The Alchemist's Touch

by Garrett Robinson

  One day he entered the library for his studies and found Jia sitting at a desk, reading a short letter. He gave her a quick wave, as he always did, but then stopped. Something about her gave him pause. Her face was grave, brows drawn together as she hunched over the letter with worry.

  He cautiously approached, but Jia did not look up, or seem to notice him at all. Soon he stood at the table, and she had yet to bat an eye.

  “Instructor Jia?” he said tentatively. “Is everything all right?”

  She started in her seat and looked up at Ebon. With a quick sigh, she folded the letter and tucked it away in a pocket.

  “No, it is not,” she said, standing. “Yet it is nothing you need trouble yourself with. Do you require assistance?”

  He shook his head. “No, Instructor. But what troubles you so? If I could help…”

  “It is this war that rages in Wellmont. No doubt you have heard?”

  Ebon frowned. “I have not. Wellmont—is that the city upon the border of Dorsea and Selvan? They squabble all the time. Surely this is no great worry.”

  “They do,” she admitted. “But this seems to be something more grave. It has lasted longer than usual, and even a border skirmish there would trouble me. I grew up in that city, as did a former student whom I cared for deeply. The last I heard, she was stationed there, but I have not received word from her in months.”

  Ebon wanted to put a comforting hand on her shoulder, but it seemed inappropriate. Instead he merely stammered, “I am sorry to hear that. You taught her weremagic?”

  “Therianthropy, Ebon. And no, I was not her instructor; she was a mentalist. But never mind; this is nothing for you to worry over. We can do little about it in any case, here so far from the fighting—and a good thing, too. Carry on with your studies, Ebon, and remember: wisdom in the right head may stop such wars before the first arrow flies. You should hold that endeavor as paramount, as should all people of learning.”

  “Yes, Instructor,” Ebon mumbled, and left her. He thought of the war, so far away, and wondered what it would feel like to have a loved one tangled within it. That thought drew him to his brother, Momen. He scarcely remembered the day when Momen rode away from home. Much clearer were his memories of the day they learned of his death. The darkest day, stretching into forever, full of hurt and tears, hatred in his father’s eyes. Ebon doubted he would ever forget it; and he both hoped he would, and hoped he would not.

  A thought struck him—odd that he had never had it before. Ebon did not know how Momen had died. As far as he could remember, Idris had never been involved in any border wars with the three surrounding kingdoms. Idris was a desert, lacking the fair green lands that made Selvan so attractive a target. And the Camar, the royal family of Idris, were almost as fearsome as the Draydens. He had never mustered the courage to ask Father how Momen had passed, and now, he likely never would. Perhaps Halab knew. He would have to ask, the next time he saw her.

  Kalem was waiting at the table when Ebon arrived, and immediately he put down his book. “Let us see it.”

  Ebon sighed, drew his wooden rod, and handed it over. Kalem took a deep breath. His eyes glowed, and under his fingers, the rod turned to stone. He blinked, and it returned to wood.

  “There. Did you feel it this time?”

  Kalem had told him that wizards could sense other wizards using their spells, if the magic was of an aligned branch. Weremagic and alchemy worked in tandem, as did mindmagic and firemagic. Ebon could sense when a weremage or another alchemist were using their powers. Now, as he often had, Ebon could feel a tingling on his neck and a turned stomach when Kalem transformed the rod. But it was no more help than it had been before.

  “I sensed it, yes. But I still do not see how it helps.”

  “The feeling it gives you—try to emulate it. Try to recapture it while casting your spell.”

  Ebon rolled his eyes, took the rod, and focused, trying to do as Kalem asked. He pictured the tingling on his neck, and the vague roiling of his stomach. But that only distracted him from seeing the wood for what it truly was. Nothing happened to his eyes, and he soon cast the rod aside in frustration.

  “It is no use. When I focus on the sensation, I lose sight of the rod, and when I think of the rod, I cannot hold the sensation.”

  “Focus upon them both. It is really quite easy.”

