable, but I barely even felt it. Maybe there were some advantages to my ... condition ... after all. Rose came back, carrying a bucket of steaming water and a jug of soap. I took one of the brushes she offered me and started to work. The nasty part of my mind insisted, as I scrubbed layer after layer of exploded potion off the workbench, that it would be easier to throw out the old workbench and bring in another.

  “I meant to ask,” Rose said. She was scrubbing the floor, vigorously. “How come you know how to wash and clean?”

  I knew what she meant. “My parents used to punish us by making us help the maids,” I said, after a moment. “We were not allowed to use magic - and we got in worse trouble if we tried to cheat. I picked up a few skills from them.”

  “You had servants,” Rose said. “My mother had my sisters and I doing household chores from the moment we could walk. Dad took the boys out and put them to work in the fields, growing crops. We had to have dinner ready on the table when they came home.”

  I felt an odd stab of pain. Alana had said, more than once, that I would probably be sent to a workhouse, after Dad disowned me. I was a disgrace to the family ... I hadn't believed her, not really, but there had been times when I’d feared the worst. Now ... now, I’d made potions work. Perhaps I had a future after all.

  “Isabella never had to work with the maids,” I said, instead. Somehow, I wasn't surprised that she hadn't even known the basics. “No wonder she needs to be shown how to do everything.”

  We giggled together as we finished scrubbing the lab. The chamber looked much better, now the caked powders on the floor were gone. We checked the table one final time, then started digging out caldrons and potion supplies. Rose had a couple of potions she needed to practice, I knew. She’d been very lucky not to trigger an explosion two days ago.

  I took the formula out of my pocket and placed it on the workbench. It looked still, yet I could see a faint glow surrounding the bottle. I smiled, then started to heat up the water. The glow seemed to get brighter, just for a second. I frowned, wondering if I was imagining it. If only I’d thought to bring the magic sensor ...

  “I’m going to brew a standard wakefulness potion,” I told her. It was a very simple recipe, one almost every student knew how to brew. Dad hadn’t allowed us to have any until we turned twelve, but I’d sneaked a taste years ago. It had been foul. I couldn't understand how the apprentices drank it by the tankard. “I was never able to get it to work.”

  “And you only need one stir to get it to work,” Rose said. She eyed the formula doubtfully. “I thought the magic needed to be directed.”

  “It does,” I said. That was going to be a problem later on. “But this potion is very forgiving. I shouldn't need to steer the magic too much.”

  I started to put the ingredients together, allowing the first batch to boil before adding the second. The boiling water turned dark brown, only a shade or two lighter than my skin. A faint smell started to rise, making my stomach heave. I knew the potion was effective, but I really couldn't understand how anyone could drink it. Mum had forced various potions down my throat over the years, including one that had made me throw up after I’d swallowed something dangerous ... and all of them had tasted much better.

  “It’s nearly ready,” I said. I checked the heat, out of habit. “But it has to rest before we add the magic.”

  Rose nodded. “You want to take a look at mine?”

  I stepped over to peer into her caldron. The nutrient potion was bubbling nicely - it smelt much better than mine - and was clearly on the way to success. I couldn't help a flicker of envy, which I suppressed ruthlessly. Rose could do it easily, but I’d found a way to catch up ... provided, of course, I could modulate and direct the magical surge. Perhaps if I experimented with runes ...

  “It looks good,” I said. I gave her a reassuring look. “You’ll master it soon.”

  “Isabella says I’ll never be a great sorceress,” Rose said. She looked downcast. “Is she right?”

  “No,” I said, firmly. I didn't understand why Rose doubted herself. “You have power and you have talent. You should be able to go far.”

  And if I can convince Dad to take you as an apprentice, I added silently, hundreds of doors will be opened to you.

  The thought cost me a pang, but it wasn't as strong as I’d feared. I had those doors open for me simply because of my family name - assuming, of course, that I convinced people that I did have magic. There was no way I could join the upperclassmen, but I wouldn’t be the first person to drop out and go on to a very successful career. Everyone expected Alana to be the heir, after all. No one would take a second look at Rose if she didn't have some very good connections.

  “Stir it again,” I said, as the liquid turned pink. Bella had thought it was funny, back when Mum had been teaching us, but I’d thought it was too pink. For once, Alana had agreed with me. “And then add the charmed salt.”

