The Alchemist's Touch

by Garrett Robinson

  Ebon thought of returning. He saw himself walking through the broad front doors of his family’s home, into the entry hall where Tamen would be waiting, no doubt wide-eyed with shock at seeing his master’s return. And he thought of Albi’s delight to see him, and his mother’s warm embrace.

  But the thought ran further, and he saw Father at the head of the dinner table, looking at him across a meal of meat pies and figs, silently gloating at his son returning, swaddled in failure.

  Ebon’s hands balled to fists in his lap, shaking for a moment before he managed to still them. He felt his jaw muscles jerking as he ground his teeth together.

  He would not return. That would mean that Father had won, and Ebon could not bear such a thought. And he saw, too, the disappointment in Halab’s eyes when she found out. She had arranged all of this; certainly she had been the one to persuade his father to change his judgment. Always she had shown him nothing but kindness and compassion. He would not repay his aunt by spurning her gift, by fleeing from his studies before they had truly begun.

  He shot to his feet without meaning to. Perhaps he would fail in his training. Mayhap the Academy would throw him out on his ear, there to find passage home however he may. But he would not leave until then. Damn Credell, and damn his cousin the Dean. Here, at least, he could practice his spells without rancor, if he kept himself from Lilith’s sight. If the Academy could not teach him, then he would teach himself—or find someone who would.

  His heart burned at the thought, and it seemed for the moment as if he could cast a spell right there. But then his stomach rumbled loud in his belly until he thought they could hear it through the Academy’s granite walls. Ebon swallowed hard. He had skipped the morning’s meal, and had not even had dinner the night before. Before he could become a great alchemist, he would first have to eat.

  He made his way back to the white door. Inside, the passageway was now empty. But Ebon could hear voices drifting along the stone hallway. He followed the sound and soon found the wide doors leading into the dining hall. The room was larger than he had anticipated, with a low roof and many benches laid out in rows. Food was in the back, served by attendants into simple wooden dishes. Ebon did not see any sense of order among the students, beyond those of similar ages sitting together. But there were many empty tables spread about the place. Quickly he made his way between the benches, and was thankful that everyone seemed to ignore him as he went. An attendant filled a bowl with stew and gave him the end of a bread loaf. Then he made his way to one of the empty tables.

  He ate voraciously, stomach gurgling in appreciation with every bite. Though it lacked the fine spices he was used to, still after his long fast it seemed one of his better meals in a long time.

  With his bowl empty, Ebon leaned back and sighed. Idly he tore a piece of bread away and scraped at the leavings, his eyes falling upon the cup of water.

  Mayhap he could practice. He looked around quickly. Though he saw no students using magic anywhere, he had heard no rule to forbid it. And he would need all the practice he could get, since Credell seemed too frightened of his family to be of much help.

  He took the cup and dipped his finger. He stilled his mind, closing his eyes and trying to envision the water for what it truly was. He opened his eyes again and focused. Something tickled at the back of his mind. But the water remained water. Ebon stirred with his finger, but nothing happened.

  The cup clacked against the table as he slammed it down, trying to steady his breath. Now he could not even perform the testing spell.

  It is fine. You only need practice. Ten years you have been kept from your magic. You cannot expect to learn it in a day.

  “How go the spells, jester?”

  His stomach curdled at the sound of Lilith’s voice. He turned to see her standing behind him, still accompanied by the two students he had seen in the common room next to the dormitories. The three of them held their meals, but the bowls were half-empty; they had been eating, and had stopped to torment him.

  “Leave me alone,” said Ebon. “I am in no mood for games.”

  “Oh, but what else are jesters for?” Lilith stepped forwards to sit beside him on the bench. The boy with her sat on Lilith’s opposite side, while the other girl sat on Ebon’s left. They shuffled slightly, pressing up against him, Lilith leaning close. “Are you finding your lessons difficult? How do you enjoy the other infants in your class? They must be keeping you good company, for I think you are of a shared mind.”

