The Apprentice's Path: The Alchemist #1

by Stacey Keystone

  "Stop," the mage said after I went on for a minute or so. "I don't want to hear your lecture."

  He leaned, grabbing my chin, and staring into my eyes. I closed them forcefully.

  "Now," his voice turned sweet. "Relax. Let your mind go. Tell me everything."

  I could feel his voice was affecting me. Was this the mind magic grandpa had talked about? The feeling of lack of control -- the loss of identity -- was horrifying. Is this what drug users feel? Why anybody would want to feel this, is a mystery to me.

  I fought. Keeping my eyes closed, to make his job harder, I concentrated on everything that made me myself. My family. Alchemy. Jack. I kept thinking about them, about all of them, as my mind kept getting yanked from me. I fought tooth and nail to regain the shreds of identity I was losing each second.

  But it wasn't working. I could feel that I was losing my mind.

  God, I'd prefer to die, I thought.

  And then -- as if an answer from above -- I had an idea, a crazy, dangerous idea that would probably mean my death, but could mean I would fry this magician's brain. I remembered what grandpa said about the mechanism of the magical block.

  "What this magical block does, it cuts the way from your body to the existing magical channels," grandpa said. "So you can't use it. The magic is still accumulating in your body; it's just not going into the channels, not circulating. When the block wears off, your channels will be weaker, and you'll need to strengthen them again."

  I smiled, opening my eyes. There is one way to use my magic. Create new channels, concentrating my magic again. A second Initiation.

  The first one had almost killed me, would the second? As I stared into the crazy eyes of the mage who was going to destroy my mind, giving me a fate worse than Billie's, I pulled all the diffuse magic out of my body, directing it all towards my mind, creating small, thin channels through the part of my ethereal body that corresponded to my head. This time, I had less magic than on my first Initiation, as my magic had mostly been pumped into my magical channels through all the training. But even the little bit of dark magic was enough to create a trap in my head. I'm not sure it was enough to save me, but it was enough to create damage.

  The mage, who kept looking into my eyes, suddenly had a horrified expression. I could see he was aware of what was happening, but he was already inside my mind, trapped inside my mind. A mind that was full of dark energy channels, that emanated their energy, dominating, devouring, the foreign aura.

  I'm not sure which one of us lost consciousness first -- me or him. But as I felt my mind slipping away, as the creation of magical channels -- and the destruction of the foreign, hostile energy inside me was going on, the attack weakening. Did it affect the mage?

  When I regained consciousness, I was still sitting on the chair, but no longer tied. I looked around. Major Craen was looking at me with a satisfied look on his face. Grandpa had worried eyes, while the mage next to him was examining me like an insect.

  The mage approached me. I tried to stand up, to get away from him. The last thing I wanted was for anybody to use their magic on me.

  "Sit down, Miss Bedwen," the healer said. "You're still too weak. You shouldn't move now. Your mind needs to resettle, get used to everything again."

  "No... magic," I said, weakly, but clearly. My voice was raspy, my throat dry.

  The Major smirked.

  "No Healer would risk using magic on you right now," he said. "Your aura is so full of dark magic, and you're irradiating it with such strength, that even being within a couple of feet from you is painful for any light mage."

  I looked at grandpa and the healer. I could see now, from grandpa's face, that he wasn't feeling very well.

  "How long will this last?" grandpa said.

  The Major shrugged.

  "Who knows? Nobody has heard of a double Initiation. And if you noticed, this time, most of her channels are around her head."

  "Because that's where the mind attack was going," grandpa said. "So that's where her magic went, feeling the intrusion."

  "It's a miracle she survived," the healer said. "But the Major is right, we can't heal her right now. She needs rest, and some food. There is nothing else we can do for her."

  Another man in a green robe approached the healer.

  "Can we put her on a stretcher?" he asked, pointing at me. "These people," he pointed at the non-magicals in the room, who were still sitting with an expression of drug-induced bliss on their faces. "Seem to need much less help than she does."

  "You can take her," the healer said.

  "We'll need to question her, though," the Major said.

  "No need," grandpa said. "Let Miss Bedwen rest. I'm sure you'll be able to get testimony out of the witnesses," grandpa pointed at the half-drugged people who were still on the floor.

  "Is it possible?" the Major asked.

  I wanted to stay to listen for longer, but the field medics carried me away.

  With Dana gone, Professor Bedwen looked around, evaluating the situation. The mage was still unconscious. The non-magicals were still in a state of bliss.

  "They'll wake up soon," he said, nodding towards the people on the floor. "And they'll be needing a lot of help. Cutting mind magic suddenly can be devastating to its victims."

  "We know that," the Major said. "There's a unit of healers coming in this direction. Now that her dark emanations won't impede their work, they can start right away."

  "So you knew something like this was happening?" Professor Bedwen asked. "If you had a team of healers ready and trained, you must have expected a mind mage to be operating in this area."

  "We had our guesses," the Major replied. "But we didn't know any names. And now that the mage is brain-dead, it will be hard to learn anything."

  There was a tinge of anger in his voice.

  "Would you have preferred a brain-dead apprentice?" the Professor asked. "Because I'm quite happy with the outcome. Don't use my granddaughter to catch dangerous criminals."

