Ryris fell to his knees, crying and confused. He was mute, bleeding, and utterly terrified. People continued to dance around him, their ornate shoes stepping on the robes spilled out around his body. They didn’t seem to care he was even there. The music became louder and louder until he could no longer bear the sound. His hands shot to his ears in an attempt to muffle the excruciating melodies. The guests twirled around him, giving him a wider berth on every revolution. Within a matter of seconds, they were gathered around the perimeter of the dance floor, silently staring at him.
The music stopped, the lights went out. Everyone disappeared.
Terrified, Ryris tried to get up. His legs wobbled and it felt as if his feet were sinking into the floor. Tentatively taking a few steps, he stretched his arms out to find his way. The room was pitch-black and silent. He raised his fingertips to his mouth again, hoping against hope that the metal stitches were no longer there. He was relieved to find they had disappeared.
“H-hello?” His voice croaked as if it hadn’t been used in days. The faint taste of blood lingered on his tongue. “Is anyone there?”
Rustling of clothing and the light taps of shoe heels echoed around him. He sensed—beings—around him, but was unsure if they were human. The ground started to rumble beneath his feet and he stopped moving.
“Please…what’s going on?”
Mocking laughter erupted from all around. The unseen crowd murmured and hissed, Ryris’ suspicions of their pedigree confirmed. They definitely weren’t human. He felt the crowd close in on him, claustrophobia quickly taking hold. Within seconds, clawed hands latched onto his arms and back, serpents wrapping their scaly bodies around his legs. They tangled their gnarled fingers in his hair and pulled in every direction, all trying to get a piece of him. He felt as if his limbs were seconds away from being torn from his body. Ryris cried out in pain as his arms and legs stretched to their breaking point.
“Stop!”
His assailants just laughed and pulled harder, their troll-like voices chattering in some unknown language. Ryris’ body was now pulled taught, hovering a few feet off the floor. The imperial robes had disappeared, leaving him naked. His skin prickled with goose bumps as the chill air of the room assaulted his flesh. Feeling the strength starting to fade from his body, he tried one last time to wrench himself free from the crowd’s inhuman grip. Kicking and screaming, he flailed wildly until he could no longer move. Entirely spent, he resigned to the fact that these hideous creatures were going to kill him.
His body fell limp in their clutches, blood dripping from the hundreds of tiny cuts their sharp nails had pierced into his skin. Taking a deep breath, he just waited for it to be over. He could no longer fight, no longer cry out. He had nothing left to give.
In an instant, a blazing light enveloped him, the creatures hastily dropping his battered body to the floor as they scurried away. In a haze, Ryris turned his head just in time to catch a glimpse of one of their green, scaly bodies, its hooves clicking on the floor as it ran for protection from the light. One of his captors was not so lucky, and had turned to ash as the light burned its body.
The polished marble floor had been replaced by rough cobblestones, scraping against his already tortured flesh. Knowing this was his chance to escape now that the creatures had fled, he tried desperately to move, only to find his body unwilling. He found himself not caring about the strange illumination surrounding him. It wasn’t menacing, but not comforting either. Just there.
As he tried to pull himself along the dusty stone floor, he found that his strength had waned to the point where he could no longer move. His energy depleted, he gave up and waited for his fate. His eyes fluttered closed and he let out a shaky breath.
It was only when soothing hands cupping his face materialized from seemingly nowhere did his body begin to relax. It wasn’t a conscious decision, but somehow the presence that had taken form next to him comforted his fears, much like when his late mother had reassured him when the imaginary monster in his childhood closet had threatened him. Ryris tried to crack open his eyes, only to find them caked with dried blood. After a moment of struggle, he was finally able to force his lids open—and caught a fleeting glimpse of shimmering crystalline armor glittering in the light from high above…
“Ryris?”
His eyes snapped open and he tumbled out of bed, the muffled voice behind the door startling him from his nightmare. It took him a moment to get his bearings. Realizing he was on the worn wooden floor of his bedroom and not in his bed, he blew out a long breath of relief while simultaneously running his fingertips over his bare arms. He was comforted that his skin no longer bore the terrible wounds from his dream.
