Salt Fat Acid Magic [Nom-Fiction | Food Fights | Culinary Academy]

Archie could see each leaf of the tree that shaded him. At times, his eyes unfocused, and he saw whole systems on the branch, but then the wind would settle to nothing or perhaps just enough to make a select few leaves flutter, and Archie could see them all as individuals again. He loved the way they took turns dancing in the gentle breeze. Every so often, they'd all move just right to show a little flash of vibrant blue sky, then they'd close again. His eyes followed from a little leaf to a thin branch to a thicker branch to a great big one that served as a hub and then all the way back to the thick, gnarled trunk with bits that looked like shedding paper.

One of Blanche's fingers moved along the inside of his knuckles, a little motion that was as intentless as the wind that cooled them. The sensation of the tickle went up his arm like a passed-along whisper, a little flutter that went into his chest and reminded him of the individual next to him. Her finger moved again and again ritualistically. Archie's mind unfocused and became part of the system beneath the tree, two people as one saying much without saying anything at all.

Archie could have stayed there all day. He felt like that a lot recently. Like if he could, he'd choose to become a plant and send down his roots so that he couldn't be moved. The borders of his body felt less and less like boundaries. He was melting into the world around him, a blissful decoupling from the thoughts of self and the feeling of being.

But he still had a corporeal form, and that form was obliged to be a student.

"Alright, let's go!" Tarragon yelled and clapped. He never ended their breaks slowly. It was always loud and sudden and alarming.

As was the transition in Archie. In anyone else's class, he might have dragged his feet and relished every last moment in the shade with Blanche. But in Tarragon's class, something deep with Archie let him shake off her hand and jump up with ease. He rushed forward and left her behind, taking his place at the end of the line. No one had managed to overtake him. No one would.

"New order! Archie, Yarrow, Barley, Oliver, Akando, Nori, Blanche, Cress, Julienne, Benedict, Hyssop, Mindy, Juniper."

Cress groaned as she shuffled past Archie. They were the only two that had neither passed nor been passed by anyone, which was certainly a less frustrating experience for him.

"I want everyone to practice using their non-dominant hand and their non-dominant hand only! Remember, sustained color is just as much a goal as the shade of the color. I gave you a long break, so let's get to work!"

Tarragon pointed and swung his finger past Archie. "You three step over here."

Archie, Yarrow, and Barley approached Tarragon as he opened a large wicker basket. Archie peeked inside to find three little sacks of flour and a stack of square noodles. Tarragon took a handful of flour and patted it on one side of a noodle. He nodded at the three students. "I think you three can go straight to the medium flour. Roll those sleeves up."

Archie eyed the other boys' arms as he folded his sleeves past his elbows. Despite looking like a string bean, Yarrow's forearms had thick cables running from elbow to wrist, testaments to how much time he spent in the kitchen. Barley's were just unfair to compare to, as big as Archie's upper arm and twice as firm.

Tarragon slapped the unfloured side of the noodle onto the top of Archie's right wrist. It stuck like a bandage. "Try to turn it red."

Archie lifted his other hand, which garnered a quick hissing breath of dissent from Tarragon. He set his hand down and focused on the noodle. His initial surge of essence was inaccurate, slipping past the noodle in a flash of yellow flour. He closed his eyes and worked his essence back up his arm. He opened them to see shimmers of orange and red compete for purchase in the flour.

"Good," Tarragon said. "Hold that. And never close your eyes like that again. That's a bad habit for when you start fighting."

Archie stared at the noodle and kept his essence flowing until the flour turned a solid shade of red. He smirked at Tarragon, who returned an exasperated—but impressed—look. "Gimme the hard stuff," Archie said.

"You think this is the whole drill?" Tarragon caked one side of another noodle with flour and stuck it closer to Archie's elbow. The flour turned into the same shade of yellow as the noodle, occasionally darkening to a light orange as Archie resupplied his wrist with essence.

Tarragon pointed at Archie's wrist. "I want this one orange." He pointed at Archie's elbow. "And that one white."

Archie focused on his elbow first, but as he kept essence from reaching the noodle, he saw the noodle around his wrist go from orange to yellow to white even before the one on his elbow lost its color completely.

"You didn't think it'd be that easy, did you?" Tarragon laughed as he slapped a noodle onto Yarrow's wrist. "Go red."

Yarrow grimaced and groaned, but he couldn't do better than orange.

