The Alchemist's Touch

by Garrett Robinson

  She thrust a finger under his nose, eyes alight. “Wait. I know what you are about. You have spoken to the Dean, just as I said, and he gave you permission to leave the Academy.”

  “I did not! I…” He trailed off, as if searching the air for a satisfactory answer.

  “I knew it.” She folded her arms across her chest. “Yet you would not even extend me the same courtesy. I might have known better than to think a goldbag would try to befriend me.”

  “Theren, I give you my word, I did nothing of the sort. I wish I were not here at all, and I—” Ebon decided he must take the plunge. “I am not out to visit a house of lovers.”

  “Of course you are not. What, then?”

  He looked over his shoulder, and then back at her. “I was given a task. By my father. He wishes me to bring this package to an inn, a place called the Shining Door. The Dean gave me permission to be out, indeed, but I did not request it. Nor do I wish to be here. I like nothing about this.”

  “What is in the package?” She reached out a hand curiously.

  Ebon snatched it away. “I am not permitted to look inside.”

  “How intriguing.” To his shock, her eyes sparkled in the moonslight. “What is this? Some black business of your family’s? Do you walk beyond the King’s law?”

  “I do not know,” Ebon insisted. “My father made this request, and he is the only reason I am at the Academy. So I mean to do as he asked, and then promptly forget I was here.”

  “An excellent plan,” said Theren, drawing herself up. “And I shall come with you.”

  “No. You should not.” He balked. “Go to your lover, and forget you ever saw me.”

  She waved a hand in dismissal. “What pleasures could I find there, grander than the intrigue of a midnight plot? Besides, what if you should find yourself in trouble? What will you do, turn water into oil and throw it in their faces? You need me.”

  “I shall not get into trouble. I am only delivering a parcel.”

  “So you think.” She gripped his arm and dragged him onwards, into the alley. “Yet one never knows the perils that may lie in one’s future.

  He tried to dissuade her, but she pressed on, determined enough to resign him to his fate. Still, he shook off her grip, and walked beside her in sullen silence. Theren, for her part, seemed to take this all as some glorious nighttime adventure, though to Ebon’s relief she ceased her questions.

  As they reached the island’s western end, Ebon looked about for someone to ask directions. But Theren tapped him on the shoulder and pointed. “I know the Shining Door. It lies this way. Come.”

  She set off, and Ebon hurried behind her. Soon they found the place: a squalid little building tucked in between two larger ones. The thick beams holding its roof were bent outward, like a child drawing a deep breath, or a body about to burst with pox. From the smell drifting out from its open front door, Ebon thought it was more likely the latter.

  The common room was dim, and every conversation muted. Many wary eyes glinted at them in the darkness. Ebon was acutely grateful for his plain student’s robes; if he had appeared here in the finery to which he was accustomed, he would have feared a knife between his ribs, slid in hopes of finding a fat purse.

  He wanted to leave immediately, but forced himself to take another step beyond the threshold. His eyes roved about, seeking the man he was here to see. No one seemed to pay him any special attention at first, but after a moment he caught a sudden motion. A figure beckoned them forth from the back of the room. Ebon did not want to go, but neither did he wish to be in this place a moment longer than he had to. With Theren by his side, he wove his way through the tables until he reached the figure: a man, his skin pale to the point of ghostly, certainly no man of Idris. Ebon wondered why he would be in league with the Draydens. A thin mustache clung to his lip, dipping down into a sparse beard. His eyes were rat-like, and flitted all about. His cloak and hood were blue, but his tunic and leggings were grey.

  “You know who I am?” Ebon fought and failed to steady his voice.

  The man sneered, and held forth a hand. Ebon filled it with the brown parcel. The man quickly undid the string holding it shut, lifted a corner, and peeked inside. Ebon craned his neck, trying to see, but the man quickly drew it back.

  “Thought you were coming alone,” he said in a rasping voice. Then he stood and left, making for the rooms in the inn’s rear.

