Iris patted her black horse, and tightened the bridles. “A new name for a new start.”
“I like it.”
Iris walked to the middle of the dusty road and looked to the purple sky. “The air is changing so quickly. Another snowstorm is coming.”
“We’ll be fine.”
Tiberius and Iris walked down the empty Main Street. Souls Well already reeked of abandonment.
“This place has become a ghost town even before the living disappeared,” Iris said.
“I know.”
“Why are you staying then?”
“My place is here.”
Iris stopped and faced him.
“Your place is anywhere you choose, Tiberius.”
Tiberius had never thought of leaving until she said those words. Iris could show him the wonders of the world. She was everything that Souls Well could never be. She was a way out.
“I feel like we’ve bonded,” she continued. “The elements flow around you, they call your name. You’re powerful, but contained. You could master alchemy better than Maxwell ever could.”
“Without bothering the dead, you mean.”
“Precisely. Alchemy is an art of balance. Balance is already how you measure the world.”
Tiberius held Iris and brought her close. What would happen if he kissed her, just once? What would await him if he pulled her long black hair away from her face and whispered “yes”?
Tiberius pictured the eyes of every person who’d come to him for reassurance that very morning. He thought of the deep, cutting sorrow in Doc Tucker’s voice when they’d spoken last.
Tiberius broke his embrace. “One day I’ll leave. But not today.”
They walked side by side in silence. Maybe Iris was disappointed, maybe not., but Tiberius knew he’d made the right choice, even if it felt wrong now.
Iris’ horse welcomed them back with a friendly neigh. Tiberius helped her climb onto the driver’s seat. Iris would travel into the firmament, like a night queen on her magic chariot.
“Souls Well is lucky to have you, Sheriff Tibbetts.”
Tiberius tapped the brim of his hat. Iris picked up something from her pocket and threw it to him. It was a pendant, a glass cylinder filled with gray, sparkling dust, attached to a beautiful silver chain.
“The remnants of Souls Well’s silver mine. Keep it close as a reminder of the power that lays under your feet.”
Iris took the reins. Her horse trotted without any further direction. The wagon swayed down the road until there was nothing left but a cloud of dust. Tiberius had wished that wagon away from his town for days. Funny enough, now he hoped it would come back.
Tiberius wore the pendant around his neck and under his shirt. It was cold. Neither Iris or he had said goodbye. It would’ve been wrong. He was sure they’d cross paths again, sooner or later.
The sun set over Souls Well. Tiberius watched it from up the cemetery’s hill, under the lonely oak. Snow fell from the darkening sky. Soon, the days would be shorter, colder, and more somber, but as long as Tiberius was still standing, he’d keep his town safe.
And whatever came next, no matter how extraordinary, he’d be ready.
EPILOGUE
The wagon crackled down the rocky pathway down the mountains. She’d left Souls Well, and all the madness that had clouded her mind, behind. Now she’d embrace who she was and nurture her ancient craft.
Iris thought about Tiberius. His sense of duty made him both strong and defenseless. He could be so much more, but was attached to that forsaken, crumbling town. He’d made his choice, though. It was time for Iris to make hers. For the first time in her life, she treasured being alone.
The horse slowed down, letting Iris know he needed to rest. Iris drove the wagon to a grassy area below some pine trees, untied him, and patted his strong neck. She left him grazing on the grass and took a walk among the trees, collecting their sap. The blood of the trees always came in handy. They represented alchemy to its most refined, ever-changing foundation.
When she got back, all of the cabinets inside her wagon were wide open, and her boxes and bottles lay on the floor in complete disarray. A trail of silver and blood on the wooden floor led her gaze toward the back of the truck. There, leaning against the side of his old cot, was her former partner and lover, Maxwell Donahue, his face swollen and torn, hanging from his right cheek.
“Where is it?” His voice was scratchy and hissing.
“I should’ve known your death was too good to be true.”
“Where is it?” he insisted.
Iris sat cross-legged on the floor, meeting his gaze.
“Where is what, Maxwell?”
Maxwell coughed and silver flew from his lips.
“The antidote.”
“How would I know? You invented that poison, not me.”
“Stop playing games, Iris. I know you healed that damned sheriff.”
“That was a lucky guess. I don’t know if I can remember the recipe. You brought this on yourself, Maxwell. Accept the consequences.”
Maxwell placed his hands on his stomach and retched. He vomited a mix of blood, silver and bile.