"Good enough,' Tarragon said. He slapped another noodle on Yarrow's elbow. "Now, you three are starting to separate from the pack, but you have plenty to learn. But I'll get you there."

"What's after this?" Archie asked.

Tarragon gave him a blank stare. "After what? Failing the most basic version of this challenge? What do you think?"

"Are we going to practice fighting?" Yarrow asked.

Tarragon shook his head as he got Barley set up. His steely teaching demeanor cracked, the prize fighter within slipping out with a chuckle. "You have a lot of work before I let you turn on each other." He patted Barley on the shoulder. "What about you? Do you have the same itch as these two?"

Barley looked down at his arm. "Those that can fight have an obligation to protect others."

Tarragon nodded with approval. "Not a glory hunter like these two. I like that."

"You were a glory hunter, too!" Archie complained.

Tarragon laughed once, but just once. His expression stiffened, and he gave a look that made Archie think he had gotten too familiar. "I was at first. But then…" Tarragon slid his tongue within his bottom lip. "There were times when it was just me and Flambé and a lot of people that were in our way. There was no glory there."

A somber silence set over the students. Archie stood there, suspended in time, waiting for Tarragon to crack the tension with a joke.

He did no such thing. "Just, uh…let me know if you get it. I'm gonna go set up the next group and then I'll be back around."

"Sure, sure," Archie blurted out. The less silence, the better.

Tarragon picked up his basket and his voice, calling out to the next group with renewed energy. "Alright, let's see. One, two, three, let's get you four to group up."

Archie cast the heavy conversation aside as quickly as it had come up. Conjuration was his most anticipated class, but so far, it had only disappointed him. It was too easy. Sure, there was an initial thrill of being the best, but days had gone by without any sort of challenge. Tarragon helped the struggling students, leaving Archie stagnant at the top.

But now he finally had something to sink his teeth into.

He put his forearm in front of him and used his free hand to steady the other. It struck him how easy it would be to channel his essence up one arm and into the other's hand, bypassing the elbow. But Archie wasn't interested in shortcuts.

He removed his spare hand and placed his focus entirely on his wrist. First, he needed to understand what success felt like there. With no regard for his elbow, he sent his essence to the bottom of his palm. Essence control—at least for novices, as Tarragon had said—depended so much on the sensation of touch. Fingertips were the easiest. Palm, a little less so. The bottom of the wrist, less. The top of the wrist? When was the last time something had touched the top of his wrist?

He thought of his hand resting on the ground and Blanche's resting on top of his, the weight of her wrist on his. The flour covering the noodle turned blood orange. He smiled, half at his success, half at the memory.

He wondered if it was easier for him due to his skinny wrists. Compared to Barley, he had half as far to go from the bottom of his wrist to the top of it. He looked over to confirm his theory, but Barley was focused solely on his elbow, not his wrist. Of course. With Barley, it was all about the power of quiet.

Yarrow clenched his teeth and growled at his wrist, which he kept just inches from his face. Archie made the safe assumption that Yarrow cared much more about seeing red than controlling a delicate path.

Archie wouldn't let himself be so vain. Red was red, but that wasn't the challenge. He held orange on his wrist as long as he could, giving up after it petered out from a burnt yellow to a pale one. That was good. Step one complete. With the ability to hold the color on his wrist, he could focus on his elbow.

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He shook out his arm and pulsed essence through his entire body. It always felt weird after focusing so intently on a single spot. The rest of his body ached for essence and felt like a good stretch when he surged power through it. He took a deep breath and got back to work.

Finesse demanded restraint. Archie only let a strong yellow onto his wrist so that he might control it better. Plus, he'd be able to hold the stream longer. He looked at his elbow, which hosted the same color as his wrist. He lowered the temperature of the shade, lower, lower, lower, until it was a nice cool yellow that barely stood out from the noodle. He checked his wrist, which had cooled just as much.

He took a deep breath and started again from a stronger shade. After that didn't work, he started again. And again. And again. Each time, he thought he saw a difference, but he couldn't be sure.

So he changed his approach. He forgot about his wrist entirely and watched the floured noodle on his elbow react as he sent pulses of essence through his arm, trying to feel the path it took as it went down and the path as it came back up. He couldn't maintain any true shade of orange, so he took yet another step back.

Touch. He touched a finger to his elbow, but the sensation was gone as soon as he pulled away. He thought back to a more memorable sensation from that morning. He had just walked into the greenhouse looking for Blanche when she had snuck up and given him a forceful hug from behind. He had grabbed her arm. She had grabbed his elbow.

