Autumn’s story came to a close, and she had Maro’s undivided attention. This was one of her favorite ways to teach him: begin with a story to captivate him and, once he was hers, teach him the important parts of whatever they were discussing that day. And because her stories were so great and because she was the one telling them, it worked. Maro learned best this way, though he was a quick learner, regardless of how he was taught.
“Let’s begin.” Autumn pointed to one of the glass vials. “Get a few vials ready. Then get your knife.”
Maro quickly pulled three vials toward him, unscrewed their lids, and set them in front of him. Reaching across the table, he picked up the knife from where it was sitting in front of Autumn. It was a good knife, knapped from a single hunk of obsidian, the chipped blade running flawlessly into the smooth black handle. Holding it up, Maro inspected its edge.
“What you are going to do now is one of the less pleasant parts of the whole process. You need to draw the knife across your palm and draw blood. Once you do, you need to fill the vials.”
Maro’s eyes widened. “You want me to stab myself?”
Autumn laughed. “Not stab, just slice. A glass knife is so sharp you will barely feel the initial cut.”
Maro looked at the knife hesitantly. If there was one thing Autumn was right about, it was that this would not be pleasant. He looked back up to her, and she met his eyes gently. “I don’t know about this.”
“Trust me, Maro.”
His hesitance was still clear on his face.
“Please. I wouldn’t tell you to do anything that I knew would hurt you. Trust me.”
Blood flooded his ears, making them burn in shame that she had had to ask him to trust her. “Of course, I trust you. I’m sorry I made you ask.”
“I’m not. It shows you grew up smart, just the way I raised you to be. Shall we continue?”
“Let’s.” Maro wasn’t sure how she did it, but everything she said came out as a compliment, and she could turn any bad situation good. He set the knife against his palm and wrapped his fingers around the double-edged blade.
“Woah, woah, woah!” Her sudden exclamation stopped him, and she set her hands on his. “Don’t do it that way. You’ll slice your fingers open, and that will hurt.”
He followed her guidance, and she uncurled his fingers, lying his palm open and flat so the skin was stretched lightly.
She continued to instruct him. “Don’t cut too deep. All you need to do is make it through the skin. You don’t want to cut any musculature or tendons though.”
Maro nodded and readied himself. Taking a deep breath, he slipped the knife quickly across his open hand. Autumn was right; it didn’t hurt at all. That, or he had pulled the blade up and missed his hand completely. He looked at his hand and could see no mark where the knife may have cut. Spreading his palm open as wide as he could, he watched in amazement as his palm suddenly split open from one side to the other and a pool of blood filled the valley between the skin. Tightening his hand into a fist, he held it over the vials. The blood was dripping freely from his hand, and the three vials were soon full.
Earlier, he had cut up a sheet into strips, and Autumn was now holding one of these out. Wiping his hand on a clean towel, Maro held his hand out to her. This was a sign of how much she cared for him. While she was great at materializing, projection was something she had never grasped very well and was extremely taxing for her to attempt. That she would offer to do this for him meant the world to Maro, and he accepted her kindness without question. With the scrap trembling in her hands and sometimes falling through them, Autumn managed to wrap the scrap around his hand twice before she readied herself to tie the knot. Her focus never broke the entire time, and though the ends of the cloth kept slipping away from her, she never appeared frustrated or angry. Every so often, he would offer his finger to help hold something in place, and she would smile her thanks and continue on with what she was doing. Soon, he had a tight bandage with a snug double knot at the back of his hand.
“Thank you, Autumn. Shall we go on to the next part?”
“Eager? I’m glad. The next part is the dough. The most essential part of the dough is that it is created by the mixture of at least three foods, all from a different source.”
Maro took stock of the ingredients before him. “Hence, the honey, the flour, and eggs.”
“Precisely. Now, many people will tell you that an exact recipe is required for the creation of Soulmist to work.”
Maro leaned in, ready to hear what the secret of the recipe was.
Autumn shook her head. “It’s lies, complete shit. I’ve never heard anything more ridiculous in my life.”
Maro shook his head, immediately clearing the notion of a perfect recipe from his head. “What is required, then?”
“Nothing more than your soul, your intentions, and your focus. The dough is simply a medium for your soul to make its art with.” She placed her hand over his heart. “You are the key to the creation of Soulmist. It does not work without you. It is a piece of you, and the dough is merely the vessel.”
Maro smiled. “All I need to do is make a dough then? I think I can handle this part on my own.”
Taking the bag of flour, he dumped a significant pile into the bottom of one the mixing bowls. Three eggs were cracked open on the lip of the bowl and added, and finally, the jar of honey was opened and drizzled across the top. Looking at the mixture and deciding it was too dry, Maro took some water from the pot over the fire, trickled it in until he was satisfied, and mixed the dough with a large wooden spoon until it all held the same consistency.
Pulling up a fist-sized lump of the dough, he looked to Autumn. “What now?”
“Now, you add a vial of the blood and mix it thoroughly. We want it spread through the entirety of the dough.”
Dropping the dough onto the tabletop, he opened a vial and trickled its contents into the hollow portion he had made with his fist. The blood was already beginning to clot, but Maro mixed it in quickly, kneading the dough until he was satisfied that the blood was spread throughout.
“Does it look good?” He sought as much praise from her as he could get. Something about it seemed more precious than any riches the world could offer.
Having already been watching the entire time, Autumn nodded. “It’s perfect. Now, you need to eat it, just like the first spiritists did. Without cooking it. This is essential. Cooking will destroy what little life these ingredients still contain, and your soul will know that and not lend itself to imbuing the dough with its life.”
Maro picked up the dough in his hands, pulled off a bite-sized piece, and put it in his mouth. |
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