  "Are you going to take it out into the open now?" the Major said, looking around. The emergency workers were still going around, checking on everybody. The crime scene investigators were swearing, trying to stop the emergency workers from destroying all the clues.

  "Part of it," Professor Bedwen said. "These bastards went after her because they thought she was a nobody without protection. Once they know they'd be messing with me, they'll be more careful. Kidnapping her from the toilet! How crude."

  "So you're going to publicly announce her as your granddaughter?" the Major asked.

  "Yes. I want all the bastards know, when they mess with Dana, they're messing with the Bedwens."

  "If she is going to be your acknowledged granddaughter," the Major said, "many flies will start swarming around her. She'd be the heiress to a big fortune."

  "Not flies," Professor Bedwen replied, curtly. "She's not dung. And I think Dana has enough sense to avoid flatterers."

  "It's your business," the Major shrugged. "I have too much work on my plate to care. I have to check whether we can find anything about this guy," he said, pointing at the braindead mage.

  "You know who he is," Professor Bedwen said.

  "I do. Lorenzio Gwern. He was on the tribunal for your granddaughter. That's why it's going to be a struggle. He's one of the Gwerns," the Major said, almost spitting out the surname. "They're rich... And very connected. Getting a search warrant to find anything will be hard. All his acquaintances will be lawyering up, and we won't be able to get anything useful."

  "So don't," the Professor said.

  "What?" The Major asked, with suspicion.

  "Do anything beyond searching this guys' house. For the rest, keep them under observation. You may find way more about them this way," the Professor said. "Check especially carefully for all of those who disappear or die. Whether they go on a trip or die of a heart attack, check those as thoroughly as possible."

  "You think they'd cut their tail this way?" the Major asked.<
br />
  "They absolutely will. I know them; I've fought many years against them. Killing people to get rid of problems is too easy. When you start doing it too frequently, it becomes the hammer used to kill all flies."

  "I'll talk to my superiors," the Major said.

  "I'll keep an ear out," the Professor promised. "Anything I learn, I'll tell you. I'll also tell you when you should poke the hornets' nest and go all-in with arrests. Meanwhile, you should find a friendly prosecutor. Preferably a dark arall."

  "Why a dark one?" the Major asked.

  "Because these people hate dark arall too much. They're not like the Inquisition of yesteryear, which could recruit anybody to their ranks. They are too focused on blood purity and magic purity to respect dark magicals."

  "You seem to know a lot about them," the Major observed.

  The Professor nodded.

  "I grew up among them, after all. I believed in their ideas for a long time... Until those ideas started to harm my family. There is one thing that maintains a dynasty alive for centuries. Loyalty to ideas is not it."

  Epilogue

  "You look good, stop worrying," Jack said, as I checked myself in the mirror for what must be the hundredth time.

  I was wearing a custom made dress that cost me two months' work wages plus all the savings I had left. Despite the silly rules about debutantes having to wear light pastel colors, I insisted, and my dress was a dark olive color that suited me the best. Grandpa, when he saw that dress being brought, raised his eyebrows, and said nothing. He did, however, invite me into his office.

  "The dress is a bit too dour," he said. "You need to add a bit more color to it."

  "What are you suggesting?" I asked, with suspicion. Grandpa had been trying to insist on paying for the dress the entire time I spent saving up for it by working at the coach station (they paid well; it was still boring).

  Grandpa crossed the room and opened the safe. He took out a box, which, when he opened it, almost blinded me with its shining contents.

  "Did you buy jewelry?" I asked. I wouldn't put it past him.

  "No, these are family heirlooms. They belonged to your grandma. They should have gone to your mother, but with everything that happened... I'm sure she won't mind you wearing them. And it's not like your brothers will ever wear them."

  The feeling of greed the shining rocks made me feel was overcame by my scruples.

  "I can't take them," I said. "What will people think? That I'm only your granddaughter for the money? This diamond necklace alone," I said, pointing at the smallest one amongst them, "is worth more than my annual tuition fee."

  I'm an alchemist. While we aren't jewellers, we have a course on crystals and their structure in the first year. I knew enough about diamonds and carats (and their prices) to estimate the price of the jewelry in front of me.

  Beyond what I could earn in a lifetime on an average alchemist's salary.

  "People will think what they will want," grandpa said. "But that's not our business. Do you like this necklace?" he said, pointing at a delicate piece that combined diamonds with red garnets, which combined well with my dress' color.

  "I do," I admitted, despite myself.

  "Then wear it," grandpa said. "And put it back in the family bank vault, if you prefer to. You're officially part of the Bedwen family now; I gave you access. You can choose to use it or not."

  So I was wearing that necklace, with a pair of pearl earrings. My hair, put up in a complicated hair updo that required the help of a hairdresser, was decorated with silk lace. I looked the girliest I'd ever looked in my life.

  Our entire house was occupied by the party, except for our private apartments. I could hear the murmur of the party from here, as I checked myself in the mirror for the last time. Grandpa had invited around two hundred guests. When I learned the number of guests (and the cost) of this party, I almost refused, but the invitations had been sent by then.

