The Marechal Chronicles: Volume V, The Tower of the Alchemist (16 page)

He cast about, scanning the ground, and as to what he searched for even he could not have said.

But when he saw it, he was as utterly stunned as if he had come upon a dragon, or perhaps a boar black as coal with a heart as dark as legend made it out to be.

Etienne had posed his largest hammer on the ground, leaning its handle against the very stone that still resisted him.  He had thought to wait for his strength to return before making another attempt.

However, all thought of the hammer and what he wanted to do with it was wiped away as Etienne peered down at the one stone among them all that glowed.

Rather, the soft light that seemed to shine so brightly under dark skies bled out along a fine, jagged line that had been completely invisible in the light of day.

Etienne dropped to one knee before it and pulled the hammer away so that he could see the thing better.

He understood then that the very day and with the very first stroke of the new hammer against stone, he had cracked his target without knowing it.

He stretched out his hand slowly and touched the stone where it was still intact.  It was cool and rough, just as one would expect.

Then he drew a finger to the thin line of light slipping through the cracked surface and what he felt was warm and inviting.

Suddenly, without warning, there was a burst of color and light that forced his eyes to slits, and then came a hammer stroke of emotions that did not belong to him.

He could not stop the tears that sprang from his eyes as he felt joy and adoration more powerful than humanly possible.  His own memories of Myri and her beautiful blue eyes leaped in recognition of the message the stone sent, then all of the warmth and delight so acute that it bordered upon rapture flowed away as do the waves upon the sea.  And just as quickly, agony and terrible loss broke over him and left him helpless before ancient memories of an unnamed tragedy.

A despair so deep, so devastating, speared Etienne through and through. The alchemist’s son knew his heart was about to break and that he would die before he could draw his next breath.

Then the rush of intense feelings disappeared as quickly as it had come, flowing back and away from him, and Etienne’s night vision returned.

His entire body shook with the power of what he had just experienced.  Then a deep calm swept over him and with it, the comprehension of what he must do next.

Without understanding how he could know such a thing, Etienne took a deep breath then brought both his hands to the stone and, with the fissure running between his palms, he pulled.

The stone broke into two halves like the husk of an ancient fruit, and what lay in its center was an oval of crystal that glowed softly, pulsing gently.  Pulsing like the heart of a goddess.

Etienne hesitated, fearing the rush of unbearable emotions to come, but he knew there was no other way.  He reached for it with both his hands for it was the size of two fists.

He felt the warmth once more, only stronger.  There was a flicker of something that felt like recognition, then it was gone again and he let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding.

The alchemist’s son got to his feet with his prize held in his hands and had just one thought in mind.

This was something more incredible and so utterly unexpected that it surpassed all his hopes to find one last heartstone.

He could only imagine what his father would think, and he rushed to go back the way he had come for the dark abyss overhead had yielded something extraordinary and its light was subtle indeed.

The stairs flew under his feet as he raced up them.  Etienne scarcely noticed how his heart pounded when he arrived before his father’s laboratory door.  A slip of light gleamed under it and he did not bother to knock, for he knew he would find his father within, either working by candlelight, or as was more and more often the case, slumped and snoring over indecipherable calculations scrawled upon a slate.

But this time his father neither worked nor did he sleep.  Instead, he sat at a long table and held one of his smaller lenses before him. He peered through it at the book Bellamere had returned that afternoon.

Etienne saw how old his father looked in that moment.  His back was bent as he turned one page after another.  His was an old man's back and soon the day would come when he would no longer stand as straight as he did now.

Then, the day would come when he would no longer care to stand at all. Perhaps, though, the object smothered in Etienne's tunic could change all that.

“Father!  Bellamere is a ... “ he started to say.

His father looked sharply up at him and said, “... a genius.  Yes, I know.”

“No.  You don't,” Etienne said, his eyes fierce.

“He gave me the clue without knowing, I suppose.  But 'the subtle light of darkness' made me think I should look at something, but at an hour I had never thought to look before ... “ and with a flourish, he tore his cloak away from what he held in his hands and said, “And this is the result.”

His face was lit from below as the object's light lifted up once more in gentle tones and Etienne's own eyes fairly gleamed.

“Do you see, Father?  This is a subtle light, is it not?  I thought a stone might contain the last of the heartstones, but instead, I discovered the means to opening it at last and it was not with the might of my hammer, but with darkness as my guide that I found this hidden jewel.”

The Alchemist nodded, his own eyes softening as he took in the sight of Etienne, intense and dramatic, holding the glowing object in his hands.

“Yes, Etienne, my good son.  I see.  And, thanks to our friend, Bellamere, I know what this thing is and that it will be of no use in our current need.”

“I don't understand.  Surely this is a means to some kind of power.  I mean, I've heard it from someone that this could be a talisman of great potency.”

“You have not heard wrong, son.  But it is a power that does not figure in the texts of our forefathers.  Doubtless, one day it will yield enormous possibilities, but it will take many years of study, I'm afraid.”

Etienne's face fell.  Of all the wonders he might have brought his father, like no other heartstone he had ever brought him, he thought this object of light under dark skies would have been reason for his father's pleasure.

“On the other hand, the smith's son has shown me the way after I thought to show him the door the last time I had seen him.”

Etienne shook his head.  

“I don't understand.”

“Nor did I.  Not until now.  The problem has always been how to purify and tame the power of light so that its focus would be perfect.  I followed in the footsteps of my elders, who used the distillation of various minerals into oils, which were then heated until separated by the height of our tower.  These in turn became the filtres through which I purposed to focus and pass light such as through a prism, but with some colors, or qualities, diminished and others removed altogether.

