He turned back for it and Etienne spoke again, his voice raised.
“I said the blacksmith’s son has left for Barristide.”
And then he did not just set the book in his hand down, he made sure to do it hard enough that several items on the table before him jumped.
“The blacksmith has left Urrune?” his father said, then hurried over to the table before his son and began readjusting whatever Etienne had jostled.
“No, Father ... his son. The fellow who used to borrow books from you.”
“Ah, yes,” the Alchemist said while fiddling with a mirror on a stand, “And how is he? Turned myopic perhaps?”
Etienne shrugged.
“No. I’d say the converse is more likely. He has learned to look far to the future and is convinced that his path lies to the north to Barristide, then perhaps even as far as Lutèce.”
The old man nodded, although his son had no way of knowing if he nodded over what he had just said or if it was because he had succeeded in setting the mirror to rights.
“Well, that’s the way of it, isn’t it?” He said at last, and Etienne still was not sure of which subject he spoke.
“Did he say if he enjoyed it?” the old man asked, then went quickly to yet another lens to begin the process of adjustment again.
“He did not, Father. However, he said that he read something in the book that he has mentioned to you once before. Only he seemed to think you need to hear it again because it was in the book this time and not because he heard someone else saying it.”
His father’s back was turned to him, and Etienne could not tell if he replied with a smile or not as he said, “Ah, you mean the Laminak. I’m afraid the creature spoke of many things to our Bellamere while keeping so much more to itself.”
The alchemist’s son could not think of what his father might mean. He had never heard such a word before and the sound of it made his skin crawl, much in the same way as when anyone mentioned the Black Boar.
“I don’t know, Father. He did say that he doesn’t hear voices anymore and once he had heard of your ... problem ... earlier this week, I told him that you suspect it is a fault due to the quality of light.
“So he made sure that I would repeat this phrase for you, ‘the subtle light of darkness.’ As to what that means, I haven’t the least idea.”
His father stopped moving. The hand that held the adjustment key froze, then the old man slowly stood up straight and turned around to look his son directly in the eyes.
“What did you say?”
Etienne pointed to the book before him.
“Bellamere said he read that same thing in the book you lent him and he seemed to think it was important.”
His father’s eyes went wide, and he rushed to the table and seized the book to look at its cover more closely.
“The subtle light of darkness ... ?” he murmured and Etienne understood that it was not to him that his father posed the question.
The old man had already opened the book and begun pacing around the room as he turned its pages when Etienne tried to speak to him again.
“So, is it? Do those words mean something to you, Father?”
But he recognized the stiff posture, the almost maniacal way his father’s lips moved as he read the words written on old vellum pages.
His own son had ceased to exist for him. It was nothing unusual, and Etienne made sure to close the laboratory door gently as he left.
He did not want to disturb his father while at his research.
Chapter Twelve
Once again, Etienne found himself lying awake on his own bed.
The tower was quiet, but he had no doubt that his father was still at work in his laboratory.
He turned from one side to the other and hoped that sleep would come as the glow of the day’s last light slipped into true night.
The subtle light of darkness ...
It was a phrase that came back and back like an unwanted memory he could not forget. It was an itch he could not scratch, and not just because of the way he had seen his father react once he had heard it for himself. For there were other words from someone else’s lips, a someone who had become so very dear to him, yet all of it seemed somehow perfectly related even if he could not have said how or why.
... you and your father have in your possession an object of extraordinary power ... a talisman that will be mankind's only hope against the threat to come.
Etienne turned again from one side to the other, then rose up to sit on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands.
... an object of extraordinary power ...
With a sigh, the alchemist’s son got to his feet and dressed himself. Then, almost as an afterthought, he pinched the flesh of his forearm hard enough to make the breath hiss between his teeth.
“I do not dream,” he said, and the sound of his voice was clear and steady.
He opened his door and made his way down to ground level, took his tunic from the hook beside the door, and stepped outside.
There was no moon this night and instead of searching for Myri as he had done in his dreams, Etienne cast about him, looking down at the stones scattered about upon the cobblestones.
Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he walked slowly around the grounds waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness of the nighttime world.
He continued round the tower until he came to where he had left his tools earlier that day.
After Bellamere’s visit, Etienne had lacked the courage necessary to continue his work. Suddenly, it had all seemed so useless and nothing more than a way to use up the time between him and the next occasion he would have to see Myri.
He threaded his way among the stones, never stumbling because even if they were scattered about, they had been that way for years and Etienne knew where his path as well as he knew his own pockets.
He cast about, scanning the ground, and as to what he searched for even he could not have said.
But when he saw it, he was as utterly stunned as if he had come upon a dragon, or perhaps a boar black as coal with a heart as dark as legend made it out to be.
