The Alchemist's Touch Read online

  She threw the cup of oil on his sleeve. It doused the spark, but also splashed across his body, soaking through until the cloth clung to his skin, cold and clammy.

  “I have not seen a greater waste in all my years here,” she said. “But I suppose I am grateful. We have a jester back home, and I have missed having someone to amuse me. I am Lilith of the family Yerrin, jester, and I am most pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Lilith dropped the cup and strode off through one of the dormitory doors—thankfully not his own. He sat back in the chair, not caring that his wet robe would soak into the cushions, and hung his head. No matter how hard he squeezed his eyes shut, he could not stop a tear of shame from leaking down his cheek.

  nine

  WHEN HE HAD COMPOSED HIMSELF, Ebon retreated to his own dormitory and dressed in a clean robe. Then he changed his mind, removed the robe, and climbed into bed in his underclothes. He had no wish to meet any other students, especially not now. He had imagined the Academy would be different. Here he thought to free himself from family obligation, from the infighting and politics that had surrounded him since he was old enough to understand them. But it seemed instead that he would face a whole new host of problems—or perhaps just Lilith, but she seemed trouble enough to last him a lifetime.

  Perhaps she will forget about me soon—especially once I begin to learn my magic.

  You are a fool, came a voice in his mind. And for that, he had no retort.

  Classes must have ended, for soon other students came in from the common room, bustling with noise and conversation. Ebon ignored them all and pretended to be asleep when they drew near. It was late in the afternoon, but still hours from nightfall, and Ebon spent them all in bed, curled up and pretending not to exist. It was a long time before he finally drifted off into a restless slumber.

  When he woke, the dim grey shining through the window told him that dawn had not yet broken. He rose quietly, thankful that no one else had risen yet, and donned his robes. Then he made his way out of the dormitory, through the common room, where fires burned in both hearths, and down the stairs to the first floor.

  The Academy was quiet and empty. Ebon felt as though everything around him had taken on a magical quality, otherworldly and not quiet real. It was easy to imagine, at least for the moment, that all the world had gone, and he alone was left to explore it. His feet itched to run about, his eyes burning to peek into cracks and corners.

  He padded down the passage to the entrance hall, afraid to make any noise that might break the spell. Though torches burned in the walls, and must have been lit by attendants, the place was empty. Now he stood and, for the first time, looked freely about.

  The windows far above were just beginning to glow with the day’s earliest light, and the staircase shone in the colored dawn that came pouring down. The bronze banisters glinted in his eyes, and he reached out for them. The metal was warm, though the rest of the air clung to night’s chill. The stone steps were worn smooth from centuries of students’ passing shoes.

  He stepped away, and went to the iron front door. It was still too dim to see well, so he pressed his nose close to the small symbols inscribed across it. Now he saw that they were not unlike regular letters, and yet somehow different. Harsher, more angular, with no curves to be seen. Yet he could not read them, for the words were strange and ancient; the more he studied them, the more his head began to hurt.

  “What are you doing?”

  Ebon leapt a foot in the air and came crashing down hard upon the marble floor. He scrambled backwards on all fours—and then stopped as he saw Mellie quivering above him. Her white eye was thrice its normal size, and the other was squinted, a scowl warping her lips.

  “Sky above,” he muttered. “You frightened me.”

  “Next time don’t bury your nose in an iron door,” she screeched. “What in the nine lands were you looking at?”

  Ebon shook his head and stood, brushing dust from the seat of his robes. “The symbols on the door. Why? What does it matter?”

  Mellie turned and put her own eye to the door, looking for all the world as though she was noticing the symbols for the first time. Then she looked back to Ebon, blinked once, and stalked away. He sighed.

  The entry hall was much brighter now. Soon the other students would come down from the dormitories to break their fasts. Ebon had no great wish to be there when they did—especially since Lilith would be among them. He thought he remembered where Jia had showed him the dining hall, but headed in the other direction towards the classrooms. Your morning classes will be in the first room on the left, Jia had told him.

