Alchemystic

by Anton Strout

  Even closer it was hard to make out anything. The size of the room and its echo were not helping. One of the creatures turned from the conversation, appearing to look in my direction, but I wasn’t sure. I pulled my head back around the corner out of sight, but the scraping of a massive chair suggested I had been seen. “Shit,” I swore under my breath. “Let’s go.”

  We took off through the maze of corridors, each one looking like the last as far as I was concerned, but Stanis led the way and seemed to be moving with a sense of purpose. The sound of pursuit faded, thankfully, and my panic calmed a bit as we moved toward an empty cargo hold dead ahead. Stanis entered with me close behind, and that was when a thick, malformed stone arm struck out hard, from our left, at the gargoyle. He tumbled end over end through the air like he had been shot from a cannon, trying to get his wings open, but it wasn’t happening. He crashed into the heavy steel of one of the walls and slid down it, dazed. I started into the hold after him, going right to avoid his attacker, but the large creature spotted me and grabbed me by my shoulders, lifting me. Stanis was busy struggling to get back up and started back across the room, but he would be too late to help.

  I awaited my fate, expecting pain. I did not expect the creature to pat me on the head, the rough stone scratching through my hair to the scalp beneath it. The gesture was patronizing, and worse, I recognized it, having been at the receiving end of it all my life. Up until four months ago, that was.

  I stared into the dark hollow sockets of stone where the creature’s eyes should be, the moment surreal, my mind threatening to snap. “Devon…?”

  “Hey, Lex,” the monstrosity said. “I thought it might be you. You still messing around with being all artsy fartsy?”

  “You’re…you’re alive,” I said, thankful that he was holding me up, as it felt like I might faint any second. When he set me down, my knees buckled but I remained standing. I backed away until I bumped into Stanis, reaching back to put my hand on his chest for support.

  “Turns out there are some things more valuable than money,” he said. “Living forever, for example.” The hulking stone figure spun around in that familiar, irritating cock-of-the-walk style, but on this abomination of a figure, it was somewhere between horrifying and just plain creepy.

  “That’s living?” I asked. “Jesus, Devon, what have you gotten yourself into?”

  The creature looked down over its massive, clumped body, twisting this way and that, examining itself. “Okay, so things didn’t go exactly according to plan, no,” he said, “but we’re working on that.”

  “We?”

  “My new…business partners, I guess you’d call them,” he said.

  “At the risk of repeating myself, what the hell have you gotten yourself into, Devon? How…Why are you like this?”

  “Because I know how to make a deal,” he said. “Making me still a better businessperson than you.”

  “Making a deal with who?”

  “The Servants of Ruthenia,” he said. “They’ve been looking for our family for centuries, Lexi. When they came across me, they wanted to kill me, but I traded them something in exchange for the promise of eternal life. Only I didn’t expect it would be in this form.”

  I recalled the name from the night I met Stanis and from later discovering it as the subject of many of my great-great-grandfather’s books. And here was my brother cutting deals with them. It didn’t make much sense.

  “Father told me that our great-great-grandfather fled from the old country,” I said, “but he didn’t know why.”

  Devon chuckled to himself. “You’re going to love this,” he said. “You know your hero, the famous architect and artist?” I didn’t bother to respond and he continued. “Turns out Alexander Belarus was a bit of a traitorous bastard. And a murderer to boot.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. “That’s insane.”

  “I know why our great-great-grandfather fled Kobryn,” he said. “It’s a story that those who become Servants commit to memory, taught by Kejetan Ruthenia himself.”

  “The Accursed Lord himself is here, in New York?” I asked.

  Devon nodded. “You probably saw him in the throne room just now.”

  “That’s shit company you’re keeping, Devon,” I said. “You know, considering I’ve had several attempts made on my life by his Servants. Whatever they’re telling you are lies.”

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “For centuries these hard-core Servant dudes have lived in service to their Ruthenian lord. And if you serve Lord Kejetan well, the promise of eternal life is yours.”