  Ebon ground his teeth together. Well he remembered Jia’s warning that fighting among students was not tolerated. No doubt Lilith was thinking this as well, and sought to anger him into trouble. He refused to give her the satisfaction.

  Seeing his restraint, Lilith leaned closer still, and her voice became silky smooth. “You know, do you not, that in truth your ignorance is no great loss? You would only be a transmuter, and what value are they? All know that elementalism is the strongest of the four branches. Mentalism is a close second, and therianthropy at least has some uses. But transmutation? What will you do, if you learn your magic and train here? Will you become some nobleman’s plaything in the outland kingdoms, turning water into wine for his court?”

  The other two snickered loudly, drawing gazes from students at the tables nearby. Ebon felt his skin darkening as they looked at him, looked at Lilith, and then quickly turned away. He knew that look from too many years spent in his father’s company; he was a mouse, and the favorite playing of a tomcat, and they would keep their distance lest they get scratched.

  I will show them who is a mouse.

  Ebon’s hands balled into fists on the table. Rules be damned, he would knock Lilith to the floor and blacken her eyes. Let her jeer at him then.

  “What is going on here, Lilith?”

  Ebon looked up to see Jia standing at the table. Her eyes were sharp and narrow, but they were looking at Lilith, not at him. Lilith and her friend shuffled slightly away on the bench.

  “Nothing, Jia,” said Lilith, her voice light, unconcerned. “We are only welcoming the Academy’s newest student.”

  “I have no doubt how welcoming you can be,” said Jia, in a voice of steel. “Take your welcome and yourselves and move them elsewhere, or I will see you scrubbing the dormitory floors.”

  Lilith ducked in acquiescence and made to rise. Her lackeys followed. But as she made to stand, still bent over and facing away from Jia, she leaned close one last time to hiss at Ebon. “Keep your eyes open, little jester. You and I shall have such fun together.”

  Ebon shuddered as they left. Jia stayed put, watching them go. Once satisfied, she looked back at Ebon, his fists still clenched on the tabletop, now quivering. Shaking her head, Jia made to sit—but Ebon leapt to his feet in a rush, leaving his bowl and cup behind as he fled the dining hall.

  eleven

  HE WENT BACK TO THE common room outside his dormitory. There a few students sat in small clusters, speaking to one another. They spared him no more than a passing glance before turning away again. Ebon slouched in a plush chair in a corner, knowing but not caring that he looked like a sulking child.

  Had he ever been such a fool as to think that all villainy and cruelty resided in the halls of his family? Here he had found a tormentor at least as evil as his father ever was, and he had done it without trying.

  Mayhap the problem was with Ebon himself. Mayhap there was something about his look, or in his manner, that invited such malice. If that was the case, he should resign himself to it now. Surely his life would be filled with such treatment. What good could he do by fighting it?

  His fist clenched upon the arm of the chair. No. No, I will not cow, he thought.

  He was a Drayden. That did not mean to him what it meant to his father. In Ebon’s mind, the name Drayden did not mean strength backed by cruelty and men like Mako with long silver knives. It meant poise and elegance, the kind that Halab never failed to display. It meant her kindly courtesies and gracious gestures—an
d, yes, her steely gaze and the sharp edge to her voice when respect had to be commanded.

  And what would Halab do, were she in Ebon’s position? He could not know for certain. But he felt sure that, for one thing, she would not give up so easily.

  Jaw clenched tight, Ebon stormed over to the water jug and the goblets and poured himself a drink. This he took into the dormitory, which was empty, and sat on the floor beside his bed. He placed his finger in the water and stirred.

  Water to oil. See the water for what it is. And then change it.

  Around and around he stirred, and harder and harder he tried to concentrate. Whenever he felt frustration, clawing at the back of his mind like a sandstorm trying to blast its way through the windows of home, he cast it aside.

  Water to oil. Change it.

  It was a long time later that Ebon realized something was wrong. He paused and looked up, wondering what it was. After a moment it came to him: he could no longer hear the voices of the other students out in the common room.