“Dream. Just a dream,” he told himself. “You need to stop drinking so much asher tea, it’s giving you nightmares.”
He took a brief moment to try and make sense of his vision. The crowd, the terror—it was all confusing to him. And the crystalline armor? He was instantly reminded of the stories his grandmother had told him as a child—tales he hadn’t had the time to think about in ages—about crystal-clad warriors of the Old War.
Ryris would listen intently when she spoke, hanging on her every word. Nothing got his attention faster than the stories of incredible warriors wearing crystalline mail, armed with weapons struck from the same shimmering material. When war ravaged the land centuries ago, or so the legend went, there had been a band of elite soldiers who fought on behalf of the entire world. Warriors that commanded armies of citizens who made their last stand against evil.
The myth was the stuff of dreams to the vast majority of citizens. But to Ryris’ grandmother it was true history. Yes, everyone accepted that war had happened, but the true cause of the conflict had been lost to the ages. And to most people, the legend of the Crystal Guard was just too fantastical to believe. His father would scold her for filling his son’s head with ‘nonsense.’ But the old woman would stand her ground and keep on telling her grandson the tales.
“This story is important, little one—more than you can fathom at such a young age. Remember what I’ve told you. It’s not just a fairytale—it’s our history.”
Our history.
Ryris had never been able to figure out what she meant. Most people would assume she was referencing the collective history of the entire world’s people. But there had been something in her voice when she spoke those words—an importance she was trying to convey without bringing too much attention to it. When she passed on to the Gentle Reach, Ryris had become deeply enthralled by alchemy, and her stories had, for the most part, gone with her.
“Ryris? Son?”
Stopping himself from daydreaming, he noticed the shadows on the wall had moved, and he flew into a frenzy. Shaking his head to dissipate the last of the strange feelings left over from his dream, Ryris scrambled out of his night-clothes and into his trousers.
“What time is it?”
“Six. Breakfast is ready. Quit dawdling!”
Pulling his shirt over his head, he threw open the door and was instantly hit with the unmistakable aroma of pellick fruit. His father crouched over the hearth, carefully tending to small cakes cooking on a cast-iron griddle resting on the bare coals. A berry within one of them suddenly popped, the juice sizzling on the cook top. Maxx inhaled deeply and turned toward his son.
“About time...” He scooped the pancakes up with his spatula and plopped them down on a wooden platter, before motioning to a few pans. “Grab the syrup and mush off the stovetop.”
Ryris obeyed and moved toward the fireplace, the heat soothing his still-cold toes and fingers. The pellick syrup smelled heavenly as he leaned close to the pot, the steam tickling his nostrils. He had to fight the urge to dip his finger into the boiling liquid to taste.
“C’mon, boy. The cakes are getting cold!” Maxx sat at their small table, already having served both himself and his son. “And you know I can’t start the day without my mush.”
Ryris brought both pa
ns to the table, dropping a spoon into each. He piled a generous helping of mush into a bowl, and the old man immediately dug in.
“Don’t you want any syrup on it?”
“It was never intended to taste good, only fill your belly.”
Ryris shook his head with a chuckle, filling his own bowl. Grabbing the spoon in the thick pink syrup, he drowned his pancakes before adding a healthy dose to his mush. He had never eaten it without syrup, and today would be no different. Without it, the bland breakfast fare tasted like something that came out of the back end of an oinox.
They ate in silence for a few moments, Ryris savoring every bite of his father’s famous cakes. Pellick fruit was native to the Northern provinces, and although he had some dried berries to take with him, he knew he would more than likely not taste them fresh for a very long time.
The sound of his father’s voice jolted him from his food-induced ecstasy. His tone indicated he was feeling emotional, his words hesitant. Ryris wasn’t used to hearing him speak in such a soft voice. Unsure of what was coming, he set down his fork and prepared for—well, he didn’t quite know.