  “What did you promise him in return for this form?”

  “Hold on, hold on,” he said in that petulant way of his. “Don’t you want to know why our great-great-grandfather fled from them?”

  I nodded.

  “He was, in fact, supposed to be one of them.”

  “Alexander?” I asked. “Impossible. He would never serve such a cause. He fled the country, running to America with his family, fearing for their safety.”

  He laughed, the sound coming out like rocks in a tumbler. “Well, he certainly served Kejetan Ruthenia, at least. That’s just historical fact. Although, truth be told, I don’t think the men of ole Kobryn became Servants so willingly at first. I don’t think they were given a choice, especially if someone had a hidden talent like, say, for things that go all David Copperfield.”

  “So the lord made him a slave?” I asked.

  “Not a slave,” he said, like I was suggesting the stupidest thing imaginable. “A landowner has the right to press his people into service for the greater good of the kingdom, and our great-great-grandfather was earning a reputation among the common people.”

  “As a Spellmason…” I finished.

  “People believing in magic were pretty ordinary in the old country,” he said. “Unlike now. Shit, I barely believed this whole other world existed until I saw my first stone man. Figured I was drunk or someone slipped me some little red pills. But back then, the landowners were big into it. The people of Kobryn knew that if they had a problem—like their crops wouldn’t grow, if a child needed one of those mustard plaster things, or milk started turning sour overnight—they knew to go to Alexander. He had a way of handling such matters; everyone knew it. Some called it witchcraft; other more holy roller types refused to call it anything but simple good fortune.”

  “So word spread,” I said. “To a ruler already mad with ambition.”

  “Kejetan didn’t—doesn’t—want to just rule. He’s always been seeking ways to extend his influence beyond one lifetime, and pressed our great-great-grandfather into service to the court. Alexander, understanding that it might be problematic to just hand over arcane power to men of great ambition, at first said no, saying he was merely a simple stonemason. For his refusal, they killed his firstborn. Alexander did not refuse their second invitation, which came in the form of shackles. He lost what little land he had claimed for himself, was forced to leave his wife and remaining child behind, but Kejetan gave him everything he needed at his disposal in service of unlocking the secrets of prolonging life.”

  “I’d run from a life of servitude, too,” I said.

  Devon shook his head. “Alexander didn’t run. Not then, anyway. He was afraid he might never see his family again, so he bided his time, studying what arcana was already accumulated and adding more to his own knowledge, even pretending to teach Kejetan’s only son the alchemical arts. But it was all part of his master plan for escape. One night, our great-great-grandfather killed the boy and stole away in the night with the secrets of the Spellmasons. He and what remained of his family vanished from Kobryn and Lithuania, never to be seen again by Kejetan or his people. So congratulations, Lexi, your ‘hero’ is a child murderer and a thief.”

  “Impossible,” I said, struggling to process every detail I had just heard. “Look at the legacy he left behind. Alexander was a creator, not a destroyer.”

  “You believe i
t because you’ve read it in books,” Devon said. “Alexander’s books, some messed-up revisionist history by a coward trying to hide his despicable past. I’ve talked to someone who was actually there hundreds of years ago. I know the story I believe.”

  “And I know the one I believe,” I said.

  “Your great-great-grandfather knew the lord would change his most loyal of servants to the stone that lives eternal, imperfect though it was, and they have been looking for him since. Alexander ran, changed his last name to the one we know now, came to America, and began life anew in hiding. Kejetan has waited a long time to get his secrets back. He’s had a long time to stew on this. He’s way more pissed off at our family than I ever was.”

  “I don’t get you,” I said. “I don’t think I ever have. How can you even buy into that madman’s story, for real? What reason on earth would you have to hate on our family, outside of maybe our father made us go to church far too often?”

  Devon’s face changed. If I was reading his features right, he looked like his thoughts were off in a dark and unhappy place, his voice confirming it as he spoke. “You come from a long line of liars and betrayers, Lexi, so it’s hard for you to hear. But not me. Did you know I was adopted?”