“All of it with the intention of controlling the power of light, to be able to bridle its power without dampening it.  Otherwise, it becomes a wild, uncontrollable force and of no use to my purposes.”

He dropped his gaze from Etienne’s eyes down to the shining object that resembled a jewel, but one which had not known the hand of man in its shaping for its form was none other than a teardrop.

“This ... this wondrous thing is just like that, my son.  It has no relevance in what I attempt to do.”

Etienne backed away from his father.  He had done his best and it had not been enough.

“Let us take it to the vaults,” his father said, “There it will wait for us in safety and for the research to come at our leisure, for I have found the key to the puzzle and success is so very close now.”

The two men descended the long flight of stairs to the ground level.

The Alchemist took out a key and opened a door that did not lead outside, revealing instead yet another flight of steps leading below.

Etienne followed his father down to the cellars beneath the tower, along long corridors that sloped ever down, twisting and turning as they went.

The two went further than they had ever bothered to go before when they brought the heartstone jewels to the cellars for safekeeping.  They had gone well past the great furnaces capped in enormous
alambics
that his father used in his experiments.

On and on they went until Etienne wondered if they would lose their way back up, or perhaps risk placing the jewel somewhere that they would never find again.

It was as if his father read his mind.

“Not to worry,” he said as they came at last to a great door that opened without a sound under his hand, “I will remember where it is and, after all, it shall only be for a few days before I come back to retrieve it.”

Etienne sighed.

“Are you so sure of your success this time, Father?”

“I am.  There can be no more doubt,” he said as he stepped within the chamber.  Its ceiling was high and the space within far larger than one might have guessed for such a place so deep under the tower.

The Alchemist set it upon a carved stone shelf.  The talisman was covered anew in Etienne’s cloak, its light hidden, and in silent agreement, the two men left it that way.

The door shut smoothly behind them and Etienne felt the same sense of finality he always felt in that place, the intimation that no one but a man bearing the St. Lucq name could open that door again.

The two of them made the long ascent up from the cellars, and the symbol of an old man who continued steadily upward while his son stayed behind was not lost on Etienne.

But the hour was late and when dawn came at last, he planned to seek out Myri without delay.  Whether he would tell her about what he had found, Etienne had not yet decided.  All that he was sure of was that he could not spend another day without setting his eyes upon her own, nor without the touch of her soft lips upon his.

Perhaps, in the sum of all things, that was the only truth that mattered.

Perhaps it is enough
, he thought as he opened his chamber door and lay down upon his bed. 

Sleep did not elude him this time, but it did not linger for very long.

A giant hammered upon a war drum.

Boom, boom ... boom!

His enormous legs stomped down to shake the world and Etienne felt the tower sway as the giant came to tear it to the ground.

And then he was up and bursting out his chamber door, ready to fly to his father’s laboratory for he knew there was no such thing as giants, but the hollow sounds of an explosion still echoed in his ears.

This was no dream.

He ran up the flight of stairs and practically bowled his father over as he rounded the first bend.

“No, son,” the old man said, breathless, “It came from below.”

Then they both descended as rapidly as they could, Etienne in the lead, his father not far behind.

What they found was utter devastation.

The ground level chamber was filled with dust in the air, so thick it obscured almost everything.  Bits of stone were still falling from overhead and the tower continued to shiver with the shock of what had just happened.

Father and son coughed as they felt their way forward, until at last, Etienne reached back to his father and clutched his arm.

“Here, Father.  This is what we heard.”

Both gaped at a crevasse in the floor before them.  It yawned wide there where the tower stairs led down to the cellars below, only now the opening had been blown out wide enough to drive a team of horses through it.  The heavy stone door that blocked the next level down was also broken and lying in pieces, its frame wrenched away in twisted fragments of old iron.

“By all the gods,” his father said under his breath, “What kind of power could do such a thing?”

Etienne shook his head.  It was unimaginable.  No thief had ever been able to penetrate into the stronghold of the tower.

Their ancestors had made sure of it and it was the one truth that neither of the men had ever questioned.

“I think I know, Father.  This has the stink of magic about it.”

His father did not reply for a moment and when he did, Etienne was chilled to the bone.

“Your prize has been taken, son.  Whatever it is, someone more powerful than all of the St. Lucq lineage has decided to claim it for their own.”

The alchemist’s son shook his head, unwilling to consider the only conclusion he could make, and it was with her soft voice that he heard the words once more as he had when he first met her.

... deliver this thing to me and my mother ....

The dusty air turned over into a red haze as fury reared its ugly head in Etienne’s mind.

“You are not wrong, Father.  Worse still, I know who it is and that I have been duped from the very beginning.”

All her sweet words, the way she had led him from one day to another until he had been obsessed to the point of being blind.

All of it a ruse.

Myri had come for one thing only, and he had been a fool to believe that the passion ignited between them had been real.

She had simply been biding her time.

“Of whom do you speak?” his father asked.

Etienne growled out his next words.

“I speak of a witch, Father.  Nothing less than a creature ready to do anything to procure the talisman and ... “ he whirled away from his father and sprinted to the front door of the tower.

“... and I will not allow her to escape.”

His last words floated back to the alchemist, who could do nothing but shake his head sadly.

“Oh, my son,” he said to the empty air where Etienne had disappeared into the night, “I think you are wrong.  The dark of night was not the sole necessary criteria.  That is too easy and would have meant its discovery long ago and not by us.  I think that object could not be found except by someone in the throes of true love.  And I think that kind of passion cannot exist except when it is harbored equally between two souls.”

The dust continued to settle, and the way it fell upon the alchemist’s face deepened his wrinkles far beyond his years.