The Alchemist's Touch (11 page)

Ebon had never thought of this. “You make it sound like a great burden.”

“It is a high responsibility—and one not every wizard takes seriously. I hope that you will, Ebon.”

“But I still do not understand, Instructor. What shall I study here?”

She leaned back in her chair, spreading her hands. “Whatever you think will serve you best, in whatever capacity you imagine yourself after the Academy.”

Ebon shook his head. “I have told you, I do not know what I shall do then.”

“Well then, perhaps that should be your first goal: to decide. Do you have any interests already?”

Ebon looked away, studying his fingernails. He cleared his throat. “Not…not any in particular.”

Jia gave him a wry smile. “Your eyes give lie to your words, transmuter. Come now. What do you enjoy reading about? Many here enjoy herbs and healing. Others are interested in husbandry and the growing of crops. All are excellent areas of study, if you mean to travel about the nine lands and help others. So?”

Still he felt embarrassed. Among the many things that had invited his father’s sharp words and sneers, this was one of the greatest. Ebon often remembered getting his hands on some such book, only to have it reported by Tamen, and the volume ripped from his hands and hurled into the fireplace.

He spoke quietly, uncertain. “I have often…that is, I would sometimes find myself reading a book of history. I enjoy tales of the past, of kings and the like who have long since passed. Sometimes I would read of armies and battles, the rise and fall of kingdoms. I do not know why, but such tales always—they seemed to call me.”

At first Jia did not answer. Ebon felt sure she must be smirking, as his father often had. But when at last he raised his eyes to look at her, a small smile played at the corners of her mouth.

“That is a fine pursuit. The wisdom of what has passed is often of great help to the days in which we live, and alas the times to come.”

Ebon smiled despite himself, and turned bashfully away. “My father called it stupid. He said only fools spent their days living in the past.”

“Your father sounds like the greater fool to me,” she said snippily. Though he had not spoken the words himself, still Ebon felt a little thrill, as though they had shared in some petty misdeed. “I think you will find many helpful volumes here. After all, every book is history, if only it manages to survive the ravages of time. The older books are kept on the third level, as are the histories compiled by more modern scholars. Take that staircase just there, and then follow the walkway around to the northern wall. I shall give you the name of a few volumes you may find helpful. Some are good to read all on their own. But you should start with one that may point you towards the others. Read it first, and I think you will find yourself pulled towards your interests.”
 

She took a small scrap of parchment, scribbled with a quill, and handed the scrap to Ebon. The first title was underlined, and he read it aloud.

“A Treatise on the Great Families of the Nine Lands, Their Origins and Lineage.
What is it?”

Her eyes sparkled as she regarded him. “The beginning of a great journey through the last many centuries, if I guess right.”

twelve

SOLEMNLY HE MADE HIS WAY to the staircase. It was wrought in iron and turned in a circle, even tighter than the staircases from the Academy’s stone halls. He found that it ended at the second floor, and that another staircase stood some ten paces away to reach the third. This too he climbed, and then found himself on the third level.

The railing was three paces away, and he went to it to look over. His hands gripped the railing, and he found it hard to breathe. He must have been at least fifteen paces in the air, perhaps twenty. The figures walking about the first level were small—he could hide them with his thumb. His chest tightened, and he turned quickly away, moving closer to the wall.

The north end, Jia had said. He made his way there quickly, keeping his gaze from the railing. Soon he reached it, and scanned the shelves. Every book was bound in leather, and they were of all colors and sizes. On the parchment, beside the title, Jia had scrawled the words:
second bookcase, third down. Red.

He found the second bookcase, which had seven shelves. The third down was filled with many tomes, several red—but none of the titles scrawled upon the spines matched the one he had been sent to find. Puzzled, Ebon looked at the parchment again. He had read it right. The book was not there. The shelf had a space where a book might be, but nothing more.

Perhaps Jia had misremembered where the book was. Or mayhap it had been moved. He glanced at the other shelves quickly, but none held the book. Then he moved to the next bookcase, and then the one after that. Perhaps he had missed it. He went back and forth across them all, finding every red book and carefully reading the title to ensure he had not erred. Then he looked at the other colored volumes as well. But still he could not find it.

