Ethan Wright and the Alchemist's Order, (Book 2)

by Kimbro West

  The King, breathless at the sight he had just beheld, knelt before the great statue. He tugged on the Castellan’s tunic, pulling him down to kneel by his side. “Don’t you ever tire of being wrong?” he jested to the Castellan with a nudge. “And by the way — you still owe me the wager from the Summer Sword.”

  The Castellan nodded, unstrapped a small pouch of coins and handed it over to the King, who happily relieved Humphrey of his excess weight.

  “My lady,” said the King with a smile as the sad lady passed.

  “Thank you, sad lady,” said someone from the crowd.

  “Sad lady,” said many more, “you saved us, sad lady!” The crowd erupted into cheers now that the fear had gone. The King stood in wonder as the sad lady used both hands to lodge the giant sword back into the ground before taking her original position.

  Ethan leaned over to Edison. “What do you suppose he meant by Northwind?”

  Edison was still standing in awe at the spectacle. “I … don’t know,” he answered softly, refusing to meet the young alchemist’s eyes.

  A brief unnerving look was shared between Loka and Wegnel when they overhead Ethan’s question.

  Soon, the action subsided and the crowds dispersed, heading back toward the walls of the great stone city. Loka, Ventu, and Raikenai pulled hoods over their heads as they prepared to take their leave. Wegnel stood at their side with a pack over his shoulder.

  “Your father was a great man, Ethan — may he shine brightly on his next adventure,” said Loka, smiling.

  “Thanks, Loka. Sorry about everything getting disrupted like that. Chaos tends to follow me around lately—”

  “Are you kidding?!” exclaimed Wegnel. “This was the most exciting funeral I’ve ever been to in my life! Besides, at least you know nobody will mess about over here, not with that harpy around. That’s some lady!”

  “So what are you going to do with your retirement, Wegnel?” asked Availia, unclasping her alchemy jacket.

  “I’ve thought of that for a while now. I have two lifetimes of memories built up inside of that hut. I decided I will retire in Losalfar. I may even heed the words of Edison and do a bit of traveling,” he said, smiling. “I have heard so much about places from people that come and go through the Oroborus … but have never gone myself.”

  “That sounds like a good plan,” said Stanley.

  “So this must mean the new alchemist lady is workin’ out?” asked Auren smartly.

  “She’s got a bit of a potty mouth — but all things considered, she’s doing splendidly,” replied Wegnel with a chuckle.

  “Will we ever see you?” asked Ethan.

  Suddenly Auren’s father, Ghislain, came barreling in, picked up Wegnel with both arms and squeezed. A tear rolled down the giant man’s cheek. “You’d best not be dying like that ever again!” he bellowed.

  “Yes … Ethan…,” gasped Wegnel as his face turned red. “You’ll see me … around,” he answered, struggling for breath.

  “Make sure you stop by for a visit now and again — Isabel gets mad at me when I travel over here — suppose we can both come over now that the Curse has ended — we’ll see,” added Ghislain, releasing his grasp on the old alchemist.

  “Yes, Ghislain … I will visit for sure,” replied Wegnel with his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “One can never know when he may need his spine straightened,” he gasped, standing up straight again.

  The three Losalfarians and the old alchemist said their goodbyes, turned, and left for Losalfar.

  Ethan stood near the grave of his father, shaking hands with several of the attendants as they were leaving. The King approached Ethan with the Castellan right behind him. He offered his hand to Ethan who reciprocated.

  “He will be missed, Ethan. And if you ever need anything … anything at all — do not hesitate to come and see me,” said King Basileus. “I am at your service.”

  Ethan smiled and nodded. “Thanks.”

  The Castellan reluctantly offered his hand after getting a glaring look from the King. Ethan took Humphrey Magnus the Sixteenth’s hand with a firm grip.

  “Me too,” said the Castellan with a forced smile.

  Ethan happily nodded, knowing this was the best he could expect from the Castellan. Suddenly, King Basileus gave the Castellan a sharp elbow to the ribs.

  The Castellan grunted awfully. “And thanks to you … and Auren, Availia and Stanley for assisting with putting another criminal behind bars. Lawrence Brenen turned in a Mr … uh … Williams, for the capture of Loka Tattur. Thanks to you, our, um … relationship with Losalfar has never been closer as it stands today,” he added.