“Son, I’ve been meaning to tell you something. I know I’ve been hard on you, but I hope you understand why. I just wanted you to be successful. And be able to handle anyone’s garbage.”
Ryris was stunned. In all his years, he had never heard his father actually acknowledge what a tyrant he had been. There were times where the young man had been reduced to tears under Maxx’ scrutiny and high expectations—and the elder Bren had never apologized for his behavior. Tough love, he called it. As a child, Ryris saw it as just his father being mean or expecting far too much from him. Now, as an adult—and because Maxx had just admitted it—he realized that he was doing it out of respect. His father respected him enough to make sure he would be ready for whatever the world threw at him. At the end of the day, all he wanted was for Ryris to succeed.
“I am proud of you, even if it doesn’t seem that way.”
The young man just stared at Maxx, silent.
“Well don’t just sit there gawking at me!”
Ryris quietly tried to respond. “I just… I don’t know what to say.”
“I’m not expecting you to say anything.” He motioned to his son’s plate. “Eat before it gets cold.”
And there it was. Words Ryris had never expected to hear from his father. Sure, he knew deep down Maxx had to have been proud—he wouldn’t have agreed to let him open a new location so far away if he wasn’t. But the words had never crossed Maxx’ lips—ever.
“Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.”
Maxx just grunted and shoveled a steaming spoonful of mush into his mouth, his attention now focused on the village newsletter in front of him on the table.
The two men ate the rest of their meal in silence. Even though it was brief, Ryris knew Maxx had meant what he said—and that he more than likely would never hear such words grace his father’s lips again. And he was alright with that. He considered Maxx’ surprise words another parting gift.
“I suppose you’ll be trying to get out of washing the dishes now, right? ‘Got to leave’, ‘a bit too much to do’ keeping you from your household duties?”
Ryris stacked his bowl and cup on top of his plate before grabbing his father’s dishes. His eyes twinkled with mischief. “I’ll give you one more lazy morning, old man.”
“Lazy? You’re one to talk.” Maxx drained his tea and tossed the mug at his son, Ryris barely catching it with his free hand. “I’m going to go through your inventory one last time. I can’t have you getting to Keld only to find out you don’t have an alembic.”
As he stood at the washbasin and soaked his hands in the warm sudsy water, Ryris’ mind wandered and he became uncharacteristically sentimental. Sure, he had fond recollections of times past and kept a few trinkets from his childhood as mementos, but for the most part he believed that memories were just that—memories. And yet here he was, washing mush and pellick syrup off of dishes he suddenly felt himself missing. A wave of nostalgia swept over him and for a moment, he almost felt as if he were going to cry. This would be the last time—at least for a very long time—that he would help his father around the house. Setting the dinnerware in a small wooden drying rack, he wiped his hands on a thin towel and joined his father, making sure any trace of moisture that may have graced his eyes was long gone.
As he approached, Ryris could hear his father muttering under his breath as he listed the contents of the boxes out loud. Knowing he was checking up on him—again—the young man decided to have a little fun at the expense of the old man, and allow him one last small moment of satisfaction and fatherly know-how. When Maxx’ attention was focused on some satchels of herbs, Ryris knelt and covertly snuck a mortar and pestle specifically designed for crushing insect wings out of a box. Setting it on the floor for his father to happen across, he began small talk.
“I packed and re-packed these boxes three times. Everything’s there.”
Maxx grunted and pushed him off to the side. “You never know. Now let me look in that one.”
Ryris obliged his father and moved out of the way, trading places with the older man. Maxx began to rifle through the new box, counting off envelopes of fire wasp wings on his fingers. As he set the pouches aside and began to dig deeper, his grumbling became increasingly irritated.
“Where’s that special mortar and pestle for these ingredients?”
Ryris shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sure I put in in there.”
“If you’ve lost it, I’m going to take one of your toes as payment.” Maxx scowled as he dug through the box, his ears flushing red as his anger mounted. After a long moment of searching, he shifted his weight, his kneecap bumping the mortar bowl. The elder man immediately grabbed it, waving it in Ryris’ face. “Fess up.”
