The Marechal Chronicles: Volume V, The Tower of the Alchemist

by Aimelie Aames

  “Oh, I don't think I'd call it that. It was more observation than outright spying. And as for ladies, I do believe they positively revel in such intrigue as spying.”

  She had brushed past him and kept her back turned as she walked on, then said over her shoulder without looking at him, “Come along, Alexandre. There are things to discuss.”

  “Stop calling me that,” he said, but his tone was quiet and, despite himself, he followed her.

  They took path after meandering path that led ever further into the forest until it had gotten to the point that Etienne was about to object.

  Then, before he could utter a word, they came to a bright meadow and as they stepped free of the shadows, it was like breathing again after holding one's head under a heavy blanket for too long.

  With a sweep of her hand, the woman gestured to one corner of the meadow and like glistening jewels strewn amidst the verdure, Etienne saw strawberries.

  “Tempted?” she asked.

  Once again, he startled.

  “No … yes, I mean, no … not at all,” he replied.

  He had heard the question within the question and resolved to gather his senses.

  “I can see where some might be,” he said, “But, when in doubt, I prefer not to follow where others have tasted before me.”

  “A pity,” she said, then looked up from the strawberry patch and straight into Etienne's eyes.

  “A pity that they lie there like so many jewels and you have only to stoop down to pick them up. Yet you refuse. Does that mean you will refuse me when everything, the wind, the stars, the whisper beyond hearing, shall tell you that you must not … yet will you?”

  Etienne shook his head slowly from side to side.

  “You're completely mad, aren't you?”

  Bright blue transfixed him, and he could not look away as she answered.

  “Some might say it is the mad who answer questions with questions. But to be clear, I tell you that no, I am not mad. Rather, I know of the unseen world and have been told to seek you out because of it.”

  With a jerk of his head, Etienne broke away from her gaze, and his voice held undisguised disgust as he spoke.

  “If not mad, then you are a deluded fool. There is no such thing as magic.”

  Blue eyes flashed and met his once again, their hold upon his own intensifying.

  “That is where you are woefully wrong. It winds its threads around all that we do, all that we see … it is the law which binds the unrelated, the orderly structure hidden in chaos … it is the skein of fate from which none of us can ever hope to escape.”

  Etienne set his jaw and replied.

  “The only magic I know of is the strange coincidence that two people in the space of an hour speak to me of things that exist only in their minds. If there is such a thing as magic, you can pretend it is that while I name it for what it truly is. Coincidence and foolishness, nothing more.”

  “I should so like to prove it to you, stubborn man,” she said, her red lips forming words that he knew were meant to provoke him.

  “Then, by all means, do it. Prove it to me right now. Show me for once and all that I have been in error my entire life, that the fact I have never seen the least evidence to the contrary has been my single greatest mistake.”

  “Alas, but I cannot. I have come here with an oath that binds me, for my mother saw that magic in your presence would lead down dark and unknowable paths. She has seen catastrophe looming in your shadow, yet our need is enough that I must affront the danger of your grey eyes and never unveil the power of the unseen world.”

  Etienne did not hesitate to interject himself when the flow of words from the young woman came to a fading halt.

  “Of course. You can't reveal to me what doesn't exist in the first place. In the end, that's the way of all charlatans and tricksters. One mustn't ask them too many questions, or when the smoke clears we rub our eyes only to discover that there never was anything there except illusion and misdirection.”

  Her reply was just as rapid as his own.

  “You don't understand. I have been sent because you and your father have in your possession an object of extraordinary power, except that it is something you can never use. It is beyond you both and will ever remain so.”

  The son of the Alchemist shook his head slowly, thinking she had caught herself out in the end.

  “Oh, so now we come to it. An object? And let me guess … it resembles what exactly? A jewel, perhaps? A jewel such as those reputed to be in the possession of none other than the Alchemist of Urrune?”

  “Yes … it would be but a shining jewel to your eyes, but it is so much more than that.”

  “Of course,” Etienne said, anger boiling behind his eyes, “You are not the first, you know. Rumors fly far and wide and we have been subject to robbers that come in the night, intent on making off with the alchemist’s so-called treasure. But I can save you further effort. The cache of my family's work is so cleverly hidden that no one has ever breached it in all the history of the tower. Centuries of would-be thieves have been thwarted by the tower itself, for it was built by men whose craftsmanship has never again been equaled by any other.”

  “No, no … you misunderstand me,” she said. “This thing is a talisman that will be mankind's only hope against the threat to come.”

  “Oh … well that changes things, doesn't it? And, pray tell, what might that threat be?”

  “I speak of horrors that rouse at the fringes of the world and will bring war to ravage these lands. To their sorrow, men will know terrible loss if you do not deliver this thing to me and my mother before it falls into the hands of others.”

  “Well, that is rich,” he laughed, his anger fading as he turned his back to begin the long walk back home.

  “First, I am to believe in magic and now you speak of what … monsters? I can't fault you for a lack of originality at the least. But please allow me to reassure you. There is no jewel of power, magical or otherwise, in our possession. If there were, my father would know of it and by now I would have heard no end of it.

