Book 2: Chapter 73: Adverse Effects

Book 2: Chapter 73: Adverse Effects

Beneath the sandy soil surrounding Tropica village, a prince woke from a restful sleep.

He wished he hadn’t.

The moment he was conscious, the storm of thoughts returned. They crashed down on Trent like a tidal wave. Each day since he’d been turned into a cultivator was worse than the last, the unbearable weight of knowledge only ever increasing. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and willing the thoughts to leave him be.

They didn’t—they never did.

He began pacing the room, his legs striding of their own accord. The movement helped him sort through the worries assaulting him, even if only a little. He sighed, willing his body to calm as he admitted something to himself for what must have been the hundredth time: for most of his life, Trent had been a moron. Worse than a moron. He was cruel, selfish, and petty. Knowing that these traits were born of his own mental inadequacies did nothing to quell the embarrassment and shame.

For the barest of moments, a light shone through the storm within him. Perhaps there was time for him to right the wrongs. He was still relatively young, after all. He could return to the capital and use his newly attained intelligence to benefit the crown and citizens alike. Reality came crashing in on him, snuffing out that ray of hope. He was a cultivator. The villagers, these cult members, had turned him into a reviled being. His lip twitched up into a snarl, both because of what they had done to him and for who he had been.

“Good morning, Trent,” came a familiar voice from the bars of his cell.

Trent glared at Keith, channeling every ounce of loathing toward his traitorous cousin. “What do you want?”

Keith raised an eyebrow. “I brought you breakfast. What happened to the man that was always so keen for his morning sweets?”

“You know damned well what happened, Keith.”

Trent marched over, intent on taking the tray so he’d be left alone. The look on Keith’s face brought him up short, however.

“... what?”

Keith narrowed his eyes, leaning in close to the bars. “Did... did you do something to your face?”

“Save me the insults, cousin. I’ve heard them all a hundred times over.”

“No, I’m serious, Trent. You look...” Keith set the tray of food down and reached into a back pocket. “One second. I’ll show you.” He strode from the room, disappearing down the hallway.

Trent rolled his eyes. He didn’t have the patience for whatever game Keith was playing. Before he could yell such thoughts, however, Keith’s hurried footsteps returned. He swept into the room holding an object before himself—a small hand mirror. Trent gave him a flat glare, slowly looking over at the mirror and expecting a jibe from Keith about his features. Instead, he found a stranger staring back.

As the initial shock dissipated, he recognised parts of himself. The lines of his chin, though much less round, were a vaguely similar shape. His cheeks weren’t as swollen, but parts of their hamster-like pudginess remained. His hair... had his hairline lowered?

What on Kallis...

“See?” Keith asked, putting the mirror away and sliding the breakfast under the bars. “I told you.”

Trent felt at his face, tracing his features to confirm it wasn’t some trick of the light. His face, something he’d been struggling to come to terms with as he gained more knowledge, had changed. He bent and retrieved the cup of sugarcane juice, sipping at it to quench the dryness in his throat.

“I mean, you’re still hideous,” Keith said, a smirk on his lips. “I suppose you’re slightly better to look at, though...”

Trent took another drink, pouted his lips, and sprayed a steam of the sugarcane juice onto Keith’s tunic.

Keith looked down at his wet clothing, then back up at Trent, his face featureless. “Did that make you feel better about yourself?”

Trent’s answering smile was genuine. It sent a wave of joy down into his core, faint as it may have been. “A little, yeah. Thanks for breakfast.” He picked up the tray with one hand and retreated to his pile of pillows, taking another sip of juice.

It tasted sweet.

***

I took steady breaths as the first few drops of coffee dripped from the coffee machine. Dual streams fell from the portafilter down into two cups beneath it. Steam rose from the cups in the cool predawn air, bringing with it an intoxicating scent.

I watched it intently, and just as the shots started to change color from a deep brown, the sun rose over the rooftops east of Sue’s coffee shop. The rays hit the steam, making them glow a golden hue. A smile came unbidden to my face, but I didn’t let the magic of the moment distract me from my task. When the coffee pouring from the machine again changed color to a light brown, I turned the water off, just as Sue had instructed.

Next, I had to froth the milk. I poured some in until it reached the second line, then put the wand inside and turned the knob above it, releasing the pressurized steam. It hissed, the milk within swirling and bubbling as the temperature rose. I held my hand to the side so I could feel the temperature, and when it was just hot enough, I raised the wand to the surface, causing froth to rise. Seeing it was ready, I turned the steam off, swirled the pitcher, and poured half into each cup.

“Two cappuccinos and croissants,” I said, placing the cups on a tray and bending for accompanying pastries. “Sorry about the lack of art—I’m still learning.”