He could remember that touch better than his own. He focused on that memory until the flour turned orange, then as slowly as he could, he let his essence forward. There was a delicate balance of pushing essence through while stifling its natural return to the center of his body, but he found it. Both noodles turned yellow, the one on his elbow a noticeable shade lighter.

Archie looked up. Yarrow and Barley had wandered off, as had the rest of the class with the exception of Julienne, who was talking to Tarragon while showing his arm. Blanche wandered near the lake and waved when she caught him looking.

"Alright, break time's over!" Tarragon yelled.

Archie had been too focused to realize it had even begun. He had missed his chance to sit with Blanche again. And he had missed his chance to rejuvenate. But he didn't mind. He was finally making real progress. He'd have time for Blanche and rest later. Besides, a little absence could make the heart fonder. That was what his father had said, anyway.

Over the next hour, Archie went from understanding Tarragon's challenge to nearly conquering it, his wrist showing yellow while his elbow showed a barely dimmed white. An hour later, he managed to work up toward a light orange and a medium yellow. Class ended just as he started to chip away at the shade of yellow.

A few students took no time in leaving for the comfort of indoors. A couple finished up a bit of private instruction with Tarragon. Blanche made a beeline straight for Archie.

"Look, look!" She hopped over with her arm forward and showed off her control, the floured noodle on her elbow staying pure white as she turned the one on her wrist yellow. The last few days had frustrated her as she slipped down the ranks, but now she was back on top.

Archie compared results. They both managed a difference in color, but Archie couldn't get his elbow to show white yet. "Nice! I feel like I'm right on the verge of a breakthrough." He thought he hid his surprise well, but Blanche looked at his face and laughed.

"I've already been kinda doing something like this with my plants," she explained. "Sometimes I want the essence to just go to a few particular stems. But practicing it this way might make that easier. Actually, I kinda wanted to go see." Blanche stuck a thumb back toward the greenhouse. "You gonna stay out here for a bit?"

"Yeah, is that alright?"

"Sure. We do dinner after?"

"Are we cooking or are you taking me somewhere?"

Archie opened his mouth but held off long enough to see that Blanche expected a certain answer. He wanted to say that they'd cook something simple or find a spare meal from one of the other students' practices. He was tired. And broke. He and Nori had set aside a good chunk of money to pay for future years of sponsorship with some supplemental work that Nori insisted she be responsible for. His personal money had seemed substantial even just a week or two ago. Before Blanche wanted to be taken to a restaurant every other night.

She leaned forward in anticipation.

"I guess we can go somewhere."

"Yes!" Blanche pumped her fist and hopped. "Have you ever heard of Concawi?"

Archie's heart dropped. He had indeed heard of Concawi. Cress had compared it to Kuutsu Kaana, where she and Akando worked. Twice as good, five times the price. That was how she had described it.

"Uh, yeah. What about, uh…" Archie's mind went across the Crown in search of a cheaper restaurant and came up empty. "You know, there's some great places in the Trunk. Uh…cheaper places."

"Oh." Blanche closed her eyes and winced. "Sorry. Of course. Yes, we'll find a place in the Trunk. And I'll pay this time."

Archie breathed a sigh of relief, but he also felt a bit emasculated in front of Yarrow and Barley. "You pay for the food. I'll pay for the drinks."

"Ooo." Blanche wiggled her eyebrows at him. "Let's go somewhere on the west end. It'll be a bit of a walk, so we should leave soon. I'll be quick in there. Ten, twenty tops."

"Sounds good."

"Okay!" Blanche lurched forward out of habit, but then smiled, spun around, and jogged off to the greenhouse. They hadn't quite figured out how much affection they were comfortable showing around others, leading to many awkward goodbyes like this one.

Barley chuckled once Blanche had left.

"What?" Archie asked.

"Nothing."

"We've been dating a week and I've already blown through a month's budget."

"Well, at least you're learning to say no."

Yarrow shot Archie a scornful look. "He didn't say no. He said he was broke. If you don't want to take her out, just man up and tell her."

Archie scowled back at Yarrow, who had not earned the right to speak to him the way Barley had. "I do want to take her out. It's nice getting out. Around here, I still feel like…like we're classmates. But out there…"

"Whatever." Yarrow looked over at Julienne. Tarragon was working with him, saying this and that and pointing at his wrist and then his elbow. The rest of the class had shuffled off, leaving just the four students and their teacher. "Head Chef Tarragon, what's next?"