  “The only power the jewels crafted by my father hold is to fetch a fair price from faraway fools who squander their kingdom's fortunes on baubles that twinkle and shine.”

  “You're wrong … even your friend knows better. And my mother has seen it. She has seen that despite all I might do, I will not succeed in my task if I cannot convince you … Etienne.”

  He frowned at the sound of his name.

  “And so you abandon one name for another. So be it. As for predictions, there is one that I can confirm. I deny you, you strange unseemly woman. Your beauty cannot shake the foundations of what I know to be true. Magic exists only in the tales of children and there is nothing … absolutely nothing, I tell you … of power in my or my father's possession.”

  He stood up straighter with each word and, in the end, Etienne turned stiffly away from the dark-haired woman and strode resolutely from the clearing without looking back.

  She watched him go and when, at last, he turned a corner and disappeared from view, she sat down heavily right on the bare ground, making no effort to find somewhere more likely.

  “By all the fates, so help me,” she whispered, and willed that her heart should not flutter like a bird with a broken wing.

  Then she spoke into the air as if she expected the wind to carry her words aloft and afar, to be heard by someone whose skill might gather those sounds like so many autumn leaves.

  “Oh, Mother. Of all that you told me, of all that you foresaw, you never told me about this …

  “Did you forbid me my own telling for this reason? That I should not know before I am bound by this infernal … this dangerous … “

  She shook her head, trying to clear her thoughts.

  “ … this beautiful man named Etienne.”

  Chapter Four

  The alchemist's son stormed through the tower's courtyard gate to see that Bellamere and his cart had already gone
.

  He reached for one of the new hammers while barely breaking his stride. It was a smaller one than the one he had already tried, and almost without looking first, he swung it hard and fast against one of the smaller stones.

  It burst under the blow and he followed the first swing by a flurry of others until its fragments were reduced to powder.

  Etienne paused, his chest heaving as he caught his breath.

  You are mistaken about magic and all that it entails.

  He could not believe what she had said. And yet …

  I speak of horrors that rouse at the fringes of the world and will bring war to ravage these lands.

  She had seemed so sure of herself. She knew things she had no right to know.

  He shook himself and forced his eyes to focus on the task before him, the endless rock meant to fall to dust at his hands.

  Only she had spoken as if she had heard what he had said to Bellamere about folk tales and foolish superstition. It was as if she had been right there.

  Yet she had already fled when his anger had gotten the better of him, and he had come within a heartbeat of slapping his only friend senseless.

  He knew there was no logic to it. None of it. Except that she had spoken to him as though she had heard every word when that should have been impossible.

  Etienne shifted his grip and swung the hammer high into the air, ready to bring it crashing down again, when he realized the stone in front of him was already crushed and broken.

  He sagged.

  Despite all that he knew, all that he was sure of, he could not shake the feeling that she spoke truly. More than this, he did not think he had overtaken her at the stream in the forest.

  She had wanted him to find her there. And she had wanted that he see her smooth skin and her legs that seemed go on for far too long.

  I should have asked her name, he thought.

  Etienne turned, searching about himself for another likely target when the wind rose.

  It was only a breeze … perhaps the harbinger of an evening rain to follow the heat of the afternoon.

  But the sound it made as it blew by the man standing among those stones sounded for all the world like a sighing voice.

  Myri …

  Etienne shook his head, knowing that it was not possible, but not before telling himself that it was a fitting name for a woman like that.

  He thought, even, that it was a lovely name.

  He turned, searching about for another stone that might serve as a target for his frustration, when a voice spoke very close to him.

  “How goes it, my son?”

  Etienne froze, then shrugged his shoulders.

  “Well enough. With the tools Louf delivered today, I hope to find another heartstone or two within a few of the blocks that have defied my efforts until now.”

  The Alchemist stepped into his son's view and sighed.

  “Ah Etienne. You answer a question I did not ask.”

  The man holding a hammer in his hands simply shrugged again.

  “Is that not what you wish to know? When will I find the next stone that will yield its jeweled heart into our hands? When next shall I set aside these heavy tools to join you in the tower for the crafting of the same?”

  The old man shook his head.

  “You know there is no need, my son. Riches enough are at our disposal. Nor do I require more of the minerals that I use to create my reagents.

  “You are well aware of that. Still, you choose to break all that you find in your path rather than join me for the most important work, the research that will be our crowning moment.”

  “You mean your crowning moment,” Etienne muttered.

  Then as if it was the next logical thing to say, he asked, “Did my mother wish to call me by another name when I was born?”

  “Ah,” said the alchemist. His eyes grew wide at the sudden question, then some distant memory pulled his focus far away and deep into the past.

  “That is a long story. But first, tell me where you were just now.”

  Etienne swallowed then clenched his jaw.

  “I went for a walk in the forest.”

  “I see. And you did this half-unclothed no less.”