Ebon ground his teeth. Mayhap he should find one of the other titles she had given him. But no, he thought she had been clear about where he should start. He hoped this was not some cruel joke by Lilith, but he could not see her anywhere while looking about.

His wandering eye
did
catch on something. At one of the nearby tables, another student sat deep in his book. It was wide, and bound in brown leather, but that was not what caught Ebon’s eye. A stack of other volumes sat by the boy’s left hand, and at the bottom a crimson tome. Ebon stepped closer. There, glistening with gold foil that had been worn off in places, he read the title:
A Treatise on the Great Families of the Nine Lands, Their Origins and Lineage.

Ebon took another tentative step forwards. He tried to lean over, to place himself in the boy’s field of vision. But the boy did not move. Another step. Still he read on, his nose only a few inches from his book. He could not have seen more than fourteen years. His eyes, now squinting as he read, were close together, and his hair shone with a copper tint in the light of lamps hanging on the library walls.

Though he felt at a loss, Ebon chastised himself. The boy was at least two years younger than he, his attention fixed on the page, except when he moved to scribble notes with his quill. The boy was not even reading the book that Ebon wanted.

“Ahem!”

He cleared his throat far louder than he had intended. Every student within twenty feet jumped in their seats, then turned to glare. Ebon felt his cheeks darken and tried to wave his apology without a sound. Slowly, they returned to their books.

All but the boy with copper hair. Now at last he was looking up at Ebon. His blue eyes were wider than Ebon had at first realized, and now seemed to swallow the larger part of his face. His head was cocked to the side, button nose reminding Ebon strangely of his sister Albi’s, though otherwise the two of them could not have looked more different.

Ebon stepped closer. Now he was at the table, standing above the boy. “I was told to read this book by Instructor Jia,” he whispered. “Will you need it much longer?”

The boy’s gaze fell to the book. “Yes,” he said, and resumed his reading. His quill darted across the parchment.

Ebon stood frozen. Then, unsure of what else to do, he pulled out the chair opposite the boy and sat. That drew the boy’s attention again. “I am sorry—mayhap I did not speak clearly. Jia told me to read the book. Might I use it—at least until you require it again?”

The boy blinked his blue eyes twice in quick succession. His brow furrowed. Again he looked at the book, as though he was hearing Ebon’s words for the first time. “Wait. You say that Jia told you to read it? It is a tome of history.”

“I know,” said Ebon, growing somewhat annoyed. “I told her that was what I wished to read, and she pointed me this way.”

The boy’s widened. “You asked to study history? Sky above, I can’t remember meeting another student who found such interesting.” He drew back, looking suspicious. “Is this some jest?”

“It is no jest,” said Ebon, frowning. “Listen, may I read the book or not?”

“But it is a beginner’s tome,” said the boy, shaking his head. “You are older than I am. Certainly you must have studied beyond it by now.”

Ebon looked over his shoulder nervously. But he did not think anyone was near enough to hear their whispers. “I…may I please just take it? You may come and fetch me when you need it, if you wish.”

Again those blue eyes widened. The boy leaned forwards, but his whisper grew louder. “You
are
a beginner. How can that be? How old are you? I would guess at least sixteen.”

Quickly Ebon cast another glance over his shoulder, but no one had taken notice. “Do you need to shout it? I may be new to the Academy, but still I would wager I could take you in a fight, if that is your preference.”

The boy only gave a little smile. “That settles it—certainly you are new. Well, you are in luck, friend. I have read the treatise through and through, more times than I have counted. Jia told you, I imagine, that it is meant to point you to something else in the end?”

Ebon felt his nostrils flare. “She mentioned something of it, yes.”

The boy grinned. “But I can tell you what to read instead already—you will enjoy it far more, if you have sense at all, which I suspect you do. It is a history of the Wizard Kings.”