  Ethan forced a smile as the Castellan, King and their personal Guard took leave. Stanley shook Ethan’s hand and Availia gave him a hug, leaving Ethan and Auren by Thomas’ headstone.

  Auren stared up at the sad lady. “She’s not in my creature book.”

  “She’s not a legendary creature, but still amazing … you should add her,” replied Ethan sincerely.

  “So, what now?” asked Auren.

  Ethan smiled. “I guess I’m going to keep going to school — train to be a better alchemist. Father was an alchemist — I never knew, ‘til just recently.”

  “Oh, yeah?” asked Auren, chuckling. “Fathers and their secrets.”

  “Fathers and their secrets,” replied Ethan, smiling.

  “Are we going after him? After Xivon?” asked Auren.

  “My father died trying to kill Xivon … so I wouldn’t have to. He didn’t want me to know — was afraid I’d go looking for Xivon. I’m not ready to face him, but I may have to. We need to find out why Xivon took the Dead Hand bracelet, and see what we can do to get it back,” said Ethan calmly. “You know … he wasn’t always there, but I think he spent much of his life just trying to protect me. He was a great father after all.”

  Auren nodded.

  “Father told me something else,” said Ethan, smiling. “Isaac is still alive — Xivon was lying.”

  “I knew it!” exclaimed Auren. “That’s great, Ethan — when do we leave?”

  Ethan laughed and scratched his head. “I think Tirguard is the first place Isaac would look — so, I’m gonna stick around here a bit — go to school. Who knows, Isaac may find out I’m here and come looking for me.”

  Ethan put his hand on his father’s headstone and looked over at the sad lady.

  “Don’t worry, Ethan. I think your father will be alright, with her watching over the place. Anyhow, I’ll let you be for a bit.” Auren put his hand on Ethan’s shoulder for a moment, then turned and waited outside the Saint’s Cemetery.

  Ethan had spent almost the entire day at the Saint’s Cemetary. The sun was starting to set and he found himself staring up at the stars, and then at the sad lady. Now that everyone had left, he approached the statue whose tears shone in the moonlight.

  “Thank you for looking after my father.” He thought he may have glimpsed a slight smile coming from the statue. Ethan smiled, turned, and headed back with Auren to Tirguard, back to his friends.

  Chapter 23

  The Bloodwhip

  A small glass vial was removed from the cupboard and placed on the desk. It stood empty and without a lid, but yearned to be filled by the hooded man responsible for its placement. Next to the glass vial, a loud clank sounded as a handheld device with exposed gears was firmly set down. A faint echo followed its placement, resounding throughout the hollows of the dark chamber. One last object, a heavy glass ball, rested on the desk. The hooded man picked it up and held it to his face. He peered through the ball, shook it slightly and held it up to his ear as if expecting to hear a whisper. He then bit his finger and smeared the resulting blood across the globe’s surface. The blood soaked into the glass and infused the inside of the ball with a swirling motion. The glass sphere vibrated for a moment before small sparks of bursting light filled the inside. As the room was illuminated, the blood-dimmed light shone on the face of an unco
nscious Mitan strapped to an elongated table. It was Ciprian.

  The light revealed that Ciprian was masked in filth. Small cuts and abrasions scored one side of his face, his hair was disheveled and his clothes were torn and begrimed. The captive Mitan looked as if he had been dragged down endless filthy corridors. The hooded man, satisfied with the light the ball gave, placed it back on the desk and started to rummage through a drawer underneath. The clanking noise of small metal tools was enough to rouse the Aegis.

  “Wha … L … Lord Xivon. Sorry, I must’ve fallen … asleep,” mumbled Ciprian groggily as he squinted at the light. “It … it won’t happen again. I think I….” The Mitan tried to move but realized his arms were tightly strapped down. He yanked his forearms upward in disbelief as his veins pushed out from the strain. “WHAT? WHAT IS THIS?!” he yelled as he struggled to free himself. He tried to kick his legs only to find his ankles were bound as well. The Mitan heaved his waist around as far as possible, trying to gain momentum to free his arms or legs. The hooded man quietly grabbed a leather strap-end from under the table and pulled tight. Ciprian’s waist was constricted against the table, firmly restricting his movement.

