The Alchemist: Dawn of Destiny

by L. A. Wasielewski

  The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as a massive pressure wave popped his ears. In an instant, he could no longer hear the din of the crowd.

  Pushing on, he finally exited the city far outside the boundaries, where the sewer line flowed into a small tributary. The clouds over Keld were black as night, spreading out to the countryside and casting eerie shadows over the prairie. Knowing he needed to get as far from the city as possible, he ran downstream and into the forest. His clothes dripping with mucky, putrid water, he circled the metropolis around to the north, where he knew there was a small pier—with a boat he kept for pleasure fishing.

  Today, it would be his salvation.

  He said a quick prayer to Oleana for a safe journey and pushed off for Zaiterra. Using his mighty strength against the barrage of ocean waves, he maneuvered the vessel out into deeper waters, the shoreline drifting further and further away with each stroke.

  The clouds over Keld never lifted.

  ~~~

  His legs were burned.

  His arms were burned.

  His face, chest, and back…all badly burned.

  With each excruciating step, the man pushed himself to the brink of collapse. He knew he had to find someone. He had to get away. He had to—tell the world what had happened in Keld.

  Pieces of charred flesh dropping from his body, he forced himself onward. He briefly thought back to his wife and daughters, incinerated by the terrifying wave. Crawling over their bodies to escape the horrors. Unable to fathom why he had been spared, he cried out in both agony and despair, cursing the goddess for allowing such heartbreak to befall him.

  A whinny in a grove of trees caught his attention. There stood a lone horse, a ratty saddle resting on its back. Looking around and finding no owner, he cautiously approached, forcing his battered body to move. Heaving himself onto the animal’s back with an agonized scream, he used his remaining strength to hike the reins. He steered the mare south, hoping he would make it to Dungannon before he perished.

  INTERLUDE TWO

  The room was dark.

  Outside, the morning sun shone brightly, enveloping the city of Keld in a warm, late-summer blanket of illumination. People went about their daily lives on the streets below, still ecstatic that they had a new heir to the throne sleeping peacefully in the rooms above.

  Within the dimly-lit chamber, the drapes drawn to blot out the sunlight and dull the din of the city, Empress Eilith wept. A baby’s shrill cries echoed from another room, the sound blocked by the heavy wooden door that separated mother and child. Emperor Artol paced nervously, chewing on his thumbnail. Eilith didn’t have the fortitude to scold him for his habit today.

  The heir to the Vrelin throne, barely six weeks old, had thrust his parents into quite the predicament. When, within hours of his birth, his mother had witnessed his bassinette become engulfed in flames emanating from the baby’s own hands, the suddenly grief-stricken parents knew they had very little time in which to act.

  Born with magic.

  Shunned.

  Cursed.

  The empress hung talismans from every hook in the royal apartments, draped the nursery with charm scrolls and wards. Emperor Artol chanted mantras gleaned from forbidden texts in the palace library all in an attempt to rid their precious son of his magical stigma.

  Nothing had worked.

  Left with the horrible decision of whether or not to let their own child die of starvation rather than live a life of ostracism, hope arrived in the form of a letter, literally fluttering in on the wind through an open window.

  The so-called ‘witch doctor’, the letter had claimed, promised to cure the royal child of his magical ailment, under the strictest of secrecy. How this enigmatic man knew of their plight was a mystery, but he nonetheless knew—and made his living ensuring that children born with the stigma were given a chance to have a normal life, should his work succeed. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to his clients, he always failed. Grieving parents would thank the man for attempting the impossible, and move on to mourn babies that never had a chance to begin with. Families were assured their secrets would be safe, for the witch doctor did not want his identity revealed any more than the people that accepted his help.

  That morning, before the sun had crested the horizon, the man had arrived at the palace under the cover of extreme secrecy. Snatching the baby from his mother’s arms, he dashed into the nursery with strict instructions not to be disturbed. Whatever was meant to happen, would happen.

  Now, two hours later, all Empress Eilith could do was clutch a baby quilt in her shaking hands and listen to her infant son cry in the other room.