Etienne had posed his largest hammer on the ground, leaning its handle against the very stone that still resisted him. He had thought to wait for his strength to return before making another attempt.
However, all thought of the hammer and what he wanted to do with it was wiped away as Etienne peered down at the one stone among them all that glowed.
Rather, the soft light that seemed to shine so brightly under dark skies bled out along a fine, jagged line that had been completely invisible in the light of day.
Etienne dropped to one knee before it and pulled the hammer away so that he could see the thing better.
He understood then that the very day and with the very first stroke of the new hammer against stone, he had cracked his target without knowing it.
He stretched out his hand slowly and touched the stone where it was still intact. It was cool and rough, just as one would expect.
Then he drew a finger to the thin line of light slipping through the cracked surface and what he felt was warm and inviting.
Suddenly, without warning, there was a burst of color and light that forced his eyes to slits, and then came a hammer stroke of emotions that did not belong to him.
He could not stop the tears that sprang from his eyes as he felt joy and adoration more powerful than humanly possible. His own memories of Myri and her beautiful blue eyes leaped in recognition of the message the stone sent, then all of the warmth and delight so acute that it bordered upon rapture flowed away as do the waves upon the sea. And just as quickly, agony and terrible loss broke over him and left him helpless before ancient memories of an unnamed tragedy.
A despair so deep, so devastating, speared Etienne through and through. The alchemist’s son knew his heart was about to break and that he would die before he could draw his next breath.
Then the rush of intense feelings disappeared as
quickly as it had come, flowing back and away from him, and Etienne’s night vision returned.
His entire body shook with the power of what he had just experienced. Then a deep calm swept over him and with it, the comprehension of what he must do next.
Without understanding how he could know such a thing, Etienne took a deep breath then brought both his hands to the stone and, with the fissure running between his palms, he pulled.
The stone broke into two halves like the husk of an ancient fruit, and what lay in its center was an oval of crystal that glowed softly, pulsing gently. Pulsing like the heart of a goddess.
Etienne hesitated, fearing the rush of unbearable emotions to come, but he knew there was no other way. He reached for it with both his hands for it was the size of two fists.
He felt the warmth once more, only stronger. There was a flicker of something that felt like recognition, then it was gone again and he let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding.
The alchemist’s son got to his feet with his prize held in his hands and had just one thought in mind.
This was something more incredible and so utterly unexpected that it surpassed all his hopes to find one last heartstone.
He could only imagine what his father would think, and he rushed to go back the way he had come for the dark abyss overhead had yielded something extraordinary and its light was subtle indeed.
The stairs flew under his feet as he raced up them. Etienne scarcely noticed how his heart pounded when he arrived before his father’s laboratory door. A slip of light gleamed under it and he did not bother to knock, for he knew he would find his father within, either working by candlelight, or as was more and more often the case, slumped and snoring over indecipherable calculations scrawled upon a slate.
But this time his father neither worked nor did he sleep. Instead, he sat at a long table and held one of his smaller lenses before him. He peered through it at the book Bellamere had returned that afternoon.
Etienne saw how old his father looked in that moment. His back was bent as he turned one page after another. His was an old man's back and soon the day would come when he would no longer stand as straight as he did now.
Then, the day would come when he would no longer care to stand at all. Perhaps, though, the object smothered in Etienne's tunic could change all that.
“Father! Bellamere is a ... “ he started to say.
His father looked sharply up at him and said, “... a genius. Yes, I know.”
“No. You don't,” Etienne said, his eyes fierce.
“He gave me the clue without knowing, I suppose. But 'the subtle light of darkness' made me think I should look at something, but at an hour I had never thought to look before ... “ and with a flourish, he tore his cloak away from what he held in his hands and said, “And this is the result.”
His face was lit from below as the object's light lifted up once more in gentle tones and Etienne's own eyes fairly gleamed.
“Do you see, Father? This is a subtle light, is it not? I thought a stone might contain the last of the heartstones, but instead, I discovered the means to opening it at last and it was not with the might of my hammer, but with darkness as my guide that I found this hidden jewel.”
The Alchemist nodded, his own eyes softening as he took in the sight of Etienne, intense and dramatic, holding the glowing object in his hands.
“Yes, Etienne, my good son. I see. And, thanks to our friend, Bellamere, I know what this thing is and that it will be of no use in our current need.”
“I don't understand. Surely this is a means to some kind of power. I mean, I've heard it from someone that this could be a talisman of great potency.”
“You have not heard wrong, son. But it is a power that does not figure in the texts of our forefathers. Doubtless, one day it will yield enormous possibilities, but it will take many years of study, I'm afraid.”
Etienne's face fell. Of all the wonders he might have brought his father, like no other heartstone he had ever brought him, he thought this object of light under dark skies would have been reason for his father's pleasure.