  Ebon thrust a finger under his nose. “If you tell me, even once more, that it is easy, I will…”

  Kalem smiled and touched Ebon’s robe. The whole sleeve turned to iron, and at the sudden change in weight, Ebon tipped where he sat, yelping as he landed hard on his arm.

  “Change it back,” he growled.

  Kalem sighed and did as he asked. “Ebon, you grow frustrated too easily. A calm mind is the best facilitator of magic.”

  “I have few places to find calm in my life.”

  “Then I hope you are resigned to a life without spells,” said Kalem with a shrug. “Because that is all you will ever have. When you struggle to clear your mind, consider that if you learn to do this, you will learn how to be a wizard. The physical world will bow at your command; you will control the earth, buildings, even the oceans and winds. Is that not worth learning to cast aside your fears and doubts?”

  Something had nabbed his attention. “What do you mean, the oceans and the winds? Those spells are of mind magic.”

  “Elementalism, Ebon. You could at least pretend that proper terms matter to you, for I can assure you they matter to everyone else.”

  “Elementalism, then,” said Ebon through gritted teeth. “But you have not answered my question.”

  Kalem seemed to take this as an apology, for he nodded magnanimously. “I do not speak of elementalist spells such as summoning water and wind. Those depend on motion. Ours is magic of change. You can turn water to oil easily enough. One day you will learn to change the air as well.”

  Ebon’s curiosity was piqued. He had never considered this, nor seen an alchemist at the school do it. “How? What can you do with the air?”

  “Only simple things,” Kalem said with a shrug. “They teach more advanced spells in the next class. But I have learned the spell to make mist.”

  “Can you show me?”

  Kalem looked surprised, and not a little pleased. He crossed his legs beneath him, and after a moment his eyes began to glow. Then a mist seemed to spring out of nowhere, but as Ebon looked closer he could see it emanating away from Kalem’s body. Soon it filled the space around them, spreading ever farther until it reached the library’s railing. The mist thickened, until Ebon could not see more than a few paces in any direction.

  “That is all I can do for now,” said Kalem. “My instructor says he could fill the entire Academy with fog, if he so chose. I do not know if I believe that, but then again, it is a very simple spell.” He blinked, and the glow faded from his eyes. The mists rushed back and vanished, and the air was clear again.

  “That is wondrous. I would give much to be able to cast such a spell.” Ebon felt his lack of ability like an ache in his heart.

  “You will learn. It is simpler than turning wood to stone. Air is not complicated like wood.”

  “Mayhap I could try,” said Ebon.

  Kalem looked uncomfortable. “I am not sure that is wise. They teach us our spells in order for a reason.”

  “What reason? If I can make mist, why should I not try? Mayhap it will turn my mind towards other spells—even the spell for stone.”

  “Mayhap,” said Kalem. “I suppose I cannot see the harm…”

  Ebon closed his eyes and tried to envision the air around him. He spread his fingers until he could feel its coolness on his skin. At first he felt no different. Then he remembered how it felt when turning water to oil. He did not picture the water in his mind so much as he saw it through his fingers. He tried it now, and soon it was as though he could see the air’s tiny currents weaving about him. He opened his eyes and focused. To his delight, the world brightened, and E
bon knew his eyes must be glowing. Thin wisps of mist sprang into being, twisting in tiny spirals about his fingers.

  Joy radiated through him, strong enough to shatter his concentration. The glow died, and the mists vanished. But rather than disappointment, Ebon laughed out loud. “I did it!”

  Kalem grinned. “Indeed you did. That seemed to come easily.”

  Ebon studied his fingers, feeling that he could still see the air’s currents. “It was so much easier than the wood. I could see it as plain as the floor underfoot.”

  “As I said, air is simple. But still, even I did not learn mist so quickly. You should be proud.”

  “Have you ever used it? It seems to me that mists would be a powerful spell for sneaking about.”

  Kalem’s face fell, and he looked to the ceiling as though for help. “Sky save me. Of course you would immediately think of ways to use it for mischief.”

