The Alchemist's Touch

by Garrett Robinson

  Kalem slowly nodded. “It was. There is an entire section of the blue book that speaks of it. You will read it before long, if you have not already. That is one of the reasons I am sure the book is forbidden.”

  “But if you learned this in the book, what of Theren? Surely she has not read the same words.”

  “She has not. But every student in the Academy knows of the magestones. This is a strictly forbidden topic, so of course everyone whispers. But if an instructor ever learns of these discussions, punishments are severe. Some students have been expelled.”

  “Just for speaking of it? That seems unfair.”

  “It may be, but then again, who wishes for students to graduate the Academy seeking magestones to enhance their power? And the Academy’s punishment may be considered light. If a wizard, having graduated, is found to have consumed magestones, the penalty is an immediate and messy death.”

  “I shall remember that.” Ebon swallowed. “Where would you find magestones, if you wished to?”

  Kalem’s face went bone-white. “Ebon! After hearing my words, how can you ask that question?”

  “I do not mean to go and secure some right this moment—or ever,” said Ebon, frowning. “I only wonder: if they are forbidden by the Academy, and outside the King’s law, then how do they even exist? They must come from somewhere—why does the King not track down the source, and wipe it out?”

  “I do not know. The last I checked, neither of us were King’s lawmen, nor seated at her councils.”

  Ebon smirked. “A fair point, I suppose, though wryly made. Very well. I still have a great deal of reading to do, and you have kept me at this discussion overlong.”

  “Do not let me stop you.” Kalem selected a book from their table and leaned back, waving a hand. “Go on about your business.”

  Ebon shook his head with a smile, and rose to walk among the bookshelves. He was looking for a new tome, the biography of an ancient king of Calentin who many said was responsible for raising it to its present heights of culture and power. Soon he was lost among the shelves, peering at spines in the dim light, here where the lanterns were ill-tended.

  “What a good little goldbag you have turned out to be.”

  The words nearly made Ebon leave his skin. He recognized Mako’s voice, and ground his teeth together. When he turned, he found the man leaning against a shelf, just as he had been the last time, holding a book. Ebon knew without looking that it was the very book he had been seeking.

  “What are you doing back here?” Ebon hissed. “You must leave, before the instructors see you prowling about.”

  “Why should they eject me? Former students are welcome to return at any time, if they seek some ancient wisdom in the library’s vast wealth.”

  Ebon glared at Mako. “You are neither student nor wizard.”

  “Are you so certain?”

  A shudder rippled through Ebon. What did he know of Mako? No, he had never seen the man cast a spell. But what of that? Only an overly boastful wizard would go about casting spells at the drop of a hat without need. Mako was many things—unnerving, overly friendly, and mayhap cruel—but he rarely boasted.

  Mako was looking into his eyes now, and smiled at what he saw. “Good, little goldbag. You are learning caution. Remember that our second thoughts are often wiser than our first, and the third wisest of all. The fourth bring only inaction.”

  Ebon shook his head, feeling as though he was clearing the cobwebs. “Enough riddles. What do you want, Mako?”

  “I wished only to congratulate you on the excellent service you rendered your father.”

  “Thank you. It was my pleasure to aid him.”

  “Yet you made a grave error. You brought your little mindmage lover for company.”

  Ebon gawked, his mouth working as he struggled for words. He wanted to protest that he and Theren were anything but lovers; but more than that, he was suddenly terrified for her. He might manage to convince Mako they were only friends, or he might not—but what did that matter? The bodyguard did not care if they were bedmates. He cared only that Theren had accompanied him to the inn, and seen the parcel delivered.

  Mako’s grin widened. “Fear not, little goldbag. I mean your mindmage no harm, and have not brought word to your father.”

  Ebon sagged against the shelf. “Then why make mention?”

  “So that you know to never do it again. I will keep only so many secrets for you, little goldbag. If one of your little friends should accompany you again, they may find themselves drinking deep of the Great Bay’s waters, and making a house of their own in its depths.”

  Ebon spoke through desert sand. “You mean to say, then, that my father will require more favors?”