  He found the door and opened it. The room was empty, but still he paused in the doorway, for it looked familiar. Then he remembered: it was the first room the Dean had shown him while touring the place with his aunt, where he had met the frightened mouse of a teacher, Credell. Ebon groaned aloud at the thought of learning from the man. Perhaps he will not be so bad as he seems — a hopeful thought that he could not believe.

  Shutting the door behind him, Ebon went to one of the rear benches. They were arranged in rows, all facing the front of the classroom, each with a long table before it. He slid down the bench until he was in the farthest corner, where he could lean against the wall. There he sat, waiting for the day to start, and his first class as a wizard of the Academy.

  Somehow, it no longer excited him as much as he once imagined it would.

  Thankfully, Ebon did not have to wait as long as he feared. It was perhaps half an hour until another student arrived—a small, mousy girl with wild hair sticking about her head like a halo. She saw Ebon and stopped. For a moment she studied him, her face pale, eyes darting about every so often. Then she leaned out the door and looked up and down the hallway before stepping back inside again. She rocked on her feet, from tiptoes to heels, mouth working as she summoned the courage to speak.

  “I…I think you’ve come to the wrong room,” she squeaked.

  “I do not blame you for thinking so,” said Ebon. “But this is where I am meant to be, though it pains me to say so.”

  The girl did not seem to have an answer. Again she looked into the hall, as though making sure she was not in the wrong place, before entering all the way, closing the door behind her, and going to the opposite corner of the room. She slid all the way down the bench until she was as far from Ebon as she could get. He slouched against the wall. With every passing moment, his desire to flee the Academy swelled, making him long for the first ship home to Idris.

  The room slowly filled, students arriving one by one and filling the benches. Most of them looked eleven or twelve years old at the most—Ebon saw one who he thought might have been thirteen, but mayhap the boy was just tall. Each student stopped for a moment upon spotting Ebon. Many looked about the classroom as the first girl had, ensuring that they were in the proper place. Soon most of the room’s benches had been filled—but no one came to Ebon’s table, nor to the other bench in his row, though it was across the aisle running between the desks.

  Time passed with intolerable slowness, until Ebon felt that half the day must surely have faded. Then the door creaked timidly open, and Instructor Credell entered. He stepped inside and stopped, looking about the room with wide eyes, as though surprised to find himself there. The professor did not seem to notice Ebon. He gave a little jerk and scuttled to his lectern, where he gripped it for support. Again he stopped, this time looking out at the students before him.

  His eyes fell upon Ebon. He gave a little jump and a yelp, his hands whitening on the lectern. His throat wobbled, and a weak smile crawled across his lips, as if dragged there screaming.

  “Ah!” he said. “Ah, yes. Er. Class, we have a new student this morn. Greet our Ebon, of the family Drayden, will you?”

  He waved a hand generally in Ebon’s direction. The other students slowly turned towards him. Ebon withered, feeling ridiculous at his embarrassment. These were only children. But he saw fear in many of their ey
es, and knew it for the fright of his family’s name. He tried to smile, sure it must be a grimace.

  “Ah,” said Credell. “Yes. Well, we shall…ahem. We shall begin the day’s lessons, then. Yes. You may all resume practicing your spells. I shall be around presently to instruct you. Raise your hand for help if you require assistance.”

  Awkward silence hung in the air, and not a single student moved. Then Credell flapped his hands, as though shooing a cat from the room, and the students broke into muted activity. Some went to retrieve wooden rods from a cabinet in the corner, while others took hold of cups filled with water waiting on the tables before them. Credell left his lectern and puttered about the room, going from table to table and speaking to students in whispers. Ebon could not help but feel that the instructor was very deliberately avoiding his gaze.

