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Even with the moss being so fast to dissolve and the control Wanda had over her cauldron, trying to brew the whole mass of roots at once was slowing the process down considerably. Largely because that quantity of moss generated an equivalent amount of toxins to be siphoned off, and the skimmer could only remove so much at a time. And since all of the toxins had to be pulled out before the potion was safe, Wanda couldn’t move forward until every last bit was skimmed off.

What she needed, it became quickly clear, were more cauldrons. Before adding the skimmer, Wanda would have assumed she had no choice other than to power through and hope the brew finished swiftly. But Lenar had shown her that the cauldron was a versatile tool, limited only by the mana she could feed it.

Wanda envisioned a second cauldron growing out of the bottom of the first, identical in every way. When the new cauldron was formed, she opened a hole in the original cauldron’s base and allowed it to flow down, taking care to ensure the temperature and agitation within both remained constant.

In a normal cauldron, this would be outright impossible. Only because the spell gave Wanda total control of her brewing condition was she able to split the batch while it simmered. When half of the contents were transferred to the bottom cauldron, Wanda commanded the hole in the first to seal, then mentally snapped them apart.

Just like that, she now had two magical cauldrons and two skimmers to pull out the potion’s toxins. Seeing how much still remained in each, Wanda repeated the process with both of her cauldrons, doubling the number to four. It went slower this time, and there was sense of… resistance, though it was hard to pin down any more than that.

A bout of wooziness struck without warning, and Wanda realized she might be pushing her luck. Lenar had warned her about the spell being taxing. If she passed out there was a significant chance all her hard work would spill onto the Main Deck’s wooden boards when the cauldrons vanished.

That sort of waste was unacceptable in the best of times. With people waiting for her potions, it would be a fundamental failing in her role as an alchemist.

Besides, with the potion split four ways, Wanda was making far better time skimming out the toxins. Not a moment too soon, either, as Lenar was down to the last of their prior batches. At least that gave Wanda a chance to see how well the healing potions made from the blue moss performed. She knew they were absent any toxins, how effective each would prove was an unknown factor.

As it turned out, the blue moss evidently made for an exceptional ingredient. While those who drank potions made from standard ingredients that Lenar brewed had their wounds patched over, the ones who got the blue moss batch appeared hale and hearty, and if they’d just awoken fully refreshed.

That was odd, it usually took at least Grade Three for healing potions to replenish one’s stamina, and even those effects were only marginal. That was half the fun of learning new ingredients though, each plant had its own unique characteristics, some of which manifested in the potions that were made from them. Wanda concluded that clearly the blue moss had an endurance-replenishing aspect buried under all those toxic elements.

Which was fortunate, because the wizards still lined up appeared to be barely on their feet. Even those without serious injuries looked drained, no doubt having burned through most of their mana repelling the attacks. Wanda would have loved to offer mana potions as well, but even if they’d found the ingredients to make them, neither she nor Lenar had the spare time. It was all they could do to keep up with the demand for healing potions, and handling injuries always came first.

Grabbing one of the empty bottles stashed away in the carrying case, Wanda signaled to Lenar that their stock of potions was about to be replenished.

NINETEEN

While Wanda hurried to create potions, Wumble was left to his own devices, a freedom he used to investigate the situation topside. Although he couldn’t stray far from Wanda while she was sustaining her cauldron spell, Wumble could feel the strength of their bond was suitable to withstand a slight distance.

He trotted through the line of waiting wizards, noting the multitude of lesser injuries still waiting to be treated. The most severally wounded had been shoved to the front of the line, buying the first potions that were available. That had happened at the direction of the pilots, who were echoing orders sent down from Captain Sharshaw. Several with minor cuts and fractures appeared sour at the shift, however, none were willing to argue the matter.

The wizards hadn’t been quite overwhelmed, though the length of the line for potions spoke to just how hard they’d been pressed. Without magical shields to hold off the largest of occorites, the danger would rise precipitously.

Then again, so would the amount of occoreal available for harvest.

Wumble’s gaze shifted to the horizon beyond the stern, where the occorite flock was growing steadily more visible. He licked his chops, imagining how much power there was to chew out of several bearship-sized occorites. Enough to form another few imbuements, certainly. Enough to truly keep Wanda safe? That was a question Wumble wasn’t certain how to answer anymore. He knew more occoreal was the next step but had no idea where the last one would be.

Unfortunately, even if he could manage to protect Wanda from an airship being brought down, she would be the only one he saved. The rest of their team would all but certainly be lost, and Wumble couldn’t accept that. Not after they’d stepped in to fight for her when he was stuck floating helplessly.

Besides, Wanda would be saddened by that outcome.

Turning his eyes from the tempting prize of occorites, Wumble padded over to a different area near Wanda: the spot just past Lenar, where people were drinking their potions. Most had the same reaction at various intensities. They would throw back the potion, shudder slightly as the magic did its work, then a look of befuddlement settled into place.

Wizards past their base phases had harvested occoreal, which demanded fighting occorites, which in turn meant all but the luckiest and most careful of those present had quaffed back many healing potions throughout their journey. Plenty enough to know what a Grade One healing potion felt like.

One wizard with long hair swirled into a bun and a cricket nested atop it turned to his companion, a fellow with a similar style, save for the ladybug perched in his own locks, and put words to the confusion. “Did that feel like a Grade One to you?”

“No chance,” the ladybug-hosting wizard replied. “I’d say Grade Two, but I had one of those last year, and I don’t think even it had that much kick.”

The original wizard shook his head. “It can’t be Grade Three. Those cost a thousand gellen per dose. Selling Grade Two’s down a category is shockingly kind of these two; nobody is generous enough to cut nine hundred and ninety-five gellen off of this many sales. Maybe it’s just a higher quality Grade Two than what you had?”

“Could be,” the man conceded.

A mistake, in Wumble’s eavesdropping opinion. He didn’t really follow along with all the talk of grades and gellen, but understood enough to glean that Wanda’s potions were performing far above expectations. Far above the expectations of others, anyway. Wumble knew very well what his wizard was capable of.

Frankly, it was about time the rest of the world started taking notice.

Plodding his way closer to the area where Captain Sharshaw was giving orders, Wumble didn’t manage to get anywhere near the commander of the ship before he felt the tension in his bond with Wanda. Much farther, and the spell could destabilize, ruining all her effort. Planting himself down atop the deck, Wumble relaxed into a sploot and focused on listening.

If Wanda was going to be in danger, the captain would be the first to know. And Wumble intended to be the second.