  “It’s recently come up,” I said. “Yes.”

  “Do you know what that’s like?” he said, anger rising in him. “No, of course you don’t. Lexi got to do just about everything she ever wanted.”

  “Is that what this is about?” I asked, incredulous. “You didn’t get to slack off as much as me?”

  “Don’t make light, Lexi,” he said, spitting the words out. “This is important to me, living a life that was a lie. Finding out I was adopted for the sole purpose of being the male heir apparent to the family business? That’s messed up, Lexi. I’m sorry, but it is. You got to do whatever you wanted and my entire life was just a contractual setup. I’m product development. I was bred for business, like cattle for the slaughter. Do you know how that feels?”

  “I can imagine,” I said.

  He shook his head at me. “No. I doubt you can, really. I don’t know how the Servants found me—”

  “Your ring,” I said, remembering the night I received the call from the police telling me they had found only Devon’s hand. “The sigil in the stone was enchanted to conceal us from our enemies. That magic, however, has been fading.”

  “Awesome,” he said. “So that’s how they found me at our building down on Saint Mark’s. They threatened my life looking for the secret knowledge stolen by my forebearer. I thought it was all a bunch of bullshit until I later discovered some of our great-great-grandfather’s jumbled notes up in our family library about how the sigil had been ‘charmed’ to offer us protection. Still, that night their intent was clear by the knives in their hands, but you know me. I might not have been born of true Belarus blood, but I was still a master of the deal. They wanted to get their secrets back and I had family library access to all that—or so I thought—and in return for helping them, I get the Life Eternal.”

  “You were always a screwup, Dev,” I said, “but this time, it’s beyond the beyond. You’re backing the wrong team here. You sold your family out.”

  “First of all, none of you are my family,” he said, “but I’m not the monster I look. I didn’t sell anyone out. They have no idea where you live thanks to whatever power still obscures the building to them. If they had an idea, you’d all be dead by now. I could have told them, but I didn’t. I figure I’d give them the books they were looking for; they’d get what they want and go away. I’d get what I want and everyone’s happy.”

  I wondered what books he had taken from Alexander’s library. Several of my Revelation of the Soul reading threads in Alexander’s notes, mostly about finding the soul stone for the Heart of the Home, had dead-ended because there were a handful of books I simply hadn’t been able to find yet. Now at least I had an idea they might not even be in our massive collection at all.

  “I need your help,” he said. “The books I brought the Servants didn’t satisfy them. What they really want are Alexander’s books on how to make something more refined, like your winged friend there. I wasn’t able to find any books on that.”

  I kept staring him in the cold, dead sockets that were his stony eyes. I wanted there to be no indication to him that the very book he wanted was in the pack on my back. I felt the smallest amount of petty triumph that I at least had been smart enough to find and unlock Alexander’s master secrets where my brother had failed. Still, among all this overwhelming knowledge, it was a small victory.

  “I don’t know if I can do that,” I said, conflicted. “If our great-great-grandfather moved halfway around the world to keep these secrets from them, I’m not so sure just handing them over is such a great idea.”

  Anger filled the hollow sockets where his eyes should be. “You don’t understand,” he growled, lifting me up by the front of my jacket. “We all want out of these crude forms. You have to help. I can’t stay like this. Look at me!”

  Stanis stepped forward to intervene, but Devon, using his free arm, knocked him down with surprising ease, stepping on his neck with one of his thick, malformed feet.

  I struggled to free myself, anything to get back on the ground before the bind of my twisted jacket strangled me. “You’re hurting me,” I said, as calm as I could. “Why don’t you come with me? I can help you back at home.” I wasn’t sure how exactly, but right now was not the time to admit that. I just wanted Stanis and me to get off the damned ship alive.