“On the other hand, the smith's son has shown me the way after I thought to show him the door the last time I had seen him.”
Etienne shook his head.
“I don't understand.”
“Nor did I. Not until now. The problem has always been how to purify and tame the power of light so that its focus would be perfect. I followed in the footsteps of my elders, who used the distillation of various minerals into oils, which were then heated until separated by the height of our tower. These in turn became the filtres through which I purposed to focus and pass light such as through a prism, but with some colors, or qualities, diminished and others removed altogether.
“All of it with the intention of controlling the power of light, to be able to bridle its power without dampening it. Otherwise, it becomes a wild, uncontrollable force and of no use to my purposes.”
He dropped his gaze from Etienne’s eyes down to the shining object that resembled a jewel, but one which had not known the hand of man in its shaping for its form was none other than a teardrop.
“This ... this wondrous thing is just like that, my son. It has no relevance in what I attempt to do.”
Etienne backed away from his father. He had done his best and it had not been enough.
“Let us take it to the vaults,” his father said, “There it will wait for us in safety and for the research to come at our leisure, for I have found the key to the puzzle and success is so very close now.”
The two men descended the long flight of stairs to the ground level.
The Alchemist took out a key and opened a door that did not lead outside, revealing instead yet another flight of steps leading below.
Etienne followed his father down to the cellars beneath the tower, along long corridors that sloped ever down, twisting and turning as they went.
The two went further than they had ever bothered to go before when they brought the heartstone jewels to the cellars for safekeeping. They had gone well past the great furnaces capped in enormous alambics that his father used in his experiments.
On and on they went until Etienne wondered if they would lose their way back up, or perhaps risk placing the jewel somewhere that they would never find again.
It was as if his father read his mind.
“Not to worry,” he said as they came at last to a great door that opened without a sound under his hand, “I will remember where it is and, after all, it shall only be for a few days before I come back to retrieve it.”
Etienne sighed.
“Are you so sure of your success this time, Father?”
“I am. There can be no more doubt,” he said as he stepped within the chamber. Its ceiling was high and the space within far larger than one might have guessed for such a place so deep under the tower.
The Alchemist set it upon a carved stone shelf. The talisman was covered anew in Etienne’s cloak, its light hidden, and in silent agreement, the two men left it that way.
The door shut smoothly behind them and Etienne felt the same sense of finality he always felt in that place, the intimation that no one but a man bearing the St. Lucq name could open that door again.
The two of them made the long ascent up from the cellars, and the symbol of an old man who continued steadily upward while his son stayed behind was not lost on Etienne.
But the hour was late and when dawn came at last, he planned to seek out Myri without delay. Whether he would tell her about what he had found, Etienne had not yet decided. All that he was sure of was that he could not spend another day without setting his eyes upon her own, nor without the touch of her soft lips upon his.
Perhaps, in the sum of all things, that was the only truth that mattered.
Perhaps it is enough, he thought as he opened his chamber door and lay down upon his bed.
Sleep did not elude him this time, but it did not linger for very long
.
A giant hammered upon a war drum.
Boom, boom ... boom!
His enormous legs stomped down to shake the world and Etienne felt the tower sway as the giant came to tear it to the ground.
And then he was up and bursting out his chamber door, ready to fly to his father’s laboratory for he knew there was no such thing as giants, but the hollow sounds of an explosion still echoed in his ears.
This was no dream.
He ran up the flight of stairs and practically bowled his father over as he rounded the first bend.
“No, son,” the old man said, breathless, “It came from below.”
Then they both descended as rapidly as they could, Etienne in the lead, his father not far behind.
What they found was utter devastation.
The ground level chamber was filled with dust in the air, so thick it obscured almost everything. Bits of stone were still falling from overhead and the tower continued to shiver with the shock of what had just happened.
Father and son coughed as they felt their way forward, until at last, Etienne reached back to his father and clutched his arm.
“Here, Father. This is what we heard.”
Both gaped at a crevasse in the floor before them. It yawned wide there where the tower stairs led down to the cellars below, only now the opening had been blown out wide enough to drive a team of horses through it. The heavy stone door that blocked the next level down was also broken and lying in pieces, its frame wrenched away in twisted fragments of old iron.
“By all the gods,” his father said under his breath, “What kind of power could do such a thing?”
Etienne shook his head. It was unimaginable. No thief had ever been able to penetrate into the stronghold of the tower.
Their ancestors had made sure of it and it was the one truth that neither of the men had ever questioned.
“I think I know, Father. This has the stink of magic about it.”
His father did not reply for a moment and when he did, Etienne was chilled to the bone.
“Your prize has been taken, son. Whatever it is, someone more powerful than all of the St. Lucq lineage has decided to claim it for their own.”
The Marechal Chronicles: Volume V, The Tower of the Alchemist Page 12