  Ebon’s breath left in a rush. “Let us leave this place, for I feel as though I grow dirtier the longer I stay.” He nearly ran for the door, Theren beside him. Outside, he drank in the air with bottomless breaths.

  “Well, that provided no answers whatsoever,” said Theren.

  “I am glad. The less I know of what transpired, the better. If I could drink enough to forget it, I would.”

  “There might be time enough for that yet. It is not very late.”

  “The moons are halfway through the sky,” said Ebon. “Let us return, and sleep, or else we shall be like the wooden training dummies on the morrow.”

  “If you insist, alchemist. I will show you the way.”

  “You do not mean to go to your lover?”

  She shrugged. “I think I have had thrills enough. She will still be there if I visit her on another night.”

  “She?” Ebon blinked at her. “Oh, dear. I fear I must have words with Kalem.”

  Theren grinned, her teeth flashing in the moonslight. “You do not mean he is enamored of me? Oh, the dear boy.”

  Ebon shook his head with a little smile, and followed Theren as she set off through the streets. They walked in silence, and soon Ebon found himself wondering what it was, exactly, that he had just done. He feared to know, and yet found himself even more fearful of ignorance. Always he had taken great pains to avoid any knowledge of his family’s dealings. Everyone knew they were spice traders, of course, but Ebon knew of his father’s late-night meetings, of Mako’s strange dealings that seemed to send him all across the nine lands. He saw the fear shining in others’ eyes when they heard his family’s name. Always he had shied away from such things, for fear of what pursuit might uncover. And now he feared that, unknowing, he had been thrust into the heart of it all.

  Theren must have entertained similar thoughts, for after they had walked a while, she said, “So, when do you mean to tell me what that was all about?”

  Ebon shrugged. “I spoke the truth before: I do not know.”

  She shook her head. “You cannot mean to persist in that lie. You are a Drayden. I know only rumors of your family’s doings, but if half are true…”

  “If you know only a rumor, you know more than I. Never have I involved myself in…in whatever it is my family does that makes others fear us so.”

  Theren scoffed. “More Drayden favoritism,” she muttered.

  “It is not,” said Ebon, growing angry. “Mayhap you could see it, if you could for but a moment forget your abject, ignorant hatred of those who are wealthier than you. I never wished to be my father’s son.”

  “I cannot imagine your difficulty,” Theren said, her voice dripping scorn. “What anguish to ride in a golden carriage, hiding your face within so you do not see the dark deeds paying its way.”

  Ebon wanted to answer. He wanted to shout. But he was keenly aware that he might lose one of his only two friends at the Academy if he did. Besides, Ebon did not quite know where he was, and did not wish to spend time lost and wandering the Seat. So he walked beside Theren in silence, biting his tongue until it nearly bled.

  Soon he saw the Academy’s familiar shape looming ahead. He could enter the front door, but found himself curious about how Theren had snuck out. She turned left, and he followed, taking him around the corner, where he found a small collection of wooden sheds pressed against the Academy’s outer walls.

  Seeing his questioning look, Theren explained. “They keep brooms and such within, and use them to sweep the streets all about the place.”

  He thought she might enter one
to reveal a hidden door. Instead, she stepped close to one of the sheds, her eyes glowing. She crouched, and then leapt, flying high to land atop the shed. Again she stooped, lower this time, and gave another mighty jump. The Academy’s wall stood nearly thirty feet high—Theren just managed to grip the edge of it with her fingers, eyes glowing again as she used her magic to climb. She turned for a moment to wave, a black shape against the stars, and then she vanished.

  “Well and good for her,” Ebon muttered to himself. “But not for me, I suppose.”

  He trudged back to the front door and knocked upon it. After a moment it opened, and the stern woman from before gave him a little nod. He ignored her, quickly climbing the wide stairway and making his way to his dormitory, where he dived beneath the covers, hoping to forget a night he would surely be forced to remember.

  seventeen

  BY MORNING EBON FELT A bit better, but found himself nearly exhausted. Somehow he survived his morning class, though he caught himself nodding. Once he barely snapped awake before crashing nose-first into the table. Credell, of course, said nothing.

