19. The Grind (3)

After the chaos of the tavern had finally settled, Jorin got up with a grunt, stretching his arms over his head. "Stay put, boys. I've got something that'll fix you right up." He headed toward the cellar, leaving Billy and me to recover from the whirlwind of the evening.

"I swear," Billy groaned, rubbing his face, "if it's more work, I'm quitting. Can't take much more today."

We sat slumped at the table, drained but too tired to even consider moving. Moments later, Jorin returned, holding three bottles of deep green liquid. He set them down with a grin.

"Here we go," he said, popping the cork on one of the bottles. "Zalora wine—this stuff will knock the exhaustion right out of you."

Billy's face immediately twisted into a look of pure horror. "Wait, wait—Zalora wine? You mean that cursed stuff made from those sour fruits?!" He pointed at the bottle as if it were filled with poison. "Elliot wait! Don't drink it I've heard stories, mate. People who drink it fall to the ground, gagging, their mouths pouring out... just endless spit! They can't talk, can't breathe—nothing! They just writhe in sour agony!"

Jorin chuckled as he sat down and uncorked his own bottle. "That's just the fresh stuff. This one's been fermented. It's much smoother now. Quite nice, actually."

I raised an eyebrow. "Nice? Billy made it sound like it's a death sentence in a bottle."

With a smirk, Jorin tipped his head back and drained his entire bottle in one go. He slammed it down on the table with a satisfied sigh. "Trust me. Once it's aged, it's not so bad. Go on, give it a try."

Billy and I exchanged uneasy glances. If Jorin could drink it like that, maybe it wasn't that bad? I hesitated, but when Billy made an exaggerated gulp, I steeled myself and grabbed the bottle. Billy followed suit.

"On three?" I asked, gripping the bottle tightly.

"On three," Billy agreed, his voice wavering.

"One... two... three!"

We both tipped the bottles back and took a long gulp. At first, it didn't seem so bad—kind of tangy, with a hint of sweetness. But then, without warning, the full force of the sourness hit us like a wall.

My entire face puckered involuntarily, and I felt my eyes widen as if they were about to pop out of my head. Without thinking, I spat the wine out with such force it was like a fountain, spraying a fine mist of sour wine across the table. Billy did the same, the wine shooting from his mouth in a long arc that splattered the floor in front of us.

We both coughed and sputtered, our mouths watering uncontrollably, our faces contorted in horror. It felt like someone had squeezed ten lemons straight into my soul.

"What—cough—in the world is this?" I managed to choke out, wiping my mouth with my sleeve.

Billy, still gasping, pounded the table with his fist. "Mate, I think my tongue just curled up and died! This isn't wine—it's a weapon!"

Jorin laughed so hard, that he almost tipped over his chair. "I warned you, boys. It takes time to get used to the taste!"

Billy leaned back in his chair, looking like he'd just survived a battle. "Used to it? Who in their right mind would want to get used to that? I'd rather eat dirt."

I couldn't help but laugh too, though I was still trying to recover from the onslaught of flavor. "You've got a point. How can anyone drink this stuff and not immediately regret it?"

Jorin leaned forward, crossing his arms on the table. "Not many do. Like I said, it's not popular. But it has medicinal benefits—helps with digestion, apparently. Only a few folks around here can handle the sourness long enough to get through a bottle."

"Why even bother stockpiling it, then?" I asked, genuinely curious as I rubbed my still-tingling tongue.

Jorin shrugged. "We harvest the fruit— Zorlanth—whenever we can. They grow wild in the outskirts. But honestly, no one buys the stuff. We used to sell it as a joke, or to the bravest travelers who came through town. Now it just sits in the cellar."

Billy wiped the sweat off his brow. "You could've warned us about the whole 'assault-on-your-mouth' thing. I'm pretty sure my teeth are eroding as we speak."

Jorin chuckled again. "It's not that bad, lad. Just takes some getting used to. The fruit's potent, but useful in small doses."

As he spoke, an idea suddenly clicked in my head. My eyes widened, and I jumped to my feet, smacking the table with excitement.

"Billy, I've got it!" I shouted, grinning like a madman.

Billy blinked at me, still recovering from his near-death-by-sour. "Got what? What are you on about?"

I grabbed him by the shoulders, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "The syrup! The leftover syrup at the bakery! We can use the Zorlanth fruit—combine it with the syrup! Think about it—people can't handle the sourness, but if we mix it with something sweet, we might actually make something delicious! Something no one else has ever done!"

Billy stared at me, dumbfounded. "Wait... are you saying we could take that horrible fruit and turn it into... something people actually want?"

"Exactly!" I said, beaming. "We could sell it—maybe even make a name for ourselves. We could be rich, Billy!"

Billy slaps the table. "Mate, that drink just rotted your brain! Rich, eh? I like the sound of that! But with this drink it's impossible."

Jorin raised an eyebrow, watching us with amusement. "You two sure you want to mess around with Zorlanth? It's not exactly the easiest thing to handle."

"That's the point!" I said, still buzzing with excitement. "No one else would dare try it. And if we can figure it out, we'll have something completely unique!"

Billy grinned, his earlier exhaustion forgotten. "Elliot, what will you make with it?"

I grinned saying, "Lemonade!"

Jorin chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, good luck, boys. You're going to need it."

But for the first time in weeks, I didn't feel tired. I had a plan. A crazy one, sure—but maybe, just maybe, it would work.