Ned the Insane's Arc

Chapter 2 of 1

The vial sat cool in Ned's palm, deep purple and finished at last. But a finished potion meant nothing if it did not work. He had one dose. One. Pour it down the wrong throat and the whole batch died in the dirt. He needed a creature. A willing creature, one that would swallow the brew and prove his years were not wasted. Ned pulled on his bark-and-hide coat and stepped into the cold morning. He knew only one man who could put a wild beast within arm's reach. Ned found the trapper crouched beside a snare line, wrapped head to foot in fur and pelts, his beard stiff with frost. Silas Coldwater worked without a word, resetting a wire loop. He did not look up when Ned crashed through the brush. "I need a beast," Ned blurted. "A living one. One that might hold still and drink." Silas kept his eyes on the snare. "Drink what." Ned held out the vial. The silver band caught the pale light. "A potion. It lets a man speak with animals. I think. I need to know if it works." Silas studied him a long moment. Most men laughed at Ned. The trapper only grunted and stood. "You'll waste it on a rabbit. Rabbit won't drink." He jerked his chin toward a thicket. "Boar's been raiding my bait pit three nights running. Big brute. Angry. If anything's got something to say, it's him." They crept to the pit. The boar was already snared, one leg caught in Silas's cable. It thrashed and squealed, its shoulder hump heaving, tusks white and sharp. Ned's heart hammered. Silas held a long pole across the animal's neck, pinning it low. "Now," Silas said through his teeth. "Fast." Ned pried the cork loose. He grabbed the boar's jaw, jammed the vial between its tusks, and poured. Purple ran down the beast's tongue. It gagged, swallowed, and went still. For three breaths, nothing. Ned's hope sank. Then the boar's eyes cleared. It stopped fighting the cable. It looked straight at Ned, and a low, rough voice rolled out of its throat. "You," the boar said. "You're the one who smells of burnt roots." Ned fell backward into the mud. Silas dropped his pole and stumbled away, face white above his beard. "It works," Ned whispered. "By every root and rot, it works." The boar snorted. "Free my leg, herbalist, and I'll tell you what your kind should fear. There are others who hunt what you carry. They marked that glass. They're coming to your hut." Ned stared at the empty vial in his hand. The potion worked. But he had spent it all on one beast, and that beast had just told him something worse than any snare.