  He leapt to his feet and ran to the door. Beyond, he saw the hourglass. It was past time for him to be in the library for his general studies. Cursing, he dashed through the room and into the halls.

  Ebon ran through one passageway after another, and soon found himself hopelessly lost. He saw white doors and brown, rooms he thought were instructors’ offices and others he was sure were classrooms; but he feared to pass through any of them, knowing he would look like a fool.

  At last he found a short hallway ending at a pair of familiar-looking doors. The library, or so he hoped. Ebon ran quickly, aware that nearly a quarter of an hour had passed since the tolling bell. He threw the doors open and nearly fell to the floor in relief. Before and above him the library stretched, vast and dusty, filled with the orange glow of amber glass above.

  Then Ebon realized that he had come storming through in a rush, and much louder than he had intended. Every student’s gaze for thirty paces was fixed upon him, all frozen in shock. Jia was in the center, stern eyes regarding him primly.

  Ebon gulped and closed the doors behind him, as slowly and as quietly as he could manage. Only then did the students return to their books, though a few glanced back once or twice. And Jia never moved her eyes as Ebon made his way between the tables towards her, keenly aware that he had sweated through the underarms of his robes. He had not bathed, and had no perfume.

  “Well met, Ebon,” said Jia. “I see you have found your way to the library at last.”

  “Yes, Instructor. I am sorry for being late. Still I have not learned my way about this place.”

  “I told you that I expected as much. Think nothing of it—though its citadel is large, soon you will walk these halls like one born to them.”

  Ebon flushed, suppressing a smile. Then he remembered the letter in his robe, and pulled it out to place in her hands. “I have written this for my sister. May I—”

  She took it and tucked it up her sleeve. “I shall see to it. Do not worry after payment—I keep a tally, and collect on the first of each month.”

  Ebon nodded in gratitude and looked about the library, again struck by the size and grandeur. Though three levels loomed over him, grave and solemn, still he found himself more curious than intimidated. “What…that is, what am I meant to do now?”

  “Well, that depends. In the strictest sense, you are not meant to do anything, other than to enhance your knowledge in whatever way you and I deem best.”

  He blinked. “I do not understand.”

  “Come, sit with me.” She waved him over to a table at the edge of the room, and moved to sit in a chair beside it. He took the one opposite her as she shifted the books between them so they could see.

  “Do you know what you mean to do when you have completed your training here, Ebon?”

  He thought about it and then shook his head. “I have never considered it. Until two days ago, I never thought to set foot in the Academy, for my father had long forbid it. Now, it seems that all I can do is try to keep up.”

  “Then you should think upon it immediately, for that is the purpose of your study within the library.” Jia leaned forwards, her gaze holding his. “Except for the ones who stay to become instructors in their own right, every wizard who studies here will go on to do something else in Underrealm. Some will serve as advisers in the courts of royalty or merchants. This is especially true of the commoners whose training is sponsored by a noble. Others will wander the countryside, using their spells for the benefit of the common folk. In either case, their purpose is to serve the nine lands. And therefore, the greater their knowledge, the better for all the kingdoms.”

  Ebon had never thought of this. “You make it sound like a great burden.”

  “It is a high responsibility—and one not every wizard takes seriously. I hope that you will, Ebon.”

  “But I still do not understand, Instructor. What shall I study here?”

  She leaned back in her chair, spreading her hands. “Whatever you think will serve you best, in whatever capacity you imagine yourself after the Academy.”

  Ebon shook his head. “I have told you, I do not know what I shall do then.”

  “Well then, perhaps that should be your first goal: to decide. Do you have any interests already?”

  Ebon looked away, studying his fingernails. He cleared his throat. “Not…not any in particular.”

  Jia gave him a wry smile. “Your eyes give lie to your words, transmuter. Come now. What do you enjoy reading about? Many here enjoy herbs and healing. Others are interested in husbandry and the growing of crops. All are excellent areas of study, if you mean to travel about the nine lands and help others. So?”