  Rose nodded and gave the potion a stir. It darkened, instantly. I tried not to be jealous as she added the salt, then took the potion off the heat. It would cool down and be bottled ... she could offer it to the healers, if it passed Magistra Loanda’s gimlet eye. But I’d made potions for the healers too ...

  I turned back to my potion and scowled. I was going to have to stir, but - at the same time - very carefully pour the formula into the liquid. Forgiving or not, it wasn't going to be easy.

  “Take the formula,” I said. I really needed three or four hands. There were spells for that, but they weren't particularly reliable. “When I give you the word, start pouring it down the spoon and into the liquid.”

  “You handle it,” Rose said. She looked doubtful. “Magistra Loanda already caught me helping you once.”

  She smiled. “It’s your potion.”

  I smiled back, then uncapped the tiny bottle. The formula felt warm against my palm, pregnant with possibility. Or perhaps I was imagining it. I’d never sensed anything from potions before ... until now. I told myself that my life had definitely changed. I'd cracked a secret that would ... maybe it wouldn't make me a magician, but it would make my life better.

  “Here we go,” I said. I held the bottle over the liquid, bracing myself. Part of me didn't want to find out what would happen ... what if it had been sheer dumb luck? “Let’s see how this goes.”
/>
  I poured the clear liquid into the potion, stirring carefully. Rose leaned forward, her eyes narrowing as the potion began to bubble. I started. That wasn't meant to happen. It certainly shouldn’t have happened ...

  “Get back,” Rose snapped. I heard panic in her voice. “It’s ...”

  There was a brilliant flash of blinding white light. And pain. I was burning ... my entire body was on fire. Someone was screaming ...

  It took far too long, as I plunged into darkness, to realise that it was me.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Pain. Pain everywhere.

  Someone was talking, but who? I couldn't see ... I could barely think. A haze had enveloped my thoughts, driving away the pain. There was a voice ... someone I thought I knew. But my brain refused to work; my entire body was numb. Darkness rose up again and swallowed me, time and time again ...

  I jerked awake, my eyes snapping open. An old man was bending over me, pressing a silver wand gently against my forehead. I stared at him, utterly confused. Where was I? He stepped back and gave me a reassuring smile. I sat upright - my body felt weird, as if I was half-asleep - and looked around. The room was white, very white. Bella was sitting in the corner, staring anxiously at me. I looked back at the man and saw his white robes. He was a healer ...

  The potion, I thought. Rose!

  My mouth was dry. I swallowed, hard. “Rose,” I managed. My voice sounded raspy, even to me. “Where is she?”

  “Alive,” the healer said. “Lie back and relax.”

  I stared at him. He was an incredibly frail old man, his hair so white it almost glowed. I had the feeling that a gust of wind would be enough to blow him over. And yet, he was clearly still working. Jude’s wouldn't want anyone but the most experienced and capable healers in its infirmary.

  Bella rose. “Cat? What happened?”

  “I ...”

  “That’s enough, young lady,” the healer said. “Your sister needs to rest.”

  I shook my head. Even that felt odd, as though my head had suddenly mushroomed into something twice its size. I didn't need to rest. I needed to find Rose and ... and what? I wasn't even sure what had happened. The potion had exploded, right? My memories were a jumble, marred with pain ... incredible pain. I hadn't been so badly hurt when I’d broken my leg as a little girl.

  “Rose,” I said, firmly. “Where is she?”

  The healer tapped my forehead with his wand. The world went black.

  It felt like bare seconds before I jerked awake again, even though I knew it had to have been hours. Sleep spells were dangerous, from what Dad said, if the victim didn't have at least five hours between being sent to sleep and being woken up. The room was dark, but I could hear two people talking. One of them, I thought, was the healer. The other ... I didn't know him.

  “She’s proving oddly resistant to the sleep spells,” the healer said. “They’re falling apart quicker than they should.”

  The second voice sounded doubtful. “Does that mean she has a talent?”

  “I don’t know,” the healer admitted. “Some of the healing spells didn't quite take either.”

  “She’s been healed before,” the second voice said.

  “That was different,” the healer told him. “I read her records. Her only serious injury was a broken leg, something that her parents could heal. This was extensive tissue damage. I need to reapply the spells every hour ...”

  I groaned as my head suddenly blossomed with pain. In my dazed state, I wasn't sure if I had a headache or if someone had kicked my skull. I heard footsteps, followed by another tap on the forehead. I tried to resist, but the sleep spell was too powerful. I fell back into darkness ...

