“This impurity ... it is a complication of the body’s essential truth. Innocence, youth, these are the provenance of healing and growth. These are the reasons that a wound will heal and quickly fade to almost nothing when we are young, while the same will stay inflamed like a weal upon the body of an old man such as mine. Thus, this impurity interferes with healing and renewal.
“So, the next interrogation goes to how to remove this impurity. This is where I found the old texts running in synchronous lines of logic with my theory. One must drive the impurity out with the most powerful of all forces, that power which penetrates all things.
“One must master light itself.”
He paused then, at last, and Etienne frowned at what he had heard.
“Light? How can this be?”
He shook his head and continued without waiting for his father’s answer.
“Certainly it is a force to be reckoned with. Without it, forests would not exist, nor crops in the fields. But there is nothing easier in the world than to blot it out. A simple curtain of dark cloth hung over a window in mourning and this force you speak of is banished.”
His father smiled.
“Exactly, Etienne. You have hit upon it perfectly. The irony of a thing with such power while being vulnerable to something so vulgar and crude as rough cloth.
“It requires subtlety, my boy. And the subtle light we shall tame and separate for our uses does not belong to the day.
“This night we will harness the light of the stars.”
***
They had spoken long afterward about many things. Much of it to do with the alchemist’s studies ... some part of it to do with what would come after. And neither of them spoke further of the subject at hand, choosing, rather, to skirt the events to come as if not evoking them would chase away the ever present specter of another failure.
The Alchemist proposed that they would journey to Barristide to visit with Bellamere, to assure themselves that he fared well and to aid him, with coin if necessary, if he did not.
Etienne grinned at that. He did not know if he would see Myri again, and it hurt him more than he was prepared to admit. But the thought of seeing his friend again helped to ease the ache he felt in his chest, the hurt that surged with each beat of his heart when he thought of the woman he had named thief on more than one occasion.
And if the truth was that she had not, in fact, stolen the talisman, then another truth remained that he could not deny. She had stolen his heart.
Time passed more quickly than either of them expected, and soon they found themselves dining together for the first time in a very long while. The sky grew darker and both men’s hearts beat a little more quickly as each minute slipped from the present to the past and carried them inexorably forward.
“Why not lie down for a moment, Etienne?” the Alchemist said, “I see that whatever, or whoever, you found and did not find in this morning’s hunt still weighs upon you, both in spirit and body.”
Etienne sighed.
“I do not deny it. If you are sure, then yes, a little sleep beforehand might be of an aid to both of us.”
His father nodded as he stood up, only to find himself swaying upon his feet.
Etienne realized that he could not remember ever feeling more tired in all his life.
“That’s it, my boy,” his father said, “Off for a few winks while we wait for the night to turn over to its fullest. I shall wake you when the time comes.”
Etienne said nothing in reply. He simply walked away from the dinner table and forced his heavy legs to carry him up and away, trying not to stumble as he went.
Chapter Sixteen
It was like the dream he had dreamed before. That was how he recognized it for what it was. But what unfolded before his closed eyes while he lay sleeping in his bedchamber left Etienne staggered.
Night surrounded him and dark trees heavy in shadow lay before him. And in that darkness, he watched as Myri slipped free from shadows that clung to her as thick as cobwebs, reluctant to let her break free.
Her bright gaze flashed in his direction, and even as Etienne saw the smile she smiled for him, he strained to move, to say words of warning that would not come.
She only had eyes for him, and thus she was blind to what followed in her wake.
But Etienne saw it and knew that it would devour the woman he loved.
It was almost as dark as the night, but its color was rooted in deep greens and browns. It stretched out a great diamond-shaped head and revealed itself to be a serpent whose maw opened to gape wide. Within were countless jagged teeth that would have been as fine as needles in an ordinary snake’s mouth.
But this was no normal beast, the span of its jaws easily as wide as Myri was tall. And still she did not hear the ghastly thing slithering after her at a speed that would quickly overtake her.
Those ragged teeth grew larger in Etienne’s vision. Myri grew smaller and he opened his own mouth, straining with all his might to say something, anything, that would turn her around to face the danger trailing after her.
Etienne was powerless as she smiled at him, and as the monster reared up upon the coils of its body, he could do nothing to save her. Nothing.
“Son, the time has come. We must move quickly now.”
Etienne startled and took a deep, shuddering breath. Then he opened his eyes to see the room resolving itself around him and, with it, the face of his father as he bent over him, a burning candle shielded in his hands.
“Yes,” he croaked as he blinked his eyes, then shook his head while wishing very much he could chase away the images of his beloved about to be devoured by a monster.
He cleared his throat and looked his father in his eyes.
“I’m ready.”
***
He followed after his father.
