Unfinished Business

**[Note: letters in brackets indicate more pronounced Hissing sounds.]**

Sigvar crushed the last two dried herbs between his thumb and fore-finger and let the remains scatter into the bubbling pot below. He stirred for a time
before raising his hood and looking to the sky.

“E(ss)ence” He mused.

“Pardon?” Alistir asked.

Sigvar turned his head slowly to meet the eyes of his patient.

“E(ss)ence” Sigvar said again in the same, slow, drawl.

“I don’t follow?” Alistir shifted uncomfortably under the apothecary’s gaze.

“It is a favourite word of mine. It feel(s) very comfortable on the pallet.” He turned to once again stir the simmering stew. “Ye(s). It i(s) a word of two equal halves”

Alistir nodded slowly. He either didn’t understand, or didn’t know how to
respond.

“The E(ss) and en(ce) very (s)imilar in (s)ound but very di(s)tinct from eachother. And yet, neither (s)ide holds dominance in the full word, so what then
is the e(ss)ence of e(ss)ence?” He turned once again to face Alistir, wooden spoon pointed towards him questioningly.

“I… really couldn’t say?” Alistir hesitated – he was never sure if Sigvar was posing the question him directly, or to the world at large. Although he had
learned if you ever dared to answer, he would always ask another impossible question with the same inquisitive glare.

Silence hung in the air for a moment, before Sigvar turned back to his stirring and quiet musing.

“So…” Alistir began, desperate to change the subject “It’s nice to have a
full-time apothecary at Sigehold, It would have been a few days travel to see Rikuvelt, and even then I couldn’t guarantee he would have been able to help.”

“Hmmm” Sigvar answered “And you would al(s)o be quite dead”

“Yeah” Alistir looked at his feet for a moment before raising his head sharply “I’m sorry, dead?”

“Quite dead”

“Because of… because of my aching throat?”

“Oh no”

“Oh… Then… how?”

“Because of the Appletonthorn Waldroot that you have inadvertently consumed and the internal haemorrhaging that it will inevitably cau(s)e”

“I.. what?”

“Ye(s), early (s)igns of poisoning present with a scratching of the throat, a ra(sh) along the back of the neck and a few wart(s) here and… there”

“Oh, you… know about those”

“I do now” Sigvar gave the young crow a sidelong glance.

“How long do I have before… it takes hold?”

“Probably a few hour(s)”

“Osric’s Beard! Can you cure it with your… your… this apothecary’s brew?”

“I’m afraid not”

“Then I’m going to die!?”

“Oh no, not at all”

“Then what do I do!?”

Sigvar pulled a single frayed leaf from within his robes and presented it to the terrified Alistir

“Chew thi(s)”

“That’s it?” Alistir snatched the leaf quickly and examined it closely

“Ye(s)”

Alistir blinked a few moments before shoving the small, wilting, plant-fibre into his mouth and chewing furiously. The flavour was minty at first, before turning into a stinking, rotten mulch that caused his eyes to water and his airways to burn.

“Oh sweet virtues!” He gasped “What have you done to me!?”

“Ye(s), the pain will pass after you have finished ejecting the venom from your system” Sigvar turned to tend to his brew once more. “Ah, the tea i(s) almo(s)t ready to pour”

The sound of retching followed by wet, solid matter hitting the grass echoed through the valley, causing crows to flee from nearby trees.

Alistir propped himself up against a moss-covered wall and took a few gasping
breaths. “My.. throat?” he caressed this neck in surprise “it’s… fine?”

“Ye(s)” Sigvar poured tea into two pots “Thi(s) will help get rid of the ta(s)te”

“Why didn’t you just give me this earlier?” Alistir asked exasperated, but gladly taking the steaming cup of tea.

“The tea wa(s)n’t ready” Sigvar gestured to a small wooden table and chairs next to his cooking pot. He nodded sagely whilst taking a seat, as though that should put the matter to rest.

“Well… thank you” Alistir took his seat, and stared deeply into the golden, steaming, brew. “So… do you think you will be taking the oath this season?”

“Perhap(s), I do enjoy being here” Sigvar took a long, slow, drink from his cup.

“And it looks like you’re settled here in Nestori’s old chapel”

Sigvar turned to look at the moss covered building, then took two cards from
his from pocket and placed them on the table before him. The first card read 'Queros’, the rune of plots, the second ‘Yoorn’, the rune of Ending.

“Almo(s)t” Sigvar turned to look through the open door behind him at a writing desk against the opposite wall; Upon it lay a leather band tied to silver
feather amongst other precious stones, and a weighted wax seal next to two unopened letters.

“There i(s) still some unfinished businine(ss).” He took another long drink “(s)omeone el(s)e’s story still live(s) here”