The Alchemist's Touch (8 page)

“There is one more thing you should know. If you wish to send a letter home, you may bring it to me, and I will see its safe transport. The fee is a silver penny. But if you wish to send a letter, and have not the coin, come speak with me, and I will see if something can be arranged.”

Ebon blushed, for he had a thick purse in his robes—transferred from the clothes he had worn upon arrival, and always kept upon him in case of emergency. “I do not think I shall have a problem in that regard. But I thank you for your consideration.” Again he thanked the sky above that she did not know his family. He remembered the way that everyone had avoided his eyes at the tavern only two days ago, and knew Jia would never have been so friendly if she knew.

“I imagine that is true, Ebon of the family Drayden.”

A chill set into his bones, and Ebon blanched as he looked at her. Wordlessly his mouth worked, trying to form some explanation. Jia smiled sadly, and then, to his surprise, she took his hand.

“You thought I did not know your family? It is written plain on your face, as well as your bearing, and your manner of speech. But if you think that matters here, you are mistaken. No one worth their salt cares for your name or your kin. And the Draydens have produced many excellent wizards—sky above, one of them is our Dean.”

Ebon found words hard to muster. “But…but on the Seat, they…”

“I do not doubt that many on the street looked at you askance. But you will find—or you
should
find—that being a wizard is different. Many worries you have struggled with during your life will fade while you are here. If not, then you are not learning all that you should. Do you understand?”

“I am afraid not.”

“Of course not. But you will. Your first class is tomorrow morning, two hours after the rising of the sun.”

Then she left him, and Ebon stared after her, dumbfounded, as the dormitory faded to silence around him.

eight

AFTER JIA HAD GONE, HE went to his cabinet and ensured his robes were neatly stacked. He doubted anyone would care how his cabinet looked, but liked his things well ordered, and no longer had Tamen to take care of them for him.

Tamen.
Thinking of his retainer sent Ebon’s mind spinning. Only a few hours ago he had left Tamen standing in the Drayden manor courtyard, and now he was in the Academy. He might see Tamen again someday, and then again he might not. Certainly it would be a long time, unless his parents returned to the Seat for some reason Ebon could not predict.
 

But thinking of his parents, he also thought of the closed carriage door and the shadow behind the curtain. That thought did not bear dwelling upon, and so he looked about the dormitory for something else to do. It seemed no duties were required of him, at least not until the next morrow. Mayhap he could inspect the common room, for he had seen it only twice, and both times in haste. He left his bed and walked the long aisle to the door leading out.

The common room was wide and tall, but somehow seemed close and comfortable at the same time. He inspected the plush chairs placed about the room again, and the fireplaces set in either wall. It was summer now, and so they sat unlit, but he did not doubt that they would give great warmth when winter’s shroud descended upon the Seat. The walls were the same granite as the citadel, but hung with many tapestries of red and green and gold, and everywhere he saw the cross-and-circle of the Academy worked into the designs.

To his surprise, Ebon saw another student sitting in the common room. He did not remember seeing her when he had passed through with Jia. Perhaps she had come in only a moment ago—but then, perhaps, he had only missed her, for she sat quietly tucked into a chair in the corner, making no noise. Indeed, she did not even look up or appear to see him. Her hair was lank and black, her skin sallow, and massive bags hung beneath her eyes and above her gaunt cheeks.

Slowly, anxiously, Ebon drew closer. Still she did not see him. She was holding something in her hands, and now he could see it was a goblet of silver. Then, to Ebon’s amazement, her eyes glowed with an inner light, and she pulled her hands away—but the cup stayed there, floating in midair.
 

She is a mindmage.

The girl twisted her hands, and the goblet began to spin. First it turned end over end, in line with her nose. Then she concentrated, her nose twitching, and it twisted in another direction. Her hands clenched, wiry muscles taut beneath the skin, and it spun the opposite way. It turned faster and faster, becoming a blur, moving so fast that Ebon thought it looked like a spinning silver ball, and not a cup at all.

Entrancement made him forget his fear, and now he walked eagerly to her, stopping next to the arm of her chair. Yet, still she did not look at him. He waited a moment in silence, out of manners, and then gently cleared his throat.

“That is astonishing,” he said, fearing his voice was too loud in the quiet room. The girl said nothing. He felt sweat beading on the back of his neck, and pulled at the collar of his robe. “I…I am Ebon. I am only arrived to the Academy today. How long have you attended?”

At last she looked up, meeting his brown eyes with her own, still glowing from the use of her magic. Then her hands constricted, like an eagle’s claws sinking into a rabbit’s neck. The goblet abruptly stopped spinning, and crumpled into a tiny ball of metal with a terrible rending noise.