Ryris smirked and knelt next to his father. “There’s nothing missing, trust me.”
“You damn near gave me a heart attack! That thing wasn’t cheap!” He shoved the equipment back into the crate and slammed the top closed.
Ryris patted his father on the back and helped him up from the floor. “I thought it would be funny.”
“Well you thought wrong.” Maxx shuffled away, grabbing both of their coats off the rack near the door.
Ryris instantly felt bad for trying to fool his father. He followed him out into the shop, taking a moment to pluck a familiar-yet-long forgotten book from the shelves on the wall. Crossing the threshold, he found Maxx rearranging bottles behind the counter. Ryris watched quietly for a moment, trying to come up with an apology. He set his book on the countertop.
“Sorry I tricked you. Like you would say, ‘stop being a whiny baby and just get on with it.’” Ryris raised a hopeful eyebrow at his father.
Maxx stood silent for a moment before bursting into a bellowing guffaw. “You know, there are times when I think you don’t have a lick of me in you aside from alchemical knowhow—and then you go and say something like that.” He pointed to the book on the counter. “Where’d you find that old thing?”
Ryris patted the leather cover, adorned with a geometric pattern. “It’s the book Gran used to read to me.”
Maxx rolled his eyes. “Oh, that one. Aren’t you a little old for fairytales?”
Irritated by his father’s comment, but not willing to push an argument, Ryris simply replied, “So you don’t mind if I take it with me?”
“Go ahead. I won’t miss it.” Maxx turned to reenter their apartment. “I’m going to load the wagon. Goddess knows if I wait for you to do it, I’ll die of old age.”
Ryris smiled appreciatively and waited for his father to leave. When he was finally alone in the shop, he began circling around, taking mental note of everything there. He ran his fingertips over the worn edges of the ingredient bins, opening one to dip his hands into the fine dust inside. Sighing as he rounded the countertop, he stopped and took a moment to draw in a deep breath through his nostrils. Their shop sme
lled of dried herbs and flowers, and years of bubbling brews. According to his father, the new storefront had just smelled old and dusty, having been vacant for several years. He wondered how long it would take to ingrain a scent on the place, how much time would have to pass before the workbench would accrue the layer of grunge that fell hand-in-hand with the creation of such wonderful potions.
He moved toward the door and muttered a final, soft goodbye to the shop in which he had learned everything he knew. Closing his eyes for a moment to commit the place to memory, he grabbed his book and headed back into the apartment and into his room, closing the door behind him. He tucked the old, worn book that belonged to his grandmother into his knapsack and sat down on his bed with a sigh. The mattress dipped under his weight and he resisted the urge to wrap himself in his downy blanket one last time. He wouldn’t need the comforter in Keld, where the temperature rarely dropped into the frigid zone.
He could hear his father moving boxes out the back door and onto the cart that would carry him to the capital. Maxx had purchased a new horse from the livery in Lullin for Ryris’ journey, with the intent that it would also be the young alchemist’s transportation once he reached the city. The day he brought her home, the older man had even given it a name—Ass of the East. When Ryris asked the significance of the eccentric name, his father had replied, ‘The whole way home, her rear was facing east—and was very musical’. Ryris appreciated his father’s sometimes juvenile and crude sense of humor.
Ryris briefly contemplated going out to help his father, but he knew the older man’s pride would win out over practicality. True, two men could work faster than one, but if Maxx didn’t ask for your help then you had damn well better not offer. Instead, he took one last look around his room.
The walls were old and never painted, the exposed brick showing its age with tiny flecks crumbling off and onto the floor. An oil painting hung on the far wall—a rendering of the Imperial Palace in Keld done by his mother before he was born. He used to stare at it for hours on end when he couldn’t sleep, imagining what it would be like to roam the halls and gardens. And now, in a matter of weeks, he would be on its doorstep.
The Alchemist: Dawn of Destiny Page 3