  “Wait! What is this? Who are you? WHO ARE YOU?” demanded Ciprian with all the courage he could gather.

  The figure moved into the light and pulled back his hood. A severely scarred face was revealed. The top of his head was shaved down to stubble in the few places he was not scarred. A slight scowl was directed at the Mitan who was lying on his back.

  “Seafarer?!” exclaimed Ciprian with disgust. “Explain yourself, before I have you executed!”

  Seafarer did not respond and continued digging in the drawer, looking for a particular tool to address the device on the desk. He held up a sharpened tool to the light. Seeing the instrument, Ciprian abruptly changed his attitude.

  “Wait a moment,” groveled Ciprian. “This couldn’t be about my comments from earlier — I meant only to support—”

  “No comment from you could draw a reaction, not from me anyhow,” replied Seafarer with a grim smile.

  “Then, where … where am I?”

  Seafarer, having found the tool he was looking for, strapped a magnifying glass to his head and examined the instrument closely. He pulled out a small piece of cloth and polished the end of the tool. He tipped his chin down to Ciprian to acknowledge the question. “You’re in my web,” he answered cryptically.

  “What? Where?” demanded Ciprian.

  “You’re still in Gilfangir,” replied Seafarer, “but more accurately, this room is where I am left with my … devices.”

  “How did I get here?”

  Seafarer selected a small pliers from the drawer and carefully bent the end of the tool he had been cleaning. “I gave you an elixir that puts you to sleep and gives you a mild paralysis upon awaking. Afraid you slept longer than I expected and the paralysis is starting to wear.”

  The Mitan gulped as sweat rolled from his filthy brow. “What … are you going to do to me?”

  The alchemist set the tools down and gave Ciprian his fullest attention. “I would say that I take no pleasure in what I am about to do to you, but that would be a lie,” said Seafarer simply. “I believe in the truth — it is much more fascinating to me than fiction. It is when you choose to reveal those tasty little axioms that I find, well … quite entertaining,” he added with an ominous smile.

  Ciprian’s face contorted with anger. “When Xivon hears of this, you’ll be a dead man! YOU HEAR ME, ALCHEMIST?”

  Seafarer turned and picked up the device with exposed gears. He took up the bent tool and delicately made adjustments inside the device, ignoring Ciprian’s outburst.

  “YOU HEAR ME?!”

  The alchemist continued his attention to the device. “Many Mitans that have been strapped to my table get quite upset over the ordeal. They seem to focus on the feeling of helplessness subjected by a mere human rather than the predicament itself — quite a mystery to me. Pride, maybe?” Seafarer sniffed as he focused on his task. “You should, however, let me know if your experience is still satisfactory, as in your case, it was not me who put you in this particular predicament. So I doubt my life is in danger at the hands of Xivon … at least, not any time soon. After all, he is the one that ordered me to do … what I am about to do.”

  Gaping at Seafarer in disbelief, Ciprian pulled at his restraints again. “No … it can’t be — he wouldn’t.”

  “Wouldn’t he?” asked Seafarer, glancing at the Mitan.

  “You do know that Xivon is planning on killing all humans, don’t you? He won’t stop with Ethan — he plans on wiping out all of mankind!” exclaimed Ciprian.

  “I know….”

  “You know? Why, then? Why help him? He’s going to kill all of your people!” argued Ciprian desperately.

  The alchemist made a few more adjustments before testing the device by lifting a small lever on the side and pulling the trigger. He heard a small CLICK as he checked the gears inside. “If I were in your position, I may be under the distinct impression that the alchemist before me originates from the Regal Seas. You may have come to this conclusion by noting that many call me Seafarer … and that only humans can control alchemy … thusly, you can appeal to my human side, and that Regal Seas alchemists are quite humane in nature.”

  Ciprian smiled in desperate agreement. “Yes … I have nothing against Regal Seas alchemy … or alchemists, for that matter.”