  Still he felt embarrassed. Among the many things that had invited his father’s sharp words and sneers, this was one of the greatest. Ebon often remembered getting his hands on some such book, only to have it reported by Tamen, and the volume ripped from his hands and hurled into the fireplace.

  He spoke quietly, uncertain. “I have often…that is, I would sometimes find myself reading a book of history. I enjoy tales of the past, of kings and the like who have long since passed. Sometimes I would read of armies and battles, the rise and fall of kingdoms. I do not know why, but such tales always—they seemed to call me.”

  At first Jia did not answer. Ebon felt sure she must be smirking, as his father often had. But when at last he raised his eyes to look at her, a small smile played at the corners of her mouth.

  “That is a fine pursuit. The wisdom of what has passed is often of great help to the days in which we live, and alas the times to come.”

  Ebon smiled despite himself, and turned bashfully away. “My father called it stupid. He said only fools spent their days living in the past.”

  “Your father sounds like the greater fool to me,” she said snippily. Though he had not spoken the words himself, still Ebon felt a little thrill, as though they had shared in some petty misdeed. “I think you will find many helpful volumes here. After all, every book is history, if only it manages to survive the ravages of time. The older books are kept on the third level, as are the histories compiled by more modern scholars. Take that staircase just there, and then follow the walkway around to the northern wall. I shall give you the name of a few volumes you may find helpful. Some are good to read all on their own. But you should start with one that may point you towards the others. Read it first, and I think you will find yourself pulled towards your interests.”

  She took a small scrap of parchment, scribbled with a quill, and handed the scrap to Ebon. The first title was underlined, and he read it aloud.

  “A Treatise on the Great Families of the Nine Lands, Their Origins and Lineage. What is it?”

  Her eyes sparkled as she regarded him. “The beginning of a great journey through the last many centuries, if I guess right.”

  twelve

  SOLEMNLY HE MADE HIS WAY to the staircase. It was wrought in iron and turned in a circle, even tighter than the staircases
from the Academy’s stone halls. He found that it ended at the second floor, and that another staircase stood some ten paces away to reach the third. This too he climbed, and then found himself on the third level.

  The railing was three paces away, and he went to it to look over. His hands gripped the railing, and he found it hard to breathe. He must have been at least fifteen paces in the air, perhaps twenty. The figures walking about the first level were small—he could hide them with his thumb. His chest tightened, and he turned quickly away, moving closer to the wall.

  The north end, Jia had said. He made his way there quickly, keeping his gaze from the railing. Soon he reached it, and scanned the shelves. Every book was bound in leather, and they were of all colors and sizes. On the parchment, beside the title, Jia had scrawled the words: second bookcase, third down. Red.

  He found the second bookcase, which had seven shelves. The third down was filled with many tomes, several red—but none of the titles scrawled upon the spines matched the one he had been sent to find. Puzzled, Ebon looked at the parchment again. He had read it right. The book was not there. The shelf had a space where a book might be, but nothing more.

  Perhaps Jia had misremembered where the book was. Or mayhap it had been moved. He glanced at the other shelves quickly, but none held the book. Then he moved to the next bookcase, and then the one after that. Perhaps he had missed it. He went back and forth across them all, finding every red book and carefully reading the title to ensure he had not erred. Then he looked at the other colored volumes as well. But still he could not find it.

  Ebon ground his teeth. Mayhap he should find one of the other titles she had given him. But no, he thought she had been clear about where he should start. He hoped this was not some cruel joke by Lilith, but he could not see her anywhere while looking about.

  His wandering eye did catch on something. At one of the nearby tables, another student sat deep in his book. It was wide, and bound in brown leather, but that was not what caught Ebon’s eye. A stack of other volumes sat by the boy’s left hand, and at the bottom a crimson tome. Ebon stepped closer. There, glistening with gold foil that had been worn off in places, he read the title: A Treatise on the Great Families of the Nine Lands, Their Origins and Lineage.