  “It doesn't matter. Anyway, I found a large patch of strawberries.”

  The Alchemist nodded his head, then half-leaned half-sat upon one of the large stones next to him.

  “I see. Strawberries,” he replied, then his voice trailed off as though he was lost in thought.

  “I've always had a preference for raspberries,” he said, rousing himself, “Strawberries all too often trick us with their bright allure, an apparent sweetness that hides a rotten core.

  “Not so with raspberries. They are frank in that either they are ripe or they are putrid, one can see it in an instant, whereas other fruit hide their deceit until it is too late.”

  Etienne's eyes narrowed. If he had been the first one to answer with a reply to an unasked question, he had the distinct impression that his father now did the same and spoke not of fruit at all.

  “Yes. Your mother wished to name you after her father, to honor him. I did not blame her as the name you and I share has been passed down from father to son among the St. Lucq for generations.

  “I realize you know far too little about her, and for that I am sorry. There never seemed to be enough time for all that I could tell you of her and now, I see, it is likely too late.

  “In the years before you were born, the stores of my forefather's heartstones had at long last grown diminished. At the time, I contented myself in what I though of as my metier and crafted jewels like my father before me.

  “For the title 'Alchemist' was nothing more than that, a title. More so a tradition than having any real bearing upon the St. Lucq family, even if it had not always been so.

  “So I determined to set sail for the lands described in my forefather's writings, and I spent the last of the St. Lucq fortune in the endeavor.

  “After many months at sea, I found myself brought to shores that abruptly gave way to harsh dry lands where all is in dun shades of brown and sand flows incessantly into every crack and crevice it can find. And that is to say nothing of the relentless heat there, where no sensible person steps out of doors after midday and even then, does so while wearing voluminous robes and winding headdresses to endure the otherwise unendurable.

  “The sultanate of that faraway country welcomed me with wide arms upon my arrival following months at sea.

  “His own father had made certain that he knew as much, if not more, on the subject of the St. Lucq family than even we do.

  “As you are aware, our wealth is tied in an unbreakable knot with them and their country. He knew it just as well and welcomed the chance to once more enrich his coffers due to our travails.

  “His people do not possess the skill that we do in the crafting of jewels, nor do they know how to locate the stones that might one day reveal themselves as heartstones once opened.

  “To aid me in my work, all the sultanate's resources were at my disposal, not the least of which was a young woman, she also a stranger from a foreign land.

  “She had traveled far from the north in search of mysteries she had encountered in her studies concerning ancient peoples, some of whom were so ancient as to be entirely forgotten by the very people who remained of their lineage.

  “The sultan knew little of that, however he sent her to me as an expert on the surrounding hills that the sands came to cover then uncover just as rapidly again.

  “With her help and my forefather's indications as to where to look, our efforts bore fruit … magnificent fruit. And before it was over, I learned the taste of another, and it was of a sweetness to rival any strawberry upon this land.

  “Her hair was fair and her eyes cool grey, as if reflecting the long winters and grey snows of her homeland. But her smile was bright and it shined so very often for me that I could not bear to be without her.

  “We wed, and in the
following year we chartered an entire fleet of ships to bear our cargo home. The sultan was greatly pleased to see so many stones brought to his palace only to reveal themselves as heartstones. They were far more numerous than anything every mentioned in my forefather's accountings, and this was in great part due to your mother.

  “Her name was Arianne,” the Alchemist sighed, “Arianne. And she and I together found the hills that were not hills at all, but an entire city that had been buried over in rock and dirt, to be in turn buried by the living sands of the dry desert generations later.

  “The stones we found had been brought there from somewhere else. Never had the tomes in the possession of our family mentioned such a thing, but thanks to your mother and the work she had pursued so relentlessly her entire young life, we found out the truth.

  “So it was that the sultan had more than his fill for his court jewelers, with plenty left over for my own work as well as all the mineral stones of an extraordinary purity to last my entire lifetime.

  “As the ships were readied, Arianne came to me with the news that she was with child.

  “And as her belly grew riper with each passing month, I saw her face become more pale and drawn.

  “We delayed our departure due to her increasing weakness and, finally, she gave birth to a beautiful boy that she would have named for her father.

  “It pained me, but I refused my loving wife. After all the generations of St. Lucq, who was I to fly in the face of tradition? At one time we were redoubtable alchemists, but we are reduced from our ancient grandeur, our immortality, as for all men, lies in the simple passing of a name, from father to son, to father to son, a hollow answer to the great prize of life unending.

  “Sadly, it has been the only answer until now.

  “As it was, your mother acquiesced and you grew strong and sturdy while she did not find her full strength again. I had hoped once the pregnancy had ended she would.

  “My hope was unfounded.

  “After an entire year's delay, we at last embarked for home and not two month's later, your mother slipped away from us for all time.”

  Etienne's grasp upon the hammer loosened and it fell to the ground without his noticing it. His eyes were riveted upon those of his father, and even he could see that what the old man saw in that moment was not the son, but the reflection of a woman that the son had never known.