Word: Panacea

panacea

[ pan-uh-see-uh ]

noun

1. a remedy for all disease or ills; cure-all.

2. an answer or solution for all problems or difficulties: His economic philosophy is a good one, but he tries to use it as a panacea.

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               The boy stood in front of the worn hut, wringing his hands nervously. This was his last chance at making something of himself. Of being more than everyone thought he would be. And so, he knocked on the old wooden door and waited. He did not wait long.

               The woman who answered was old.  The oldest person his had ever seen.  Her face was worn and wrinkled.  Her body stooped and bent. But her eyes. Those were keen and sharp.  He knew she could still see with perfect clarity, despite the years they had been through.

               “What do you want, boy?” The woman asked.

               “Are…are you the Alchemist of Worwood?” He asked.

               The woman sighed. “Well, I am an alchemist, and this is the Worwood, so I suppose I am. Now, what do you want?”

               “I…I want to learn from you. Learn the ways of alchemy from you.”

               “If that’s all you want, then go to an academy somewhere.  They’ll teach you everything you’ll need to know about the art of potions.”

               The boy hung his head. He knew this would not be easy, and he came prepared. Well, as prepared as he could ever hope to be.

               “I can’t. They’ll never take me, since I can’t pay the gold they need. Besides, everyone knows you’re the best.”

               The woman raised an eyebrow. “Oh, am I?”

               “Yes. Everyone knows it. They say you can brew potions that nobody has ever seen before. That you can heal better than any priest. That your potions can even do things that mages can’t do. They even say you’ve brewed the legendary Panacea.”

               The woman let out a single sharp laugh. “The cure-all? They say I made that, really? Hate to break it to you, kid, but that’s all rumors and lies. If I was half as good as they seem to think I am, I wouldn’t be living in some backwater woods, now would I?”

               “I…I…just heard that…”

               “Go home boy. I’ve got nothing worth teaching.”

               “I don’t have a home.” He blurted out. “Not anymore. My family abandoned me. I’m too weak to work, and I can’t bring home much any other way, so they abandoned me. Nobody in the village I came from thought I’d amount to anything. They think I’ll just end up as some poor beggar, just living off the pittance of others. Nobody will teach me a skill or trade. Nobody will house me. People barely look at me. You are…were my last chance to make something of myself.”

               The old alchemist looked at the boy critically. He was rail thin and covered with dirt. He looked like he had not had a good meal in days, and probably not much in the ways of clean water either. She closed her eyes in thought.

               “Fine, fine. You can stay here. I can use someone to clean up my workspace. And if you happen to figure some things out while you’re doing that, well, so be it.”

               The boy’s face lit up. He had done it. He had finally found a place to learn something. And no matter what she said, he knew she was the best alchemist around, even if she said otherwise. His teacher entered her hut and he followed, ready to learn everything he could.

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We could really use a cure-all nowadays, huh?  Too bad they don't exist.