  He shifted on his bench, unsure of what to do. All the other students seemed to know their business already. Ebon saw some of the children stirring their water and thought they must be practicing the testing spell, while others merely gripped their wooden rods, faces twisting in concentration. But he had no cup nearby to practice with, and did not know what spell to cast upon the wooden rod. So Ebon stayed in his seat. But Credell drifted through the room, slower still the nearer he drew to the rear where Ebon was waiting. Ebon forced himself to sit still; he had no wish to make himself a nuisance on his first day.

  Credell finished with the table across the aisle and turned to make for the front. Ebon sat forwards in surprise, and then leaned out into the aisle to thrust his hand in the air.

  “Instructor Credell?”

  The man leapt a foot in the air and looked over his shoulder, face twisted as if in pain. “Ah. Er. Yes. Quite right.”

  He turned reluctantly and came back towards Ebon, each step like wading through water. He reached the table with a wide smile plastered upon his face, and Ebon scooted aside to make room as his instructor took the bench.

  “Ebon,” he said, voice quivering. “It is Ebon, isn’t it? I have such a terrible mind for names.”

  “It is. What should I do?”

  “Ah, yes, well,” he said, his fingers drumming the table. “I was told you were never trained in transmutation, though I know that cannot be true, eh? A smart young boy like you.” Credell chuckled and patted Ebon’s shoulder. He could feel the man’s sweaty palms through the cloth.

  “You were told true,” said Ebon. “I know only the testing spell to turn a cup of water into oil.”

  “Oh, I am certain that is what you told everyone, eh?” Credell tapped his nose with a wink. “But I know what a curious mind can do. Worry not, for I shall spread no tales of any spell I see you cast in this room.”

  Ebon blinked. “I think you misunderstand me. I could not practice any spells, even if I knew any, not in secret or otherwise. My father kept a careful watch over me, and if I were to try…”

  “Ah, well then,” said Credell, shaking his head with a soft smile. “If you wish to keep up the pretense, I shall do the same. Anything for your honorable family.”

  “Instructor, I am not telling you false. I want to learn. What must I do?”

  Ebon felt his hackles rising as Credell gave him yet another broad wink. “Well, if you say you know nothing but the testing spell, then you had best practice it, eh? I will fetch you a cup of water.”

  He jumped from the bench as though stung by a bee and ran for the front of the room, before returning with a wooden cup of water. This he placed before Ebon, and then stood hesitantly for a moment, looking down at him.

  “Go on, then. I am sure you will make short work of it.”

  Ebon sighed, took the cup, and placed his finger in the water, trying to focus. Nothing happened. He frowned and concentrated, trying to reach for his gift as he had in the common room the day before. But now he could feel Credell’s eyes upon him, as well as the eyes of every student in the room. They were all watching him, and he could feel their wonder at seeing this older boy attempting the testing spell. He tried to force such thoughts from his mind, but they crowded back in until he could think of nothing else.

  He slammed down the cup in frustration. Some of the water splashed out and onto his hand. He shook it angrily away. “I told you, I never learned any spells, and could never even practice this one.”

  Credell shook his head with a kindly smile. But as he opened his mouth, the classroom door flew open and in came the Dean, waddling briskly, coming down the aisle towards them, twisting to keep his fat belly from knocking over cups upon the tables to either side. The students froze when they saw him, and drew away in fright as he passed. Above Ebon, Credell seemed to wilt like a flower thrown into a flame, shrinking into himself until he was small and insignificant. His watery eyes trembled until Ebon thought he might burst into tears. But the Dean seemed to ignore the instructor, his eyes fixed on Ebon.

  “Ebon, my dear cousin!” he said, puffing as he came to a stop before his desk. “How are you settling in here on your first day? My apologies—your second, I suppose.” He chortled, thick jowls bouncing as though he had made the Underrealm’s greatest joke. Beside Ebon, Credell tittered uncertainly.

  Ebon tried to look anywhere but up at the Dean. “I am well. Thank you for your concern.”

  “Of course, of course.” The Dean waved a hand magnanimously. From his tone, Ebon thought he could care less how he fared. Most likely he was there as a favor to Halab, but Ebon feared his presence would only worsen Credell’s behavior.