  ~~~

  The blonde-haired baby feverishly kicked his legs, his face ruddy from wailing. Flickering flames danced in the air around him, the barrier erected by the witch doctor keeping the infant safe from his own creations.

  The drapes were pulled shut, the only light enveloping the room coming from a few oil lamps, set to the dimmest flames. Colorful murals covered the walls: fantastical animals from far-off lands, images to enrich a growing young mind. Stars peppered the ceiling, lovingly painted by the emperor himself. In the dim light of the now-melancholy room, it was difficult to see that such happiness even dared to exist. All this room knew now was sadness—disparaging sadness that consumed grieving parents.

  In the corner sat the witch doctor, deep in mediation. Contacting his master was hard enough without a screaming child in the background. He had been concentrating since he entered the room and unceremoniously plopped the baby into his crib, trying to make a connection across the continents. Even having been born with magical power himself, it took years of training to be able to reach his mind out to find the one he sought.

  A chill finally ran down his spine, and the small hairs on his arms stood on end. A presence invaded his mind.

  “…Master…I think this is the one…”

  …there have been many…

  “…This child is royalty. His powers are incredible, even in his infancy. And…”

  …and?...

  “…There is a witching stone...”

  …splendid…a conduit …could it be that I’ve finally found what I seek?...

  “…I have no misgivings, Master. This child will serve you willingly…”

  …we shall see…connect me…

  The mysterious man approached the witching stone, keeping an eye on the screaming baby beside him. He picked it up, warmth washing over his body. Moving to the crib, he plunged his arm through the fires and placed his free hand on the child’s heaving chest. He curled his fingers around the gem, concentrating all his mental energy into his connection. Never had he attempted such a feat, but he knew he could not fail. After a long moment of deep breaths and intense meditation, the connection flared to life, the stone glowing a vibrant red—much different from its inherent rosy hue. Feeling an unnatural aura envelop him, the witch doctor suddenly became very nervous, and almost accidentally broke the conduit of power. His skin felt as if it were on fire as spectral energy possessed the gem, ensuring that it would always act as a private channel between the child and his new master. The baby convulsed under his hand, his tiny lungs struggling to breathe. He gurgled and contorted his face in pain. The flames surrounding the cradle slowly lost their strength. Several seconds passed, the gem in the man’s fingers becoming red-hot. Knowing he’d more than likely be killed if he let go, he forced himself to keep his fingers curled around the stone. Finally, the gem flared brightly, bathing the room in white light, before dimming once more.

  The stone sat unassumingly in his palm, having returned to the original pink color, once again cool to the touch. The baby still shrieked, his tiny voice becoming hoarse from hours of distress. The witch doctor waited.

  A minute passed, then another. Dim flames still flickered around the bassinette. Just when he was about to reach out to his master to ensure a connection had been made, the room temperature dropped and a thin, white fog enveloped t
he palace. A tendril of mist seeped in through an unseen crack in a wooden windowpane and made a beeline for the bassinette. As it approached, the fog took on a crimson hue, and enveloped the cradle.

  The magic fires produced by the infant prince flashed blue before they disappeared.

  The baby immediately stopped crying.

