The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,46
a meeting would not be a distraction from the defense of Izmoroz, but rather an inspiration to redouble my efforts.”
“Then by all means,” said Galina, “for the good of Izmoroz, I look forward to seeing you again soon.”
18
After two days, Master Velikhov pronounced Sonya well enough to get out of bed and move around, as long as she didn’t push herself too much or go too far.
Naturally, Jorge was very glad of that. But it did present some challenges for him. He knew that Sonya was accustomed to ranging far and wide in the wilderness. She no doubt felt frustrated to be sequestered so long in the small apartment. Unfortunately, her restlessness expressed itself primarily in interrupting him while he was trying to work, so it was difficult to truly feel sympathetic.
“Whatcha making?”
He snatched up the bottle of distilled flatfish oil that she nearly knocked off the lab table when she sat on the edge. Then he resumed his work grinding up foxtail and dried alpine rose petals with a pestle.
“Hopefully, a tincture that temporarily grants one increased resistance to cold temperatures.”
“Huh.” She looked impressed. “I didn’t know that was possible.”
“I’m trying to see if it is,” he said. “Right now it’s merely a hypothesis.”
He began to count out teaspoons of the paste into a beaker already boiling with several other ingredients.
“By cold resistance, you mean protection from frostbite, hypothermia, stuff like that?”
“Yes, of course. Merely relieving the feeling of being cold would have little practical value…”
Jorge paused, realizing he’d just lost count of how much paste he’d put in the mixture. He’d have to start all over again, not just with the paste, but from the beginning.
He looked up at Sonya, and she smiled warmly back at him. He found that it was a smile he could not stay mad at. And yet, something had to be done, or he would get nothing accomplished during her convalescence.
“Would you care to go for a walk?”
Her eyes widened. “You sure old Velikhov won’t get mad? I’m trying to be a well-behaved patient, you know.”
“Just a short one,” he said. “So you can express some energy.”
“That would be great, Jorge. I’ll be honest, I’m going crazy in this place.”
“Yes, I noticed.”
She winced. “Sorry, I’m being a pain, aren’t I? Listen, I can just—”
“No, it’s all right. I need to go get some more alpine rose at the market anyway.”
Sonya only drew on her patchwork hooded cloak, but Jorge bundled up thoroughly, including gloves and his large fur hat. He’d been in Izmoroz nearly a year, but still hadn’t acclimated to the cold yet. He wondered if using a tincture to temporarily increase resistance to cold would slow down the person’s natural process of acclimation even further. Or would it speed the process up? Something to test later on, once he’d accomplished the initial goal of his experiments.
He and Sonya left the cozy warmth of the college and headed into the abrasive chaos of Gogoleth’s open-air market. That was yet another aspect of Izmoroz that Jorge hadn’t acclimated to. Back in his hometown of Colmo, the Raízian merchants tried to beguile passersby with charming, tantalizing descriptions of their wares, sometimes even singing to them. By contrast, Izmorozian merchants seemed to prefer intimidation, at times even physically accosting potential customers. The first time an older Izmorozian woman had grabbed his arm and yanked him over to her stall, he’d been so surprised he’d had to stifle a scream.
“Best meat in Gogoleth! Get it now!”
“Don’t go anywhere else for fruits! Only buy mine!”
None of the merchants smiled. In fact, hardly anyone in Izmoroz smiled. Except Sonya.
He glanced at her as she walked beside him, and saw her smiling even then, her eyes wide as she took in the rambunctious energy of the market that surrounded them.
A large, bearded man stepped in front of her and shoved a necklace in her face. “Beautiful lady! Buy my jewelry!”
“Now see here…,” began Jorge.
But Sonya only chuckled and shoved the man aside. Surprisingly, the man seemed amused by this as well, expelling a short bark of laughter before kissing his fingertips. Jorge wondered if he would ever really understand the Izmorozian people.
At last they came to the booth where Jorge always bought his floral ingredients.
“Ah, Jorge,” said the elderly woman. “Back again so soon?”
“I’m afraid so, Misha Bagrov.”
“My fault, babushka,” said Sonya. “I distracted him while he was working.”
The old woman looked at Sonya, and her thin, wrinkled lips curved into a slight smile. “I bet you did, devushka.”