The farmer gave me a friendly nod, his eyes lighting up as he gazed down at the cups of liquid happiness. He picked up the tray and walked over to his lady friend, setting it down before joining her on the floor. There was something innocent about the act, like they had no worries in the world other than each other. Seeing the smile she gave him reminded me of Maria, and I took a moment to wish them the best.

“Who’s next?” I raised my eyes to the front of the line, finding a friendly face accompanied by an equally grumpy one. “Oh! Morning, guys! What can I get for you?”

Roger grunted, his arms crossed.

Sharon stepped forward, giving a slight shake of the head to her husband. “Good morning, Fischer. Dare I ask why you’re making coffee?”

“I’m just helping out! Maria and I brought a fun ingredient for Sturgill to bake with—it felt a waste for Sue to miss it.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, holding one hand to the back of her head and clamping the other over her mouth.

To her eyes, I would have teleported. She went stiff as a board, then her eyes rolled into the back of her head. I caught her and lowered her limp body to the ground.

“S-Sue...” Sturgill came back to himself, her unconscious form enough to tear him back to the present. “What did you do...?” His voice was breathy, as if he couldn’t truly believe what he was seeing. He swallowed, his face going red as he looked between us. “What did you—hnng!”

His rising voice caused Sharon to dash forward. She flicked him in the stomach hard enough for him to buckle.

“Mom!” Maria hissed. “What the hell?”

Sharon drew a hand to her mouth. “S-sorry, Sturgill. I only meant to shock you. I panicked...”

Sturgill groaned again, obviously winded.

“Everything okay back there?” someone called from the counter.

Before they could come to check, I got to my feet and rushed out. Everyone in the front of the line had taken a step forward, trying to peer into the back of the bakery.

“I’m sorry, everyone. The bakery has to be closed.”

“Why?” a woman asked. “What was that noise?”

Thinking on my feet, I made the only excuse I could think of. “Sue and Sturgill are both sick. It struck them fast, so it might be contagious. She doesn’t want to risk customers eating contaminated food, so she asked me to close up.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw the young man sitting opposite his lady friend choke mid-swallow. Croissant sprayed everyone, all over the tray and the girl’s work leathers.

“John!” she yelped. The blood drained from his face, but before he could pass out from embarrassment, she started laughing. “That is so gross, man!”

“I-I’m so sorry!” he started wiping the flecks of pastry up with a handkerchief.

At any other time, I’d have laughed too. Instead, I grabbed the pile of sheets Sue used to show she was closed and draped one over the coffee machine.

“Sorry, everyone.” I threw a sheet over the display case. “I’m sure they’ll recover and open up again soon.”

With the crowd dispersing and more than a few grumbles making it to my ears, I slid the wooden panels across, sealing the bakery off from the outside world. When I returned to the kitchen, everyone appeared as stressed as I felt. Sharon was rubbing Sturgill’s back in apology, whose breath was coming back. Roger was channeling his anxiety at the situation into hatred for me, blessing me with a mighty glower. Maria had gone to Sue, who was sitting up with her help, staring at me like I’d just... well, like I’d revealed myself as a cultivator.

I groaned, putting my head into my hands. “I just wanted to give my friends some lemon.” I let out a mocking laugh, wishing I could rewind the clock. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this...”

When I looked out at the room once more, I could tell Roger wanted to rip into me again, but he shot furtive glances at Sue, likely only holding back for her sake. I knelt down to her level, ensuring I kept a good amount of distance; the last thing I wanted to do was make her faint again.

“Are... are you okay, Sue?”

She shook her head, tears coming to her eyes. “No, Fischer. I’m not okay. What did you do to my husband?”

Seeing her sorrow made my heart break. “Nothing, Sue. It’s not what it looks like. It’s...” I put my head in my hands again. “Where do I even start? Barry is so much better at this stuff.”

“I’m sorry, Sue,” Sharon said. “The only person who did something to Sturgill was me. I flicked him in the stomach lightly.”

“Lightly?” Sturgill interrupted, his voice hoarse. “It felt like you hit me with a brick.”

“I meant to do it lightly,” Sharon corrected, wincing. “I’m still getting used to my strength...”

“You’re all cultivators, then.” Sue had a look of resignation on her face as she got to her feet, brushing off her apron.

“Where are you going...?” I asked, shrinking back as she strode past me.

“If I’m going to die anyway...” She plucked a danish from the tray. “I’m at least going to try this before I go.”

I shook my head as she took a massive bite, flakes of pastry falling to the floor.

“No one is going to kill you. Like I said, it’s not what you think.”

“What is it, then?” Sturgill replied, answering for his wife who was blissfully eating the danish and staring at nothing.

“It’s...” I sighed. “Screw this—I need one too.”

I trudged over, grabbed a pastry, and took a bite.