  Outside the door, Emperor and Empress knew not if their child lived—or had perished.

  ~~~

  Eilith held her son in her arms, the baby nursing under a silken shawl. She had thrown the curtains open, allowing the summer breeze and beautiful light to enter the now peaceful room. Artol and the man who had saved their son spoke quietly in the corner. The sun had begun to set, bathing the entire chamber in a warm, pink glow. The mysterious man smiled, his fake countenance belying his motives. He knew that this child no longer belonged to his parents. They would live their lives, enjoying their time with their only-born, raising him to be an emperor—completely ignorant of his lofty destiny, believing he had been freed of his magical curse.

  Artol paid the man a hefty sum of sparkling gold coins. He took his leave, escorted out by a servant who knew him only as “a noble visitor”, and exited the city proper. Once away from the hustle and bustle of Keld, he disappeared into the forest and awaited his true reward.

  Days later, hunters would come across the charred remains of a man beneath an oak tree. Burying the bones in a pauper’s grave, the marker would never bear a name.

  Betrayed by the master who no longer had need of him, he had died frightened and alone, cursing the day he ever agreed to help the man he knew by only one name.

  Lyrax.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “The sky…black. Roann…Lyrax…everyone burned. I pray for…death…to come quickly now…”

  --Last words of an unknown Keld survivor, as told to Reina Traevels of Dungannon, at the moment of his death.

  “Ryris! Are you in there? It’s horrible…!”

  Grildi came barreling into the tiny roadside inn, Jaric hot on his heels. Ryris and Kaia sat at a common table, finishing the last of a light lunch the innkeeper’s wife had insisted on preparing for them. The companions were always amazed at the hospitality of the people they encountered—and their insistence on cooking for them. They must have been quite charming—or looked severely underfed.

  “What’s the matter?” Ryris set down his half-eaten sandwich and stood, trying to calm his friend with a passive gesture. Kaia also rose. Grildi’s face was red, his breathing erratic from running. “Take a deep breath and calm down.”

  Jaric came to a stop beside the hulking man, more capable of holding conversation. “A carrier bird just landed…” He furrowed his brow and lowered his voice. “…Keld has fallen.”

  “What do you mean, fallen?” Ryris’ lunch immediately bubbled up in his stomach.

  Jaric looked to Kaia, his expression regretful. “You were right.”

  Her voice was hushed as she reluctantly responded. “Lyrax…”

  “…and Roann.” Grildi bowed his head. “They killed them...”

  “How?” Kaia slumped down into her chair, her shoulders sagging in sadness.

  “No one really knows.” Jaric took a seat beside her. The raucous din of the small community outside hearing the horrible news was becoming louder by the moment. “A few people managed to escape the city and told tales of a winged creature—Roann—doing the bidding of a madman. He named himself as Lyrax. He…” The warrior hesitated, trying to keep his composure. “…Goddess bless us, he…killed Roann’s royal guards and brought them back to life right before the crowd’s eyes.”

  “Necromancy.” Kaia remained composed, even when faced with her terrifying realization.

  “…and shape shifting,” Jaric added.

  “I told you it was horrible!” Grildi pulled out a seat, turned it backwards, and sat with a great thud. “All those people…”

  “But just how did he kill them all?” Ryris was morbidly curious, even as his mind thought of poor Mrs. Briarheart and her wife. Never again would he taste her seafood chowder, or have fresh flowers delivered for his table. He’d never hear her voice, scolding but sincere, telling him to keep hydrated and wear a hat in the rain. A wave of intense sadness washed over him, not only for Mrs. Briarheart, but for everyone in Keld.

  “No one knows. The few surviving eyewitnesses were too badly burned to speak clearly.” Jaric’s tone was somber.

  “Burned?” Ryris felt sick. What had happened to all those poor, innocent people?

  “All we do know is there’s no life within those walls anymore. Lyrax and Roann have wiped the city clean.”

  The party sat in silence for a moment, half-listening to the sobs of the people outside as they processed the news, half-trying to keep calm themselves. When Ryris finally spoke up, his voice trembled. He tried desperately not to cry.

  “What do we do?”

  “Deep down part of me wanted to be wrong. But…” Kaia let out a defeated sigh. “…we need to accept that this world is now at war. Lyrax and Roann won’t stop until we bring them to their knees.”

  “It’s really happening.” Ryris pushed his plate away, no longer motivated to finish his lunch. He did drain his ale mug, however, and beckoned to the bartender to bring him another.

  “Yes, it is.” Kaia briefly laid her hand atop his and paused. “Soon, this world will see chaos and destruction the likes of which haven’t been seen since the Old War—and the people are not prepared for what they’ll experience. Death will sweep across the land. I only hope we can stop them before it goes too far.”

  Jaric thumped his fist on the table with a determined grunt. “Then we better get off our asses and find the rest of those shards. We can’t be plowing into Keld with half a sword.”

  Kaia nodded in agreement. “I need to contact Phia.” She turned her attention to the alchemist. “Ryris, do you have a sleeping potion in your backpack?”

  “I think so. If not, I can easily make one.”

  “Good. The moon is almost new, so cross your fingers I can connect via the witching stone.”

  “Do you think she’ll be able to help?”

  “I don’t know. She’s had some time to think about where the shards could have been hidden; perhaps she’s come up with something. If anything, she can lend an encouraging voice.” She stood, blowing out a determined breath. “We need to make sure everything is in order before tomorrow. Grildi, head to the mercantile and buy fresh supplies. Ryris, make sure your alchemy kit is well stocked. Make extra potions if you have the time. Jaric and I will begin to strategize. Above all, we need to stay calm. As the world finds out their beloved sovereign has taken league with the devil, morale will fall and people will become disparaged. They’ll need something to latch on to, a thin thread of hope. That’s us.”

  “Those are pretty lofty goals, Kaia.” Ryris’ eyes were sad.

  “Who else will accept the challenge? We may not seem like much right now—just the four of us—but believe me when I say that I have the utmost faith in not only ourselves, but the people of the empire.”

  “Blind faith doesn’t always pan out.”

  “Neither does skepticism. If we’re to succeed, we need to believe in ourselves without question. Others will sense our doubt if we’re not confident, and we’ll end up fighting alone.”

  Ryris nodded slowly, knowing that Kaia’s words were correct. He prayed Oleana would grant them protection and success. Failure was not an option.

  Kaia walked toward the door, her commanding voice getting the daydreaming alchemist’s attention. “Get a move on. We leave at dawn.”