  “Dear, dear boy. Did you ever doubt it?”

  “What was in the parcel?”

  “You know better than to ask. You are happier without that knowledge; therefore remain ignorant. And the next time your father barks, and you jump to obey, leave your friends at home.”

  “I shall remember.”

  “Good. Now return to your reading.” Mako threw the book at him. Startled, Ebon barely caught it. When he looked up, the bodyguard had vanished.

  Fear had seized Ebon’s limbs, and he found it hard to meet Kalem waiting at the table. Now he knew what he had already thought: Mako and his father were not finished with him yet. Worse, he could no longer confide in Theren or Kalem, and would now have to keep the truth from his new friends. They might try to interfere; at least Kalem would, and Theren might involve herself out of curiosity. That could spell their deaths.

  Miserable and alone, Ebon left the bookshelves and made for the table.

  nineteen

  KALEM SEEMED TO SENSE THAT something was wrong, for he asked Ebon many times that day what was troubling him. Ebon merely shook his head in denial, and after a while Kalem stopped asking. But he looked often at Ebon, brow furrowed in deep thought, and spent too long reading his pages.

  After the day’s studies, Theren met them in the hallways. “A fine day I have had,” she declared. “Fine enough for celebration. What say the two of you to a night of drinks? I promise not to make you regret this one, little goldbag.” She reached out and ruffled Kalem’s hair.

  He grinned, but Ebon’s mood was still dark. “I have no cause to celebrate, myself. I think I shall remain here.”

  “No cause? Then come and drink until you find one. Dear Ebon, you are far too dour, and have been ever since last night. Together we can banish the dark thoughts that plague you. Tell him, Kalem.”

  Kalem looked at Ebon doubtfully and shrugged. “She might be right—it may improve your mood. Solutions are easier to find when sought by an easy mind, my instructor always says.”

  “That has the sound of fool’s wisdom,” Ebon grumbled. “But if the two of you insist, then I shall come.”

  “Excellent,” said Theren, clapping her hands. “For in truth, I have no coin for wine, and need yours instead.”

  “I knew you had some hidden aim. Yet how are you so impoverished already? Last night you had enough coin, at least, for a lover.”

  Kalem’s face fell as he looked at her. “Ah…you are seeing a lover?”

  Theren gave him a little smile and ruffled his hair again. “I am afraid that was my aim, little goldbag. And for many months now have I enjoyed her company.”

  Ebon thought to see Kalem grown even more distraught, but the boy actually brightened. “Oh! Oh, I see. Well. I am happy to hear it, then.”

  “I thought you might be. Come, wealthy patrons! Tonight we drink until our problems leave us at last!”

  Ebon let them drag him out through the Academy’s front doors and into the streets. They passed through the usual flood of other students in black robes, making for Leven’s tavern where they had met Theren for the first time. But Ebon’s thoughts kept up their endless wandering, over Mako and his father, the brown cloth parcel and—more urgently—what they might ask him to do next. Again and again, he almo
st confessed to his friends. But then he would cast a wary look over his shoulder, wondering if Mako lurked in some shadow, watching. Then again, anyone on the streets could be one of his agents, listening in to ensure that Ebon said nothing. Nowhere seemed safe.

  And then he thought of Theren, alone on the streets last night, and had an idea.

  “I have changed my mind,” he said, stopping in the street. “Forgive me, but I do not think I shall drink with you tonight.”

  “Come on, Ebon,” said Theren. “How will you deny me my right to a warm fire and flushed cheeks? And you seem as though a nice drunkenness would do you well.”

  Ebon reached into his pocket and drew forth a few gold weights. “Never let it be said I stood between you and a good flagon. Enjoy yourselves.”

  “Do not return to the Academy alone, Ebon,” pleaded Kalem. “You should be with friends.”

  Ebon blushed. “I do not mean to return to the Academy.”

  Theren seemed to take his meaning, but Kalem’s brow furrowed. He opened his mouth as though to ask a question, but Theren threw an arm over his shoulder, spun him around, and marched him down the street. “Come, little master. Our goldbag needs to be alone, and I can answer your questions without him.” Soon they were out of sight.