  Ebon gave his shoulder a little shove. “Oh, calm yourself. I have no schemes to sneak about the Academy and wreak havoc. At least, not yet.”

  “You would find it a hard prospect even if you did. Any alchemist or weremage would sense what you were doing and put a stop to it.”

  “Transmuter or therianthrope, Kalem, honestly,” Ebon wagged an admonishing finger, “you could at least pretend that proper terms matter.”

  Kalem scowled.

  twenty-one

  The discovery of a new spell, and one that actually seemed useful, filled Ebon’s days with joy. He practiced spinning his mists whenever possible—while bored in Credell’s class, and in between reading his ever-mounting pile of books. When not practicing, Ebon was wondering what else he might be able to learn. His wooden rod seemed suddenly unimportant. Oh, certainly, he would need to turn it to stone eventually—but why worry over it now, when he could learn other spells instead?

  He also found himself dwelling on the parcel. Despite sharing his worries with Adara, and his conversations with Kalem and Theren, Ebon could not help but wonder what he had become involved in—for however unwilling and inadvertent his own part had been. If indeed he were part of some nefarious scheme, Ebon doubted the King’s law would care that he had not asked to be dragged into it by Mako and his father.

  One morning he woke with an idea. He toyed with it all through Credell’s class, turning it over and over in his mind. By the time of his midday meal, Ebon knew he should bring it to Kalem and Theren.

  “I have been thinking hard,” he said, once they were all seated in the dining hall. “And I want to know what was in the parcel.”

  “I am sure we would all like to know,” said Kalem. “But that carriage, as they say, has driven on.”

  “Mayhap not for good.”

  Theren leaned in, eyes alight. “My dear goldbag. You cannot be proposing what I think—no, what I hope, you are proposing.”

  “Mayhap,” said Ebon with a grin.

  “I do not understand.” Kalem looked back and forth between them, utterly lost. “What do you mean to do?”

  “I shall return to the inn, and if the man is still there, I will find the package and learn what was inside it.”

  Kalem could only gawk. “You cannot be serious.”

  “He is, and it is glorious.” Theren laughed out loud and slapped her hand on the table. Many students looked over in shock, but she ignored them. “My dear little goldbag. I take back all the nasty things I ever said about you. Well, not all of them, but the greater part at least.”

  “You will help me, then?”

  “She will not, because you will not do this mad thing,” Kalem whispered, but it was so loud and harsh that Ebon doubted it did much to hide his words. “You do not know what you are involved in. You could be killed.”

  “I doubt that. The man was some agent of my family’s. He would not dare raise a hand to me, for then he would face their wrath—at least my aunt’s, for I doubt my father cares whether I live or die.”

  “You do not know that. What if he hired your family to do this thing for him? If they are in his employ, and not the other way around, that is a very different situation.”

  “My family, playing the part of lackey to some man in a rotten hovel of an inn?” Ebon scoffed. “That is hardly likely.”

  “You are quick to say so, yet what if you are wrong? It could go ill for us all.”

  “All?” Ebon smiled. “Do you mean to come with us, then?”

  “Say you will, little goldbag,” said Theren, shaking Kalem’s shoulder. The poor boy flopped all about like a rag doll. “It would not be a proper adventure without you.”

  “I do not want it to be a proper adventure!” protested Kalem, shoving her hand away.

  Ebon leaned in closer. “Think, Kalem. You have heard rumors of my family’s doings, have you not? It seems I am being drawn into them. Will you not help me fight off their influence? I do not mean to grow up and become another agent of whatever mischief my father chooses to plot on a given day.”

  “Then leave it behind,” said Kalem miserably. “Refuse to follow his orders, and keep your nose out of whatever is happening.”

  “Too late for that,” said Theren. “His nose is already well stuck in.”

  “And I cannot refuse him,” said Ebon. “He will withdraw me from the Academy. Mako said as much.”

  Kalem seemed to know he was defeated. He folded his arms and pouted. “This is a terrible idea.”