They marched steadily upward to the laboratory, and Etienne asked himself if it would be for the last time. If it would not all go terribly wrong when he knew there was no reason to think so.
He had promised his father that he would aid him. His father had prepared for this moment with years upon years of careful research.
He must place his faith in that and trust that all would go well.
And as they came to the laboratory at last and stepped through its doorway, Etienne could not chase away the image still burning in his mind’s eye. His beloved Myri and the serpent about to destroy her.
And he thought he knew the beast in that image. He felt sure that he should have been able to name it and then possess the power to render it impuissant. Somehow, he felt if he could just name the thing, then he could banish it forever more.
Yet try as he might, it escaped him and the nagging worry in the back of his mind would not be silenced.
“We must move lively now, Etienne,” his father said, “Quickly but surely, otherwise the time it would take to set things to rights will spoil this night’s attempt, and such ideal conditions might not present themselves again for quite some time.”
Etienne understood.
The two of them moved across the room, gently pulling away the velour coverlets from each apparatus as they went.
Neither of them made a mistake so that in short order, all the instruments were unveiled and their carefully adjusted positions intact to the very last one.
“And now, Father?”
Etienne watched as his father smiled wide then pointed up with a single finger.
“And now to the roof we shall go,” the old man said, pleasure clear in his voice that he had withheld at least one last surprise for his son.
Etienne had not noticed it until then, but when he followed his father’s eyes, he saw a ladder leaning in one corner.
Neither of them had reason to go to the tower top often. The edifice was crowned in a crenellated turret made of cut stone so tightly fitted together that one had to bend a knee and study it closely in order to make out the joint lines.
Many years ago, the two of them had
spoken of having a pointed roof built over it, but the truth was that the ancient craftsmanship that had gone into its making meant that it never leaked in even the worst and seemingly endless tempest.
Etienne had argued that it would make the tower a little less foreboding in appearance and secretly hoped that his father might allow him to fly a bright banner from a vane atop the pointed roof.
But he had been a young man, a child ... if he was honest about it ... and the idea had been set aside like so many things over the years.
Doubtless, a foreboding tower suited the Alchemist just as well, for then he was less likely to be disturbed by anyone other than those with actual tower business, which was rarely the case to say the least.
Etienne moved quickly and set the ladder fully upright into a pair of incised holes in the floor while leaning it against the only opening in the otherwise unbroken ceiling.
“Me first?” he asked, then started up without waiting for his father to reply.
He climbed up several rungs, then set his shoulder against the heavy trapdoor that barred the way through the ceiling.
Its cross-bolted lock was not closed. It never was, for neither of them ever saw any reason for it.
Etienne expected its hinges to screech with rust and disuse as the trapdoor lifted, but instead it surprised him and remained perfectly silent.
The reason why became instantly clear to him as he poked his head through the opening.
Someone had been through that opening recently. Someone had been hard at work at something quite amazing, and the oiling of rusted hinges at that someone's passage had been a trifling thing in comparison.
A lens far larger than anything Etienne had seen his father produce was set in an enormous ring of yellow metal that held it perfectly horizontal overhead.
Etienne climbed the rest of the way up and glanced down to see his father making his steady way up after him.
He shook his head.
He knew his father to be an extraordinarily obstinate man, but this drifted over the borders of the unbelievable and squarely into the lands of the impossible.
“How did you manage this?” he breathed as he leaned back, trying to take it all in at once.
Etienne felt his father's presence at his side and heard him breathe a satisfied sigh.
“Wondrous, is it not?” the old man said.
“Yes, but how was it done?”
His father chuckled.
“Well, it's not as if I carried it up here in one piece, you know.
“It took me quite a while, but its crafting was in situ, and once the loupe of gold was cast and set, I merely required a gentle crosswind and a brazier of hot coals underneath to lift the liquid concentration up. A harmonic struck upon a fork of silver lent it enough symmetry for the briefest of instants, then a simple crystal seed did all the rest, freezing the whole into place to make world's largest, most perfect lens.”
“But why?” Etienne breathed as he turned on his heel, trying to take in the entire thing at once.
“Because the light we require shall focus here.”
The Alchemist pointed to the floor directly beneath the lens's center. Etienne saw nothing but a velour cloth on the floor like those they had just removed from the various devices under their feet.
“Underneath this last coverlet lies a mirror of multiple facets,” his father said, “At the right moment, it will be unveiled to capture the light from the lens overhead in its polished planes.
“These, in turn, shall split the beam into several angled divisions that will intersect with each of the mirrors set in the windows of the room below us.
“Thus the light of stars will be brought to the latticework of lenses and mirrors within my atelier, and there we will see what we shall see.”
