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Fezdon had worked through the first two books and found nothing. He was beginning to lose hope halfway through the third when he stumbled upon something strange. He found a page which described a potion that had the capabilities to suit his needs. He read that in times of war, when no protection could be found from the land, soldiers had been trained to use this potion to make a stone like substance. It could be poured over structures which were made up of anything, covering it to soon harden like stone. Soldiers could put up a wall made of nothing but tree branches and shrubs, then pour the potion over it and have a small battlement to help them make a stand against their enemy.
Fezdon sat up with excitement as he realized he could make this potion. With some work, he could use it to cover the ground in the market. If it was swept often, then the dust problem would be solved and all would praise him for being such a clever wizard. He spent the day gathering ingredients, and making a large broom. As night fell and the market closed, he read through the instructions again, waiting for everyone to go to sleep. With a bold moon high in the sky he crept out into the square. He carried with him the broom and a large bundle containing the ingredients; which he sat down near the massive cauldron. He got out his broom, and spent the next hour emptying the pot of all the things left over from the day's boil. When he was sure that nothing else lay inside the boiling water, he got to work emptying the cauldron one bucketful at a time. Then he went from the nearby well and back again until the pot was full of fresh water. His old limbs moved fast through all this laborious work as his excitement grew with each passing moment.
With all of his labor done, he was able to start adding his ingredients. He counted out each part carefully. He worked with one hand full as he plucked from it with the other, dropping the proper amount of ingredients into the boil. Then he sneezed. Everything in his hand had fallen into the pot, and the dark water had begun to glow with all the bright colors of the rainbow. It began to bubble violently as he backed away from the cauldron. It bubbled over, spilling onto the ground and spreading out towards the market. He had to keep moving back as it continued to spill its contents onto the ground. The bright colors stretched farther out, and Fezdon was powerless to stop it. This was not how it was supposed to go. It should have turned to a dull gray. Fezdon had planned on filling buckets with the stuff, pouring it over the ground until the market was covered evenly. He watched from beyond the flow of hot potion as it spread. It was soon over the entire market, covering the ground in bright lines of color.
Then the pot ceased spilling its rainbow river and the ground began to settle. Fezdon stood at the edge, listening to it sizzle as it began to harden and cool. Just as the sunrise hit the mountain peaks he grabbed the broom and poked at it. The substance did not cling to the broom. It felt quite solid. He took one cautious step out onto the radiant surface. It felt even smoother than that of the stone path to the castle. This would be very easy to keep clean with a few brooms. He had done it!
“What have you done?” he heard a voice shout from behind him. It was Broadmor the blacksmith, coming in to start his forge.
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The village would not hear of Fezdon's plan to stop the dust from getting into the beggars' boil. As far as they were concerned, he had made their market into jester's joke. Beyond that, he had ruined the pot. He tried to explain that he could find another potion to clean it out, but they ran him out of town before he could convince them of his intentions. His plan had backfired. He went into the forest, searching for a place of residence, when he came upon a quaint little cave. He looked it over. It would do nicely. He could produce potions all day long and not be bothered by a soul.
It took him quite a while to get over being exiled from the village, but with time Fezdon became thankful for it. In the end he was happier living alone. His cave in the woods was much closer to all the ingredients he needed, and he would never have to hear complaints from neighbors again. His niece and nephew came over every once in a while to bring him some of their delicious stew. In turn he gave them a great deal of spices for their stew that he had left over from gathering ingredients for his potions. In time Fezdon found himself much happier living as a hermit in the woods. As he worked on potions, he dreamed that someday it would be a destination for many. People would come from far off lands seeking his amazing potions. Until that time he had a wonderful place to perfect his skills and live a life pursuing his passion.
THE END
Thanks for reading my short story Fezdon's Mistake! If you found any mistakes, please let me know and I’ll upload a new version with the fixes. Here is some extra content for you:
Listen to a great free reading of the entire story by Mick of Every Photo Tells here:
https://everyphototells.com/2011/03/episode-62-fezdons-mistake
Listen to a free reading of the squeal to this story, “Helsa's Secret Ingredient,” by Katharina and Mick of Every Photo Tells here:
https://everyphototells.com/2011/02/episode-57-helsas-secret-ingredient
Visit my website for news on my writing and free audio short stories read by me: https://writingsofdan.blogspot.com/
All rights reserved – Dan Absalonson
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