  “Mayhap, but it is the only thing I can think of to free myself. I think of you as a friend, Kalem. A true friend. Will you help me?”

  The boy rolled his eyes and looked around. “Of course I shall. You idiot.”

  Cheering, Ebon and Theren embraced him.

  That night, Ebon met Theren in the hall outside of Kalem’s common room. He poked his head in the door and found Kalem sitting nearby. He caught the boy’s eye, gave a sharp nod, and retreated. A moment later the door swung open, and Kalem joined them in the hallway.

  “All right,” said Kalem, looking thoroughly disgruntled. “If we mean to go through with this mad scheme, let us get on with it. How do you mean to sneak out?”

  “Theren has a way.”

  “And I shall not leave you behind this time,” she said with a grin. “But I do not think all three of us can approach the wall without being seen.”

  “You need not worry for that,” said Ebon. “I have learned a new spell.”

  He focused on the air around him, and the world grew brighter. Mist sprang from his skin, swirling about to surround him. Soon he could not see the others, though they stood only paces away. His chest swelled with pride as he threw back his shoulders—but then he heard Kalem and Theren burst into raucous laughter through the mist, which they swiftly hushed.

  “What?” said Ebon. “What is it?”

  “Ebon, you look ridiculous,” Theren managed to choke out. “Stop that foolish spell at once.”

  He did not understand, but let the image of the mist slip from his mind. The world darkened, and the fog receded. Kalem still clutched a hand to his mouth, eyes bugging out from laughter, and Theren’s face had darkened as she fought to remain silent.

  “Do you not think the Academy’s attendants would notice a perfectly student-sized cloud of mist scuttling about the halls?” said Theren. “It practically held to your limbs. You were as inconspicuous as a two-mast ship falling through the ceiling of the High King’s palace.”

  “It looked like this.” Kalem’s eyes glowed, and mist sprang into being around him—but it held only inches from his skin, so he was like a small boy made of fog. He crouched and slunk down the hallway in a low run, head swinging back and forth as if in search of pursuers. Theren clapped both hands back to her mouth and nearly fell over laughing.

  Ebon’s cheeks were burning, and he looked down at his shoes. “Stop laughing. It is easy enough for the two of you to mock me; you have been here for years.”

  Kalem let the mists die away, and Theren put a comforting hand on his shoulder. But they could not hide th
eir glinting eyes. “Indeed, it is unfair,” said Kalem. “I am sorry. And you should be very proud of how quickly you have learned the spell for mist. But on this outing, at least, I think I should be responsible for concealing our escape.”

  “Very well,” grumbled Ebon. “Then let us get on with it.”

  He led them through the halls and then down the wide staircase to the front hall. Mellie was by the front door. She straightened in her chair and fixed them with wide, suspicious eyes. But Ebon only gave her a little wave and turned around, heading back down the hallway to the white doors leading outside.

  “Turn left,” said Theren. “We should leave by the eastern doors, for I need to use the sheds.”

  Ebon did as she said, and soon they had reached the training grounds outside the citadel. A few older students stood here and there in pockets, scarcely visible in the dim light. There, too, Ebon saw Jia and the other instructor he had often spied on the training grounds, conversing as they strode down a path.

  “Sky above,” muttered Kalem. “We shall have to wait for Jia and Dasko to pass. They are therianthropes; if I cast my mists now, they will detect it.”

  Dasko. So the instructor had a name.

  Jia noticed Ebon and gave him a nod, which he returned, but the two instructors took no other notice, and had soon vanished around the citadel’s corner. Ebon waited a few minutes, just to be safe, and then nodded at Kalem.

  The boy’s eyes glowed, and mist filled the air. Ebon heard a few muted sounds of surprise from the other students in the training grounds, but the three of them were already running for the wall. He would have run straight into it, had Theren not stopped him with a quick hand. She guided them all until they stood by the wall together, huddling against it in the fog. A few paces away, Ebon saw shacks built against the interior wall, perfect mirrors of the ones outside.