  As if to prove his thought, the Dean leaned over to look with interest at the cup sitting before Ebon on the table. His eyes narrowed, face twisting in a scowl.

  “The testing spell?” he snapped. “Surely your time is not being wasted on so insignificant a thing. What is the meaning of this, Instructor Credell?”

  He rounded on the poor man, and despite his frustration, Ebon pitied the instructor. Credell retreated even further into himself, backing up until he stood flush to the wall, his hands flying together at his breast.

  “He—he said—he only knows the testing—” Credell stammered.

  “I know that he only knows the testing spell. Your job is to teach him otherwise. Or what do you think your purpose is in this place?” Cyrus’ voice had risen very nearly to a shout. The young children in the room were looking up at him in fear, or else hiding their faces.

  “I have only just arrived,” said Ebon hastily. “We were just going over—”

  The Dean cut him off with a wave. “You need not trouble yourself to defend him, Ebon. Now listen here, whelp.” He pressed forwards, and though he and Credell were of a height, the instructor had cowered so greatly that he stood a head shorter than the Dean. “I will not have you wasting Ebon’s time. You will see to it that he learns his studies quickly, and not squander his hours here repeating a spell that can be done by any child aged ten summers!”

  He turned on his heel, stalked to the front of the room, and flew through the door in a rush, slamming it behind him. The door’s crash made Credell collapse at last, and he sank to the bench with a whimper. There he sat for a moment, before seeming to realize he was right beside Ebon. He leapt back to his feet with a cry, rushed to the front of the room, and cowered behind his lectern, refusing to look up or meet a single eye, Ebon’s least of all.

  Now every student in the room had their eyes fixed upon him, and Ebon could feel their radiating terror. It seemed the Dean was not well-liked behind the Academy walls, at least not by the students—and, if his behavior towards Credell was any indication, nor by the instructors. Vaguely he remembered Jia’s snide words about the Dean the day before.

  Even here, with his father halfway across the nine lands and drawing farther away by the day, Ebon could not escape his family’s name. He let his head sink until it rested on the desk, and closing his eyes, he wished he were back in his bed.

  ten

  IT SEEMED AN ETERNITY BEFORE a bell clanged through the Academy halls and Credell announced that the stud
ents were excused for their midday meal. The moment he spoke, he was out the door like a shot. The other students moved to flee just as quickly, but not quicker than Ebon. He was away from his bench as if thrown, running out the door and into the hallway. The place was soon filled with bodies, students emerging from their classes in a mass, until he could hardly move.

  He spotted a door of white wood, and remembered that it led to the training grounds. The thought of open air, free from the press of bodies and the crushing weight of embarrassment, suddenly seemed the greatest of luxuries, and he pushed past several students to reach the door. It opened easily under his hand, and soon Ebon found himself alone on the grassy lawn. Neither students nor instructors were around to disturb him, having all gone inside for their meal. For a while Ebon simply walked about, closing his eyes and trying to forget the morning’s disappointment.

  More and more, Ebon found himself wishing he had never come to the Academy. He had always imagined it as a place of magic and wonder, where he could finally learn to harness the gifts that fate had seen fit to bestow upon him. Yet thus far, if anything, the place seemed worse than Idris. At least in his family’s manor he had Tamen, and Albi to visit and commiserate with often. Here he had no one. And while the Academy itself was a beautiful place, and the High King’s Seat rich in splendor and history, he found himself feeling homesick for home’s arid deserts for the first time. Were the sand dunes and the dry air really so bad? At least they were familiar, and though he lived under his father’s thumb, Ebon was still a child of wealth and power. Here he was nothing—or perhaps less than that.

  There was a stone bench nearby, and he sank down onto it with a sigh, hanging his head so low it nearly touched his knees, elbows grating against the rough fabric of his robes. Could he still leave? Perhaps it was not too late. His parents would have left the island already, and Halab may have done the same by now. But he had some coin, mayhap enough to secure passage home.