The Alchemist made it all sound so simple. It was if he had not spent so many years of his life to arrive at this precise moment and more as if he were giving simple directions as to how to bake a fruit pie.
Of course, Etienne knew better. All that his father had done was about to come to culmination.
He wished he felt as certain for what they were about to do, that he possessed even half of the confidence he heard in his father's voice.
“Not to worry, my boy. I shall go back down and you are to stay here until I give you the signal to unveil the mirror.
“Once done, you have only to descend and watch as the procedure runs its course.”
Etienne nodded, then a rush of words ran over his better judgment and his desperate desire to believe that his father knew exactly what he was doing.
“But why you, Father? I can do it. I am younger and stronger. Surely it should be me for the first trial because if things go awry, I might resist whatever danger is imposed better than you.”
His father’s face drew down in honest sincerity as he answered him.
“My son, your willingness to take my place is a noble sentiment, and I thank you for it.
“But no. I shall be the one to bear the brunt of this attempt. You and I both know that my life has nigh run its course, while you still have so much to look forward to.”
The Alchemist paused then. His face grew drawn and the excitement that had illuminated his features this night dimmed, making him look older than his years.
“But should it go wrong,” he said, his voice quiet, “... then please, try to remember the good between us. Think of those moments and shrug off this mantle of bitterness you have so affectioned until now.
“And if ever one day you decide that all you believed was inverted and the supposed wisdom of years reveals this in another way, another doubtful light ... if that day should come, then I tell you now that no, the fault was mine.”
Etienne shook his head.
“Father, I don’t understand.”
“Ah, then, that is good. My fondest desire is that you never do.”
The old man brightened then as excitement came back to make his words quick and light.
“Now enough with this foolishness. The time has come, and I do not believe I go willingly to my death. All of my calculations, all of my research, all of my life has led me to this and it is with a glad heart I take the last step and do not doubt I shall emerge from it with death forever removed from my path.
“Then I will have all the time I need to learn how to be a good father to my good son.”
The Alchemist strode quickly to the opening through which one could see the last rung of the ladder poking up. Old age did not appear to work against him as he lowered himself down the ladder, only to pop back up just as quickly.
“Besides,” and his father winked at him, “ If you are to be the first and the procedure does not go as planned, whom shall I call to pull you back in after being blown out the window?”
Etienne blinked back the heat that rose in his eyes then. They fairly stung, yet, and as always, some doubt nagged at him. There was some essential truth, as his father so loved to put it, that still eluded them both.
“So what must I do?”
“You have but to wait, my son. When I call out, lift the cloth from the mirror on the floor then come downstairs to watch as alchemy masters the natural world.”
His father disappeared from view once more.
Etienne waited ... but not for very long.
Chapter Seventeen
The son of the Alchemist had gone to the edge of the parapet to look down at the darkened world below.
He imagined the great beast that had come to plunder the treasure that had been hidden in sight of anyone and everyone ... yet no one had even suspected its existence until events had taken on a momentum with equally unexpected results.
And through it all, Etienne had discovered a marvelous woman who had taught him to believe in the wonders of the world. Only it appeared that he had lost her due to his own doubts about her true motivations.
He knew he had been a fool. Myri now chased after a creature that she could not hope to master, not if what her mother
had told him was true.
Yet she did it anyway for she would not have Etienne believe her to be a thief or that she was complicit in the theft of the stone.
He thought again of the dream where a monstrous serpent had been about to devour his beautiful Myri. The image of that other beast filled him with dread, and he found himself clutching the low stone wall before him with such force that if there had been enough light, he would have seen white knuckles crowning his trembling hands.
With fear ...? Perhaps. With doubt ...? Absolutely.
Doubt that he would never see her again ... doubt that all of it was about to go so very wrong.
Etienne promised himself then that when this night's doings were done, he would leave to search for Myri and he would not rest until he had found her, no matter how long it would take him.
He must tell her that he had learned the truth. He knew she had not stolen the talisman. He knew also that there was something far more important he must tell her.
Something that required but three short words, yet those three words would carry more weight, more sincerity, than anything he had been moved to say during his entire life.
He strained to see in that dark place, telling himself that maybe she would come to him after all. Perhaps if he wished for it more than anything, she would come.
Then he shook his head.
That kind of thinking was only more foolishness, of the same sort as his childhood idea of building a roof over the tower so that it would not appear so sinister ... so that folk might come to visit and maybe even make friends with the lonely boy who lived there with his father, the Alchemist of Urrune.
Etienne smiled a grim smile in the darkness.
If a roof had been built then, what they did this night would not be impossible. Perhaps his childish wish had held more wisdom than either he or his father had ever suspected.
The Marechal Chronicles: Volume V, The Tower of the Alchemist Page 15