“I’m dying, Iris.”
Iris was unmoved. “I see that.”
“You don’t care.”
“You wanted me dead first, remember?”
“I—I’m sorry. I learned my lesson. We can start over, make things as they were when we first met.”
“The thing is, Maxwell,” Iris sighed and stood up. She picked a small leather pouch from the floor. “I believe meeting you was the worst thing that ever happened to me.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Iris put her bottles and flasks back in their boxes and tidied the cabinets. She swept the broken glass aside, then poured some water in a beaker. She placed the beaker on a small stove, and a black stone under it. She poured a few drops of a bright green concoction on the stone and it started glowing red like an ember.
“What I want to know, Maxwell, is why you never respected me or this craft.”
“I did. I still do.”
On the verge of death, and still he lied. Iris said no more. Maxwell twisted in pain. More silver poured off his deadly wounds.
The water in the beaker boiled. Iris opened the leather pouch and threw its content inside. The water bubbled and changed color to a deep blue. Iris moved the hot, black, stone away. When the liquid settled, she poured it into a glass and offered it to Maxwell.
“Are you sure it will work?” he asked with childish expectation.
“It’ll help with the pain. That’s all I can do for you. It’s already more than you deserve.”
Maxwell slapped the glass from her hand. It crashed to the floor.
“You’re just like me! Incapable of mercy!” Maxwell yelled.
“Oh, I’m nothing like you. Make no mistake, Maxwell. I could start raising people from their graves in a heartbeat. Did you really think you were the first alchemist in history to achieve it? They all payed the price. And now, so will you.”
Maxwell made a strange sound between a burst a laughter and a dry, unpleasant cough.
“Enjoy it while it lasts, my dear. Soon enough there will be more competition than you could’ve ever imagined.”
“You’re in no position to threaten me, Maxwell.”
“Your grandmother’s journal. You should’ve been more careful with your secrets. I copied every page and sold them to people all over the West. It turned out to be more profitable than selling those silly tonics.”
Iris shook her head. So much stupidity and recklessness. “You don’t know what you’ve done.”
“So selfish. Unlike you, I was willing to share our craft with the world.”
Iris’ grandmother had gathered the knowledge of generations of alchemists. She’d noted years of study and careful experimentation. In the hands of an expert, that journal would shine with secret power. In the hands of an amateur, the results would be catastrophi
c. Iris didn’t enjoy either outcome.
The elements were already in turmoil; Iris had suspected it since they discovered Soul Wells’ silver and its miraculous properties. Alchemists had turned things into what they weren’t supposed to be for centuries. Now the earth itself was rebelling. The last thing the world needed was more people like Maxwell Donahue, with arcane power at their fingertips and no self-control. Iris would have to track down every single copy of the journal before it was too late.
“You’re no better than me if you let me die,” Maxwell said.
Iris packed some of her bottles and boxes in a leather bag. Anything that was easy to replace, she left behind.
“Goodbye, Maxwell.”
She exited the wagon. Maxwell screamed all sorts of insults. Most of them got lost in his deathly coughs. Iris saddled her horse.
“Let’s go,” she whispered in the black stallion’s ear.
Iris rode, like the evening wind, into the twilight.
THANKS FOR READING!
As an independent author, it’s you, the reader, who helps me grow and keep on publishing. If you enjoyed Silver & Bone, I’d really appreciate it if you left an honest review. You can do it here:
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This is just the beginning of the American Alchemy world. Sheriff Tibbetts will be back soon and I hope you’ll come along for the ride!
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-Oliver
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Oliver Altair is a storyteller that dives into the beauty of the bizarre. In his books, he mixes historical set-ups with the realm of myth and legends. Highly influenced by classic science fiction and fantasy, and the stories in the golden era of Pulp magazines, Oliver loves exploring all sorts of uncanny possibilities.
His first book series "American Alchemy: Wild West", poses an enigmatic question: what if the American epic was forged by the mystical hands of the alchemists? Oliver lives between the United States and Europe and loves to travel.
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Table of Contents
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX
X
XI
XII
XIII
XIV
XV
XVI
XVII
XVIII
XIX
XX
XXI
XXII
XXIII
XXIV
XXV
XXVI
XXVII
XXVIII
XXIX
XXX
XXXI
XXXII
XXXIII
Epilogue
Thanks for reading!
What really happened at the silver mine?
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Silver & Bone (American Alchemy - Wild West Book 1) Page 16