  Well, if I cannot concentrate, and Credell is too frightened to say anything, perhaps I should take advantage of the situation, he thought. So Ebon slid down the bench until he reached the wall, and slouched against the stone. Soon he dozed, a murmuring buzz from the other students lulling him into peaceful slumber.

  It was a while later before he felt a tugging on his sleeve. He opened his eyes, expecting to see Credell—but it was Astrea, the young girl with the wild hair, her eyes wide as she stared at him, jerking her hand from his sleeve as he woke.

  “Class is over.”

  Ebon blinked hard and looked around. It was true. The room was empty. He had not even heard the bell ring.

  “Thank you, Astrea,” he said, and then yawned wide.

  “I don’t know why Credell is afraid of you. I like you.”

  Almost before the words had left her lips, she turned and ran for the door as though her life depended on it. And then she was gone. Ebon stared after her, blinking hard, unsure what to say. He stood to leave and found himself smiling.

  The dining hall buzzed with voices. Ebon stumbled amongst the other students, heading towards his usual table. Theren and Kalem were already there, and looked half-done with their meals. Theren regarded Ebon with a small smile as he sat, but Kalem’s eyes were wide with questions.

  “You are very late.”

  “I am,” said Ebon, spooning a bite of soup with a grimace. They had had the same thing twice already this week.

  “What were you doing?”

  “Sleeping, as it happens,” said Ebon.

  Kalem blinked. He looked to Theren and then back to Ebon. “Sleeping? In your bed?”

  “In my class.”

  The boy’s jaw dropped. He could not have looked more shocked if Ebon had changed to an Elf before his eyes. “You…that…but your instructor!”

  “Credell would die of terror before he dared to reprimand me.”

  “The tragic life of a goldbag,” muttered Theren, picking at her nails with a particular fury.

  “Leave off, Theren,” said Ebon. Her cheeks turned crimson, and she looked away.

  Kalem had not recovered from his shock, and still gaped like a fish. “How could he let you sleep through his class?”

  “What harm is there? It is not as though he teaches me anything when I am awake.”

  “Still…I can scarcely imagine it.” Kalem shook his head—and then, after a moment, his eyes narrowed. “But why should you be so tired? You went to bed just as I did last night.”

  Ebon felt sick. He picked at his sleeve as though something upon it had captured his interest. “Yes, well…in fact, that is not quite what happened. I went out upon the Seat.”

  “We both did,” Theren said brightly. Ebon wished she would keep her mouth shut. “Why not tell him what you did, Ebon?”

  “I scarcely know myself. My father sent me a message, asking me to deliver a package to some inn on the west end of the Seat. He arranged special permission for me to be out after hours.”

  Kalem leaned forwards and whispered, “What was in the package?”

  Ebon shrugged. “I was not supposed to open it.”

  “Though I greatly wanted to,” said Theren.

  “You went with him?”

  “Not by intent. I pursued other interests, but we encountered each other upon the streets. He was so cagey about his purpose for leaving the Academy, I decided to follow him and see what he was up to. But I learned nothing, for even Ebon did not have the answer.”

  He smirked at her. “I thought you did not believe that.”

  Theren reached across Kalem to shove his shoulder. “Do not take everything so seriously. I certainly do not.” But Ebon thought he could hear a lie inside the words, despite her ready smile.

  “Well, I think you were both terribly idiotic,” said Kalem, folding his arms across his chest with a scowl. “You should not have delivered the parcel if you did not know what was in it, Ebon. And neither of you should have gone wandering the Seat at night.”

  “I do it often.” Theren shrugged. “No one seems to mind.”

  “I doubt anyone knows,” said Kalem.

  “You use different words to say the same thing.”

  “I would not have done it,” said Ebon, speaking quickly before Kalem could think up another retort. “But my father is the reason I am here at the Academy. How could I be so ungrateful as to refuse to aid him?”