  The next thing I knew, it was morning. And I felt much better.

  “You’ve had something of a misfortune,” the healer said. He bustled over to me, carrying a tray of food. My stomach rumbled as I saw the scrambled eggs on toast. “How are you feeling?”

  I hesitated. Had he been talking last night? Or had I dreamed everything?

  “Funny,” I said, finally. “My body feels a little weird.”

  “I had to do a great deal of work to heal the damage,” the healer told me. He passed me the tray of food. “Eat as much of this as you can. I’ll be back in a moment.”

  I watched him go, then looked down at my hands. They looked ... odd. My dark skin was paler in a dozen places, as if the healer had had to remove the skin and replace it. Maybe he had ... I shuddered, almost pitching the tray onto the floor, as I remembered the brilliant explosion. I’d met Master Brewers who had scarred faces from their experiments ...

  My stomach grumbled, loudly. I reached for the toast and started to eat. It was good, good enough to make me finish the whole plate. The healer had probably mixed a dozen potions into the food, starting with something to give me a healthy appetite, but I found it hard to care. Mum had done something similar when we’d all caught the flu.

  I looked into the corner. Bella had been there, hadn't she? I honestly wasn’t sure what was real and what was not. My sister, coming to stay with me? It didn't seem too likely. But ... what had been a dream? If the sleep spell had reacted badly to me, for some reason, hallucinations were the least I could expect.

  The healer came back into the room, carrying a large glass of water. “Finished it? Good,” he burbled. “Drink this.”

  “Thank you,” I said, remembering my manners. The water tasted heavenly. “What did you put in it?”

  “Merely something to help speed your healing,” the healer said. “How do you feel now?”

  I hesitated. “Still hungry,” I said. “Is that normal?”

  “I’ll have more food sent up from the kitchens,” the healer said. “Your body demands energy to heal, I’m afraid. Ask for food whenever you need it.”

  He looked me in the eye. “I’m afraid there are a few things we need to discuss, young lady.”

  I wanted to look away, but I didn't quite dare. “I know.”

  “Brace yourself,” he ordered, as he pulled a small mirror out of his robes. “This isn't going to be pleasant.”

  He held the mirror up in front of me. My face looked ... absurd, so absurd that it took me a moment to believe that it was my face. My skin was a patchwork of colour, from light to dark; my nose and jaw looked scarred ... my eyes, at least, looked normal, but my eyelashes were gone. And my hair ...

  I reached up and touched my scalp. I’d never grown my hair very long, but now it was almost gone. Someone had clearly tried to do what they could, cutting away some of the surviving hair to give me an almost elfin look, yet ... I swallowed hard. I didn't look like my father’s daughter any longer.

  “Your skin is currently healing, as I had to force-grow replacement tissue and then graft it onto your face,” the healer said briskly. “I think your colour should be back to normal by the end of the week. Your scars will need a further operation to remove, unless you wish to keep them as a badge of honour. There’s nothing particularly wrong with your hair, so you can either wait for it to regrow or take a potion to speed up the process. I advise you to wait at least a week, if you decide to take the potion. Right now, you have over thirteen different potions running through you.”

  I touched my jaw, gingerly. There was no pain, but it felt odd. A badge of honour ... I shook my head, tiredly. More like a mark of shame.

  “Bella,” I said, suddenly. “She was here, wasn't she?”

  “Your sisters were both here,” the healer said. “You and your friend have been sleeping for the last three days.”

  I stared. “Alana was here?”

  “Yes,” the healer said. “I also briefed your parents on your condition. Your mother assisted in brewing some of the potions you needed.”

  “But they didn’t come,” I said. I sat back, feeling down. My parents had to be ashamed of me. And ... I gritted my teeth. I didn't want to know, but I had to ask. “What happened to Rose?”

  “She got caught by the blast,” t
he healer said. “Thankfully, the healing spells worked better on her. I believe she should be back to normal by the end of the day.”

  I looked at him. “And her parents?”

  “They haven’t been informed,” the healer said. “What could they do?”

  Of course not, I thought. I felt a sudden flash of pure rage, mixed with sympathy. My parents were important. Rose’s parents were commoners. They don’t need to be told their daughter has been injured.

  “Write to them,” I snapped. “They have a right to know.”

  “I believe such matters are decided by the Castellan,” the healer said. “And Rose herself will have a say, when she recovers. She may not wish to tell them.”