The room seemed to darken. Ebon felt the urge to look behind him again, but fought it away. Even a whisper of such dark words felt like a crime. “Do you mean this place has books that speak of them?”

“I am not sure if it is even supposed to be here.” The boy leaned forwards, his thin forearms pressing down into the book. “I found it one day, searching for something else. It bears no title, either on its spine or its cover. I think the library’s attendants simply missed it.”

Despite himself, Ebon found himself yearning to see the book. He stuck out a hand across the table. “Then show me. I am Ebon.”

“Kalem, of the family Konnel.” The boy reached out to grasp Ebon’s wrist. “Come. I have hidden it away, to keep it from being found.”

They stood, the red book forgotten. Kalem took his hand and dragged him down the walkway and around to the other side of the library. But he stepped too near the railing for Ebon’s liking, and Ebon drew away.

Kalem blinked back at him. “What is it?”

Ebon eyed the railing distrustfully. “I do not enjoy heights.”

He thought the boy might laugh at him, but Kalem only gave a solemn nod. “I did not either. Then I spent two years on this floor. The feeling will pass in time, but for now we shall walk closer to the wall.”

So they did, until they reached the other end of the floor. There on the southern wall, Ebon found to his surprise that there were two passageways leading around it. Kalem led him through, until Ebon found himself in a room that mirrored the library on the other side—just as wide, equally long, but with only a single floor below. He realized that this second part of the library must extend back into the citadel quite a ways, until it butted up against the dormitories’ rear walls.

“It is even bigger than I thought,” Ebon breathed.

Kalem grinned back at him. “You had not seen this yet? Is it your first day?”

“My second. How could so many books have been written? It must have taken a thousand scribes a thousand years.”

“I do not doubt it,” said Kalem. “Come.”

There were far fewer students in this part of the library, and Ebon saw none on their floor. The lamps were less tended, and there was no amber skylight to fill the place with a warm glow. They passed from light to shadow and back again. In the farthest, darkest corner of the library, Kalem stopped at last.

“No doubt you received some training wherever you came from,” said Kalem. “You can come here and do this any time you like. Only remember where it is.”

So saying, he went to the narrow space between two bookshelves, where the granite wall showed through. Placing his hands to the wall, he concentrated. From behind him, Ebon saw the glow of his eyes. The stone shifted beneath Kalem’s fingers, turning liquid and sliding aside. He removed his hands, and a perfect hole, like a shelf, appeared in the rock. Upon that shelf sat a book bound in blue leather. With careful, reverent hands, Kalem reached in to withdraw it.

“Here it is,” he said.
“An Account of the Dark War and the Fearless Decree.”

Ebon shuddered as though an icy draft had blown down his back. “You say you found this shelf? How did you know it was there?”

Kalem shook his head. “I found the book in the library. I made the shelf myself. It is no great feat.”

He led Ebon to a corner, where a small table waited with two plush red chairs beside it. Before they sat, Ebon risked a look around, but still no students were in sight on their floor. But Kalem saw his look, and his copper brows drew closer together.

“Why do you keep looking about? No one is here to see us read it.”

“It is not that. I only…” Ebon stopped. How could he tell this boy that already he was mocked for having to study with children, and had no wish to give Lilith and her friends further cause to torment him?

But Kalem must have read something in his face, for again he looked solemn and nodded. “I am young. You think I am a child, and do not wish to be seen with me.”

“It is not that,” Ebon said, wishing he had been quicker to find a lie. “I…that is, a tome of the Wizard Kings…”

But Kalem waved him to silence. “Do not trouble yourself. I am well used to it by now. They placed me in a class more advanced than my years, for I learned my first transmutation lessons too quickly. None of the other students in my class wish to spend much time with me, either. I am somewhat used to it.” But despite the boy’s words, Ebon could see how Kalem avoided his gaze.

His words caught Ebon’s attention for another reason. “Did you say you are an alchemist?”
 

Kalem blinked in surprise. “Of course I am. You saw me slide the stones apart—and you should not use the commoner’s word.”

“You and I share a gift,” said Ebon. “I too am an alch—that is, a transmuter.”