Tarragon looked up, then motioned for Julienne to follow him over to the other three boys. "What's next?"

"Yeah." Yarrow peeled the patches of noodle off of himself and tossed them in the dirt. He had been far less successful in maintaining different colors than Archie and Barley. "What comes after essence control?"

Tarragon looked at the discarded noodles. "More advanced essence control."

Archie stuck his arm out and showed Julienne his progress—light orange and light yellow. Julienne grinned and showed his—light orange and nearly white. Archie figured Julienne must have been given a less resistant flour.

Tarragon took a deep breath. "And after that comes even more advanced essence control. And then applying that control to defensive techniques. And then—"

"Offensive techniques?" Yarrow interrupted. Archie watched Julienne's smile fade and his eyes grow distant.

"Yes. And then maybe—maybe—we start sparring."

Archie jumped into the conversation. "At The Serving Bowl?"

Tarragon flipped his tongue into his upper lip and sucked on his teeth. "You're really set on that, aren't you?"

"I'm ready!"

"You're not." Tarragon pointed at Archie's chest. "You're not. But if you can admit it—if you can give in to the fact that you're not ready—then I can see about something at the end of the semester."

"Yes, yes, I can! I'm not ready. Not ready at all!" Archie managed to get a laugh out of Tarragon, so he kept it going. "Or at least, not ready by about three months, give or take. Maybe a little less. Two months. Or even one. No, two months. It's up to you, really."

"Okay, okay, enough of that." Tarragon looked at Yarrow. "Can you admit it?"

"I'm not ready," Yarrow stated. He could say it, but he couldn't have fun with it like Archie could. His jaw clenched as he spoke.

Tarragon looked at Barley. "You?"

Barley nodded, which was good enough for Tarragon. After all, Barley was the master of speaking in silence.

Tarragon looked at Julienne. "What about you? You interested in putting on a show in The Serving Bowl?"

Julienne puffed out his cheeks and breathed out slowly. "I'm not ready, nor do I think I want to be. I'd be happy to train conjuration, of course, but I have enough to work toward."

"Fair enough. Okay, you three. I expect to see you to be here early and leave late. And no goofing around. Archie." Tarragon swung his face toward Archie and stared into his soul.

"What? I'll be good."

"Alright." Tarragon took a deep breath and looked at his three aspiring fighters. "No shortcuts. You work hard. And no skipping steps. I don't need one of you attacking another before you're ready to defend yourself."

Julienne coughed. He tried to suppress the first one, but that just led to a coughing fit that had him move away from the group. Once he recovered, he cleared his throat and motioned for Tarragon to step away. "I wanted to, uh, to ask you about something before you headed out."

"Sure."

Yarrow looked at Archie and Barley before walking away—the best goodbye he could give. Barley looked at Archie's arm and compared it to his own.

"You sticking around for a bit?" Archie asked.

"As long as you are, sure."

Archie smiled. Barley's company would make today's training and all future training much more tolerable—Archie shuddered to think of what training alone with Yarrow would be like. They got back to work with rejuvenated motivation, but both of their energies waned. Barley had no trouble keeping his elbow white—it was coloring his wrist that gave him trouble.

Eventually, Archie lost track of Barley's progress, becoming absorbed in his own training. He found what felt like a groove through the other side of his elbow. It staunched the flow of his essence, leaving his wrist a flimsy yellow, but it kept the noodle on his elbow pure. He lost track of time as well, but he knew it had been at least thirty minutes since Blanche had said it would be ten. She came jogging back saying her apologies just as Archie started to make progress again.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry. I was helping Nori with her lemon tree. Shall we go?"

The word 'no' entered Archie's throat like a burp, but he swallowed to keep it down. As long as he could still make progress, and as long as the sun stayed over the horizon, he wanted to keep at it. And he was making progress, and judging by the pink and purple in the sky, he still had half an hour before the dark would force him inside.

Blanche grabbed Archie's forearm and took off the noodles. The touch wiped his mind clean. He stopped thinking about training and fighting and becoming a legend of the arena. He stopped thinking about how much sunlight was left and instead saw the way it played on her face. His essence reacted where her slender fingers wrapped around his arm.

"You're pretty," he said.

He colored her cheeks red as they left for a place where they weren't classmates.