  “I can’t leave,” he shouted into my face. “Not now. If I disappear, they’ll come looking for the family all the quicker. There are at least a dozen of them like me.” He looked down at Stanis. “You’re lucky I found you first. If the big guy had found you, you might not be alive right now. I’m at least giving you a chance here.”

  Some chance, I thought. “What do you want me to do?”

  “You’ve taken such an interest in our family’s artist legacy,” he said. “Now’s your opportunity to put some of that knowledge to use. Find the secrets our great-great-grandfather stole.”

  “I don’t think I’ll find the answers you’re looking for,” I lied, the weight of the book on my back feeling all the heavier.

  “You will.” He looked down at Stanis. “You hold some sway over big ugly here. That means you know something about the Spellmasons. It’s only a matter of time for you to figure it out. Do you understand?”

  I nodded.

  “And be quick about it,” he said. “I cannot keep them away forever.”

  Despite being a rag doll in his hands, something inside me snapped. “You…selfish asshole,” I said, pounding ineffectively against his jagged stone chest. “Do you know what you’ve put me through? First, there was the grieving we’ve done over your sorry ass. Then I was pretty much forced to put aside everything artistic that I love so I could learn the family business—”

  “At least you’re doing it out of real familial obligation and not because someone bought you from another set of parents to do it,” he said.

  “So kill us yourself, then!” I screamed at him, the sound echoing in the hollow chamber. Somewhere far off a commotion rose up.

  “I don’t wish harm on you or our ‘parents,’” he said, “despite my initial anger at them. I’ve gotten what I wanted. Sort of. Well, soon I will have, thanks to you. So, go. Enjoy the money. Enjoy your birthright empire. Either way, these are mortal concerns now.” Devon tossed me aside as if I were made of paper. I rolled across the length of the cargo hold until I hit the wall with a solid thump. “They no longer matter to me.”

  Devon took his foot off Stanis’s throat and turned, walking away as the sound of others came from down the hall behind him.

  “Find what I need, Lexi,” he said. “Find the stolen knowledge. Now go. They’re coming.”

  As I lay crumpled on the floor, anger had me stumbling to my feet in seconds, charging after him, but one of Sta
nis’s stone arms grabbed me gently but firmly around my waist.

  “Let us go,” he said, calm. “We must go or we will die. We are outnumbered.”

  “I don’t care,” I said, trying to pull free but to no avail.

  “But I do,” he said, which I was surprised to discover calmed me. “And I must protect.”

  Whether he was simply following his programming or not, I didn’t know, but I stopped struggling as he brought me up through the ship and out onto the deck as shouts of anger grew closer and closer behind us.

  “Your brother has one thing I envy,” Stanis said, stopping, standing stone still, unreadable.

  “Which is?”

  “Your brother may be forced into that unfortunate form,” Stanis said, spreading his wings, “but at least he knows who he is.”

  “We will restore you,” I said, more determined than ever. The wave of emotion coming off of him broke my heart, how much it would mean to him to feel complete. My anger against my possibly traitorous great-great-grandfather only made me more resolved. “You deserve to be whole, Stanis. I don’t know why Alexander would be so cruel as to take away parts of you. But I will make you whole. I swear it.” And if it made Stanis stronger to fight my brother and his newfound friends at the same time, well, that was just a bonus, wasn’t it?

  Without another word he leapt into the sky with me in his arms and we flew off to the fading sound of outraged cries down below.

  Twenty five

  Alexandra

  My day was spent pushing back morning meetings to spend some time following reference book to reference book all over my great-great-grandfather’s library, investigating one of the soul stone threads, the one called the Ruler’s Chest. I crushed all my meetings into the early afternoon, throwing down contracting decisions and job-site zoning rulings like I was Donald Trump. All of this in an effort to meet Rory and Marshall at a diner on the Upper East Side around four after pleading via texts, e-mails, and voice mails for them to please, please, please show up. I even sweetened the deal by promising gyros, onion rings, and milk shakes all around, which I had waiting when they both sat down at the booth.