  “But you do not even know what you did,” said Kalem. “And forgive my saying so, but…but a favor for your family…”

  Ebon looked angrily into his lap. “Say what you mean to. A favor for my family is likely a dark deed. And yet what would you have done? What else could I have done?”

  “You could have refused.”

  To Ebon’s surprise, Theren spoke in his defense. “I think you make much trouble of a little matter, Kalem. What harm could come from a parcel? And the adventure was somewhat amusing, at least.”

  “What harm? How can we know, without knowing what the parcel held? What if it was poison, or a dagger? Or…magestones.”

  He said the word in such a hush that Ebon felt compelled to lean forwards, and look behind him to see if anyone might be listening. Theren’s eyes grew dark, and she gripped Kalem’s arm until he squirmed.

  “Do not even whisper such things here, you fool!”

  “I do not understand,” said Ebon. “What are ma—that is, what are those things you just named?”

  “Of course you would not know,” said Theren, rolling her eyes. “Tell him, Kalem—but not here, nor any place where curious ears might overhear. You two have your lover’s nest in the library; speak of it there.”

  She released Kalem and left them. The boy stared sullenly after her, rubbing his arm where she had squeezed it. He looked at Ebon with darkly disgruntled eyes.

  “It is not a lover’s nest.”

  Ebon could think of no words to cheer him. It seemed that Kalem was right, and he was a fool. Yet something within him suspected that some day, his father would request another favor—and Ebon doubted he had the will to refuse.

  “Come,” he said quietly. “The meal is nearly over, and our next class beckons.”

  They cleaned their table and made their way into the Academy halls. Ebon’s feet dragged with every step.

  eighteen

  SAFELY SEQUESTERED ON THE LIBRARY’S third floor, Ebon leaned in close. “What are these magestones you spoke of before? Why did they bring such terror to Theren’s eyes, when she fears almost nothing?”

  Though there was no one in sight, Kalem still shushed Ebon and looked around. “You should be very, very wary of speaking that word within these walls, even in the most shadowed whisper. Theren was right—it was greatly foolish of me to speak of such in the dining hall.”

  “But what is it?” said Ebon, growing exasperated. “Or rather, what are they?”

 
; “They,” said Kalem, taking great pains to avoid the word, “are a black stone. I know not where they come from—no one does, except those who sell them, and they have no wish to share the secret. They look like rock, but break easily in the hand or between the teeth. When a normal person eats one, there is no effect. But if a wizard should…”

  He fell silent, shivering, and again looked over his shoulder. Ebon shook him gently. “There is no one there, Kalem. You have looked at least a dozen times.”

  “Still I feel as though we are watched. Perhaps I am overly fearful. If we were found speaking of this, it would go ill for us both.”

  “Well, finish the tale, so we need never speak of it again.”

  “As you say. If a wizard consumes a magestone, their powers are increased manyfold. Even a modest elementalist could summon flames hot enough to melt stone, and an transmuter could turn a house to straw with a touch. And some other, darker side of our magic is unlocked—for transmuters it is a corruption, like a plague we can imbue in matter that spreads to anything near enough. Whatever it touches withers to nothing, until it is spent. They call it blackstone.”

  Ebon had leaned forwards without realizing it, gripping his chair as though preparing to spring up and flee for his life. He forced his shaking limbs to relax. “That sounds powerful indeed, but if it increases the strength of our other magic, where is the great harm?”

  “It not only strengthens our gifts. It consumes the mind as well. From the moment magestone passes your lips, it fills you with an aching hunger for more. At first this craving is slight, a tickling at the back of the mind. But deny it, and the hunger grows to a raging desire that drives away all rational thought. Wizards will kill to get more, casting aside all bonds of friends and family in hopes of one more stone. As long as they can maintain their supply, they may appear rational. But if their store is threatened, they will destroy all the nine lands to secure it.”

  The library was utterly silent around them. Ebon let loose a long whoosh of breath. “Was that, then, the power behind the Wizard Kings?”