Ebon jumped, and then turned hastily to scurry away. He found a chair on the other end of the room, blocked from sight by the furniture in between, and tried sinking into the plush cushions.

As the fright died in his breast, Ebon’s fingers tapped on the armchair. He looked about the room, but could see no one else, nor hear the sound of anyone passing by in the hallway. He could only feel the girl’s presence, as though her eyes were boring into his soul, despite the fact she could not see him.

Perhaps he had better practice his own magic. Soon he would be expected to perform it, and he was many years out of practice. If Tamen had ever caught him playing at spells, his father would have heard about it immediately. And he had never been allowed to meet another wizard, much less an alchemist.
 

But he still remembered the spell he had done as a boy, when the Academy’s tester had come to see if he had the gift. Now he looked around, seeing cups and a pitcher of water on a nearby table. He went to fetch himself a cup—careful to keep his eyes from the corner of the room where the dark girl sat—and returned to his chair.

He gently swished the water, and then placed a single finger into the cup to stir it. The water was neither cool nor warm, but was the exact temperature of the room itself. He closed his eyes and focused. Hazy across the long years since he first heard them, the old wizard’s words returned to his mind:
Feel the water. See it the way it truly is. And then change it.

Ebon concentrated with all his might. His eyes squeezed shut so tightly that they pained him. But nothing happened. He opened one eye, just a crack, to be sure. But the water still sat cool against his finger. The back of his neck prickled, and his forehead beaded with sweat. He thought he could feel something…something within him, yearning to break free. He reached for it, but the harder he grasped, the more quickly it slipped away.

A long, slow breath escaped him. He stopped reaching, stopped trying to grasp the unknowable power dancing at the edge of his awareness. Instead he thought only of the water growing before his vision, the goblet swelling until it swallowed all the world. Now even his finger was forgotten, except as the bridge connecting him to the liquid.

His vision brightened.

Ebon felt his heart beginning to hammer in his chest, but forced himself to concentrate. His finger stirred, swirling in slow little circles and causing the water to splash against the cup’s rim. He turned the water thick and soupy, wherever he touched it, until soon it was pasty and resisting his finger.

He sat back with a gasp, leaning into the couch, hand trembling as he lifted the cup again. Within, the water was a thick, oily soup.

He wanted to burst into laughter. It had worked. Years had passed since he had last dared to slip away from Tamen for long enough to try it. He thanked the sky above that he could still do it, for he shuddered to think of the bitter irony of reaching the Academy at last, only to lose his gift.

The common room door slammed open, and three students stormed inside.
 

Ebon shot to his feet. Across the room, he saw the sallow-faced girl had gone. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, he realized he still held the cup before him. Swiftly he turned to place it on the table beside his chair, straightened himself, and then wiped his finger against his robe to rid it of the oil.

A girl led the other students who had entered, and her gaze fixed on Ebon. She paused for a moment, brows drawing close, and then came to him. Her skin was ebony, her thick hair cut just below her ears and intricately braided to frame her face, making her light eyes all the more captivating. She stopped before Ebon and put her hands to her hips, sizing him up. Though Ebon stood half a head taller than she, he felt himself quail before her presence—an effect greatly enhanced by the girl and boy standing behind her, both several fingers taller than Ebon. Though she wore the same plain black robes as any other student, her stance and expression spoke plainly: here was a girl from wealth and power.

“Who are you?” she said. “I have not seen you before.”

Ebon tried to speak, but it came out as a cough, spit catching in his gullet. He cleared his throat. “I—I am Ebon,” he croaked. “I have only just arrived at the Academy today.”

“Where did you train before? You cannot be sponsored by some lord. You are far too old. Did your family hire you some tutor?”

Ebon felt a burning all along his skin, and knew his face must be dark as a well-cooked roast. “I have never trained.”

She stared at him for a moment, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. He could see in her face that she did not believe him. Behind her, the other students looked at each other askance. But then the girl’s eyes darted past Ebon, to the wooden cup on the side table. He tried shifting to the side, to block her view with his body. But her lips twisted in a cruel smirk, and she pushed past him to grasp the cup. Lifting it before her face, she dipped a finger into the crude oil.

“The trial spell?” she laughed. “That cannot be the only magic you know.”

“It is,” said Ebon, still flush with shame. But now annoyance was blossoming to anger in his breast, and he spoke without thinking. “My father never wanted me to train, and if he caught me trying magic—”

The girl stopped Ebon with a loud laugh, the others behind her snickering along. Then her eyes glowed white, and she snapped her fingers. A spark sprang from her hand and landed on his sleeve. He felt the heat of it immediately, and with a cry of dismay tried to beat it out.

“Oh, does my flame bother you?” said the girl, laughing harder. “Here, perhaps this will help.”

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.