  ~~~

  Kaia lay in her bed at the inn. Sleet pelted her window, and she shivered. Pulling the blankets around her body like a cocoon, she couldn’t stop her mind from racing.

  What if they failed?

  What if Lyrax succeeded this time and wiped the lands clean with his bastard magic?

  What if…

  …sh
e watched helplessly while those she loved were murdered before her very eyes?

  Kaia shuddered at the thought, forcing herself to push those horrible images from her mind. She rolled over and grabbed the small vial from Ryris off of the nightstand. Prying out the cork, she downed the liquid in one gulp, per the alchemist’s instructions. The entire team was counting on her to be able to connect with Phia. Quickly feeling her eyelids begin to flutter, she sighed as contentedly as she could despite the current situation the party faced, and allowed sleep to finally overtake her. Her fingers curled around the witching stone she held against her heart.

  As she drifted into her dreams, the tiny filaments within the gem began to glow. With the moon not quite new, it would be more difficult to attempt a channel through the night, but she didn’t have a choice. Time was of the essence.

  A strange pull tugged at her mind. She allowed herself to be taken via dream conduits—somewhere. Feeling weightless as she floated over the currents of time and space, not once did she feel frightened by her experience. It was as if something—or someone—was beckoning her with open arms and a free mind.

  At once, her eyes snapped open and she was standing in the swamps, clad in her thin nightgown. Kaia heard Phia’s voice before she could see her.

  “Well, the witching stones work.”

  The warrior smiled softly in the dim light. Watching as the giantess shuffled out of the gray mists toting her walking stick, she immediately noticed that Phia’s eyes were no longer milky white. As the hulking woman approached, her face morphed into a broad, surprised smile, and she moved faster, her arms out to embrace Kaia.

  “I can see you, child!”

  Moisture sparkled in the corner of Phia’s eyes, now a vibrant blue. She ran her fingertips down Kaia’s face before smoothing a hand through her hair. Taking a long moment to inspect every inch of her features, Phia couldn’t control her emotions. Tears flowed like a waterfall as she saw Kaia for the very first time.