  “Oh, you do flatter me,” replied Seafarer, smiling, “and it’s true, I studied as a Regal Seas alchemist for several years. And the assumptions made would be almost accurate, except for one bit,” added Seafarer as he fine-tuned the device. “If you would allow me an assumption? I believe my origins are much different than any human you’ve ever met.”

  Ciprian, who had been mostly insincere in his bantering attempts to gain his freedom, was now starting to take a paramount interest in Seafarer’s answers. “Where … are you from?”

  “Quite nice of you to ask,” replied the alchemist. “Whether lucky or unlucky, I had the unfortunate happenstance of growing up in the care of a quite rare and mysterious group of people. The uneasy vernacular of a non-existent sect whispering in your ear as you grow up is liable to leave a lasting impression.”

  A cold dread washed over Ciprian. “You mean…?”

  “Oh, yes. The Bloodwhip alchemists are also very capable of the unspeakable persuasion — much better to be on this side of the needle, considering your position,” answered Seafarer, attaching an unnervingly large needle to the end of the device, “…wouldn’t you agree?”

  The Mitan’s face turned pale as he refused to look at the sinister device in Seafarer’s hands. He turned from his captor and laughed maniacally into the darkness. “No … no, no, no … no … NO! This isn’t real!” he screamed. As sweat rolled off Ciprian’s battered face, he glanced at the device and then back to Seafarer. He once again strained and struggled to free himself from his unyielding bonds, to no avail. “WAIT! Just … stop … stop whatever you’re doing … we can come to an agreement … we can talk about this, please!” he begged.

  The scar-faced alchemist picked up the glass vial with his empty hand and pressed it into a fitted chamber in the bottom of the device. He turned it gently until it clicked into place. He closed the compartment on the side that had exposed the gears and gave himself a satisfied smile in approval of his own work. “My dear Mitan, we’ve been talking about this very subject — for your benefit, I might add. And we can continue this little talk with all the time we have left together, but nothing will stop my progress — deadlines and all … you understand.”

  “What! No!” exclaimed Ciprian. “Are … you … are you going to kill me?”

  Seafarer took a firm grip on the device with one hand and seized the side of the begrimed Mitan’s face, forcing him still. He brought the needle close as the Mitan’s blue marking glowed brightly in the dimly lit chamber. “It is a lost art. Practiced a
nd handed down through training in the Bloodwhip sect. But I grew tired of their constant political motivations and decided to kill, well, all of them. Now only I remain — the last of my kind — no one left to pass the practice to — just how I prefer.” The Bloodwhip thought for a moment as he leaned over and stared into Ciprian’s teary eyes. “I guess … there is one other that studies this art, after all.”

  In a desperate effort to buy time, Ciprian kept the conversation going. “And who … who is that?” he stuttered.

  Seafarer was delighted to oblige the question. “The alchemist who is responsible for striking the deal in trading Wegnel’s life for Loka Tattur — the leader of the Alchemist’s Order, of course — none other than Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa.”

  “Heinrich?” Ciprian struggled to turn his head back to meet Seafarer’s eyes, until the alchemist finally relented. Ciprian’s eyes widened as the needle drew closer to his face. “So … what is it? What are you doing to me?!” asked the Aegis desperately as tears fell from his eyes and spittle flew from his lips.

  “Extracting prufsian blue … of course,” answered Seafarer callously.

  Realizing what the Bloodwhip alchemist was saying, Ciprian went mad with fear. “NO! NOOOOO!” screamed the Aegis in a panic, his voice echoing through the dark chamber, down the hallways, and out over the city of Gilfangir.

  Seafarer mercilessly drove Ciprian’s head back into position and jammed the needle into the blue mark of the Mitan. He pulled the trigger and several clicks were heard, following by a suckling noise. The glass vial started bubbling with a glowing blue liquid as the mark on Ciprian’s face slowly dimmed. The Mitan’s eyes bulged and then drifted shut. His skin turned white, and then grey as it dried and cracked — all but turning to ash. His facial expression still showed his shock, frozen in that moment of time.

  Air vented out from the side of the contraption, letting the alchemist know his work was complete. He pulled the needle from the motionless Aegis. The glass vial glowed with a dim blue light as he hastily removed it from the device, pulled a cork from the drawer and contained his reward.