  Ebon was somewhat unsure of himself on the streets, but knew his destination lay to the west, and so headed that way. Soon he recognized a few of the buildings. His steps came quicker and more certain. A few times he made a wrong turn and had to double back. But before long he found himself on a familiar street, with a tavern behind him and a blue door just paces ahead.

  As before, his throat grew tight and constricted, and he felt a tingling in his limbs. He looked down the street in both directions, then chided himself for being absurd. Who here would mind that he visited a house of lovers? He no longer had to worry about a retainer who might bring word of his deeds to his father, and no one else cared a whit.

  He twisted the knob and opened the door.

  Perfume, silk, and the strumming of a harp. Immediately his eyes went to the corner—but now it was a boy playing the strings. His heart skipped a beat. The house’s matron arrived, sweeping up to Ebon as she had before, still wearing her same warm smile.

  “Well met once again. How may we serve you this evening?”

  “You remember me?”

  She shrugged. “I have a gift for faces. Is there any sort of lover you are looking for tonight?”

  Ebon licked his lips, for they had gone suddenly dry. “Is Adara here?”

  Her smile widened slightly. “Of course.” Turning, she beckoned, and Adara rose from the shadows in the room’s far corner. She had been sitting there all along, Ebon realized, and from the way she smiled as their eyes met, he suspected she had been watching him with some amusement. She wore Idrisian clothes, as before, though this time the cloth seemed finer, and when the lamplight caught her fabric, it shimmered. Too, she had a sheer blue veil over the lower half of her face; though it did not stop him from seeing her full lips, drawing his eyes to hers, where he found himself lost in wonder.

  She took his hand. “Hello again, Ebon.”

  A short time later, Adara lay with her head on his chest, the two of them nestled in satin sheets. Ebon lay silent for a long while, sometimes closing his eyes, sometimes opening them again. The quiet held only contentment. His troubles seemed far away, tiny little things with simple solutions, which he had only to sweep aside like so much dust. She must have sensed his desire for peace, for Adara said nothing, silently tracing her fingers across his chest.

  At last, Ebon lifted his head to kiss her. “I wish I could have returned earlier.”

  “As do I.” She gave him a soft smile.

  He smiled back. They were lover’s words, he knew, but that did not change the thrill they sent through him. “How have I retained your lessons?”

  “Not as well as could be hoped, but perhaps better than I expected.” She smiled wider and kissed him again. “You must promise to let me teach you more often.”

  Ebon sighed. “I wish I could promise that.”

  She frowned. “What troubles you?”

  He pursed his lips and looked away. Adara studied his face, and then she pulled away, rising from bed and walking to a side table. His eyes were drawn to her movements, and he watched as she brought him a pitcher and cup.

  “I remembered what you asked for last time. I have kept these in my room since your first visit.”

  He looked inside the pitcher and laughed. It was half-full of clean, clear water. She smiled, eyes shining, and pressed it into his hands.

  “Come. Show me a spell.”

  He shook his head, still smiling, and filled the cup with water. She took the pitcher back and put it on the table. He stirred the water, focusing on it through his finger. Kalem had practiced with him often in the past few weeks, and now it came easily. The world brightened, and Adara gasped at his glowing eyes. Soon the water was thick and soupy. He withdrew his finger, and the glow faded. Ebon handed her the cup.

  “There. It is nothing very impressive, but magic nonetheless.”

  She took the cup and looked inside with wonder, as though it held liquid gold. “That was wonderful to behold,” she said, her voice small.

  “Come now. Surely you know other wizards. I cannot be the only student who comes here.”

  Carefully, she set the cup beside the pitcher. “You are not—not the only student, or the only wizard. But if the others wish to talk, which is rare, they only wish to speak of themselves. They never offer to show me spells. And I never ask. I do not often enjoy their company as I enjoy yours.”

  Lover’s words again. Yet he smiled. “I only wish I had more to show you. I cannot learn my next spell, and fear I shall rot away in my class before I ever master it.”