  As I exited my room, I saw grandpa there, waiting for me. I put my hand on his elbow and started climbing down the stairs, which was much harder than usual, with the dress being a tripping hazard. Thankfully, I had put my foot down, and my shoes were practical flats, instead of heels (grandpa would not hear about boots or moccasins, which doesn't make any sense, since nobody would see my shoes under the heavy skirt, anyway).

  "You look beautiful," grandpa said. "We should send a photo of you to your mother. I'm sure she'll like it."

  Mother had spent years trying to make me tie my hair with lace.

  "She'll love it," I grunted.

  As we arrived at the bottom of the stairs, he looked at me again.

  "Your grandma would love to see you, in her jewelry," he said. "I'm sure she would approve. Now, cheer up, I have to introduce you to my friends."

  And we came into the room, where we were met with a sea of curious but polite stares. Grandpa took me around, introducing me to everybody as his granddaughter, Miss Dana Bedwen. Conversations were polite but short; after speaking to one guest, we moved to another, making sure to talk to every guest. It was exhausting.

  After the introductions, which lasted a couple of hours, I made my way to the buffet table. Dinner was served as a buffet, with people eating standing around (although there were also tables for those who wanted to sit down). Jack was waiting for me there.

  "I knew you'd come here at some point," he said. "After your grandpa paraded you enough."

  "I'm not sure he thinks it's enough," I said, taking the plate he offered me, "but it was certainly enough for me. Now let me stuff myself before I have to talk to somebody else."

  "Sure," Jack said. He looked great in his dress uniform. He silently watched me eat, but it was a comfortable silence. It's one of the things I most like about him; he lets me be myself.

  Major Craen approached us when I was finishing the third canape.

  "I don't know why people insist on eating tiny amounts of weird food," he said, "when you could have a nice roast for much less. At least the wine is good."

  With everything going on, I hadn't tasted the wine. I barely had a sip, as grandpa swirled me to meet yet another person. I must admit, I don't remember half their names.

  I stayed quiet. I was busy, hunting for the tastiest sandwiches on the buffet table.

  "Your grandpa is looking for you," Major Craen said when I gave him no response. "I'd eat quickly if I were you."

  "No need to hurry," said grandpa's voice. I turned around. He was there, with a really wide smile on his face. "Eat as much as you want, darling. Then we need to get photographed."

  I'm not sure what kind of barrier the official announcement broke in grandpa's mind, but he always called me 'darling' or Dana now. Never the official 'Miss Bedwen' anymore. I liked calling him grandpa in public, too, and not calling him Master.

  "The photos will be published in all the magazines," Major Craen told me, to ruin my mood. "The long-lost heiress to the Bedwen fortune has called for a lot of interest."

  I almost choked on the smoked salmon sandwich I was eating. The press? I never thought of that. As Jack patted my back, giving me a glass of water, I stared accusingly at grandpa. His beatific smile stayed on his face.

  "Well, can't I announce to the country I have a granddaughter now?" he asked, innocently. "Especially such a beautiful one."

  When the butler brought the freshly ironed newspaper to the silent room, the man at the head of the table looked at the front page. The apostate was there, smiling, with the abomination.

  "To sully one of the greatest names in the Society's history!" the man to the right of the head complained.

  "That family line is extinct. Dead," said the man in the center, who seemed to be the leader. "This abomination won't change the fact. Yet another line of great light mages, ended. Such a tragedy."

  "David Bedwen is a traitor," the man on his right continued. "Bringing dirty magic into the family. We should get rid of him."

  "David Bedwen is dangerous," the leader replied. "And w
e aren't ready to deal with him. Remember what happened last time? If anything, he's richer and more experienced now. No, we don't have the resources now. Not yet."

  The men at the table stayed silent, letting their leader continue speaking.

  "What are the harms to our agents in Ashford?" the leader asked them.

  "Well," the man to his left, who had been nervously wringing his hands under the table. The leader made a note to get rid of him later. They needed people who could withstand the pressure for the Revolution. "None of the key figures were arrested. Our base, however, has been destroyed. The police dug into all the members who aren't connected."

  "Where are they now?" the leader asked.

  "Hiding," said the nervous man. "I'll contact them when things calm down. We should start evacuating them in September."

  "No," the leader said. "Don't make contact. Get rid of the ones who know too much. See how the others handle it. If they're loyal and continue the cause, make a note."

  "But..." the nervous man said, "these are our brothers. We shouldn't leave them alone."

  "They failed," the leader said. "And our Cause doesn't need losers. They'd bring their bad luck with them. It's their Destiny."

  Nobody could argue with Destiny. The table stayed silent.

  "What should we do about the mongrel, sir?" the man on his right asked.

  "Keep an eye on her," he said. "But be aware -- the traitors' servants are observing her. She knows nothing. We thought she did, but it turns out she wasn't nearly close to the truth. But keep observing -- she could get there. If you see an opening," the leader paused, looking around the table. Everybody knew what he'd say. "Get rid of them. Both the Bedwens. For as long as the Bedwens are alive, they'll be dangerous to our cause. Our mistake last time was not doing thoroughly enough."