  “What is it? Why does it trouble you so?”

  He rose from the bed and went to his robe where it lay on the floor. From its pocket he drew his wooden practice rod. “I am supposed to turn this to stone. But for the life of me, I cannot seem to master the magic. I try and I try, but still it is made of wood, as you can clearly see.”

  Sitting beside him, Adara ran her fingers over the rod. Her hand brushed his, making him tingle with delight. “Truly? You are learning to turn wood to stone?”

  “I am supposed to. It is no great feat. My friend Kalem can do it in the span of a blink, though he is three years younger than I. It is the first test of the alchemist. Wood is the substance of something once alive. We learn to turn it to something dead. Living things are complex, and dead things are much simpler. Kalem has been trying to explain it to me. I fear I am a poor student.”

  “Not so poor. Or perhaps you simply enjoy my lessons more.”

  He blushed. “Kalem says the test’s purpose is not to see the wood for its complexity, but to envision the simplicity of stone. Yet still I cannot do it.”

  She put her hand on his arm, running her nails along the skin. “I have faith that you will. It is only a matter of time. But I also sense that this is but one reason for your concern, and perhaps not the greatest at all.”

  He sighed, letting his hand fall to the bed. “You guess aright. There is something…or someone, rather, who is much on my mind. I…my family has begun to give me errands. Only one, so far. Yet I fear more will come.”

  “What sort of tasks?”

  “They had me deliver a parcel.”

  She giggled, then stifled it behind a quickly raised hand. “That sounds like no dire deed.”

  “I do not know what was in it,” he said. “But Mak—but the man who instructed me to do it is no man given to idle errands.”

  “Was it your father?”

  He turned away. “I do not wish to speak of who.”

  “You may trust me.”

  “I do.” He took her hands in his, and raised them to his lips. “Some might say it is foolish, yet I do. Only it troubles me. And it troubles my friend. She thinks I know more than I let
on, and am withholding it from her.”

  “She?” Adara smiled broadly. “Ebon, if I were a jealous woman…”

  “You need fear nothing of that. She prefers the company of women.”

  “Truly? Do you mean you have befriended Theren?”

  Ebon rounded on her in surprise. “You know her? Wait…do you mean that you and she…?”

  Adara frowned, and it seemed that the affection in her eyes dampened. “I am not her lover. But Ebon, you should not be dismayed if I were. You hold no claim on me.”

  “Of course not,” he said quickly. “Only…I suppose I do not like to think of it.”

  She folded her arms. “You may as well. It is childish to do otherwise, and avoiding the thought may lead to darkness down the road. I have seen it before.”

  Ebon shook his head. “I am sorry. You are right, of course. Forget I made any mention.”

  Still she wore a little frown, but she relented, and took Ebon’s outstretched hand. “Very well.”

  He lifted her fingers and kissed them. “It is only that I am troubled. I do not know when…when my family will return with some other task, or what I shall tell them when they do.”

  “You will do what they ask, of course.”

  He looked at her quickly. “You say it so easily. Does it not worry you?”

  “Why should it?” She shrugged. “You only delivered a parcel. If there is anything dark in such an act, it comes before, or after, and is not your responsibility.”

  “Yet my hands bore the parcel.”

  She sighed and pushed his shoulders until he lay back upon the bed. Slowly, intently, she climbed atop him.

  “Never do kings behead messengers for bearing words, even when those words may anger the king. And if bearing such parcels keeps you upon the High King’s Seat, and here in my arms, then I shall command you: bear them, Ebon. Bear as many as you must. But do not leave me.”

  Ebon found it impossible to muster a reply.

  twenty

  THOUGH EBON’S FEARS HUNG DARK about him, it seemed that for a time, at least, Mako and his father were finished with him. He saw nothing of the bodyguard as days became weeks, and summer at last surrendered to autumn upon the High King’s Seat. At home in Idris, the turning season meant relief from the unbearable heat; but on the Seat, Ebon had found summer pleasant, and now often felt chilled while passing through the granite halls.