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Short Story / The Alchemist's Apprentice
”This will be your final lesson.” The alchemist grasped an iron with his age spotted hand, using it to stir the dying remnants smoldering in the fireplace. Lantes brought over the heavy, cast iron tea pot and hung it above the weak flames. He searched out another piece of wood and carefully set it atop the fire.
”Have seven years sped by so quick?” The damp, solid walls of the old round tower closed comfortably about the pair. The tower, with its bowing shelves and endless stacks of dusty tomes, had grown to become much more of a home to Lantes than the thatch roofed homes and mud soaked streets of the village in which he had been born. Secrets lingered in the piles of scrolls and unwashed flasks, it danced about the airs of the tower upon lingering traces of pipe smoke, incense and the fading of enigmatic reagents.
”After today, the title of alchemist will finally be yours.” Lighting his oddly curving pipe with a burning bit of wood, the alchemist leaned back into the cushions of the ancient plush chair with a contented smile. Lantes set a pair of cups upon the polished and well worn table, waiting for the familiar whistle of the kettle. He had lived here for so long, I would be hard to leave.
”I think I shall miss your company master.” Lantes moved about the cupboards, searching among the tins. His fingers slid across the one he sought, knowing well the mark embossed upon its lid.
”You have grown too comfortable.” A plume of bluish smoke billowed out from the old man’s lips, lazily drifting towards the heavy beams of the ceiling and the countless bundles of herbs hanging out to dry. ”Once this last task is finished, your apprenticeship will also be at an end. I can teach you nothing more.”
”I have yet to fully comprehend the cycles of Helion or the progression of Aneval’s Sword as it cleaves through the heavens.” There was so much lore yet to learn; of the patterns of the heavens, the properties of herbs and even the distilling of the aether into its elemental bases. Stacks of hastily penned notes littered his writing desk upstairs, tracing the path of planets and tracing the precise formulae of the alchemical processes that he sought to understand. ”I beg you Master, I must have more time.”
”You trust too much in formulae and in the logic which I have shown you, Lantes.” Steam hissed out from the soot stained kettle as it began to whistle. ”To fully appreciate the depth of our art, you must finally learn to look beyond the mathematics and the knowledge of things. Only a true alchemist can master the deep truth.”
”Deep truth, Master?” Lantes unhooked the kettle, the pit of his stomach sinking into an uncertain realm. What could his Master be speaking of? The handle burned in his hands, jolting him into pouring. A sense of fear intermingled with his natural curiosity, transmuting and shifting with him.
”You must make a Philosopher’s Stone and imbibe the elixir that can be produced from it.” The alchemist took another deep draw from his pipe, blowing out a long plume of bluish smoke. ”Drink your tea Lantes, and steel yourself for this task.”
”Master?” The old man lapsed into silence, sipping at a sweetened cup of tea and listening to the occasional popping of the fire. Lantes settled down into his chair, wrapping his hands about the steaming cup he held. His Master was quietly drifting off into sleep, as he often did at this hour, leaving Lantes to mull over his task in silence. The fire had nearly burnt itself out before he finally finished his cup.
Leaving his Master snore softly, Lantes made his way up the creaking steps and then into the study. Motes of dust drifted down, illuminated by the silvery moonlight leaking in from a distant window. Carefully clasping the taper, he shuffled over to the writing desk and the strewn parchment of his notes. Cyclic calculations of the orbits of Gaen and Avernuz were scrawled among studies of distillation, tincture and the nature of aether. He searched out fresh candles among the stubs of the previous night’s work, applying the taper to them. Their warm light gleamed off beakers, flasks and all manner of alchemical equipment littering the thick and well scarred oaken table and the shelves beyond it.
”The Philosopher’s Stone.” Lantes muttered to himself, pacing between his writing desk and the table. Permutations of the aether and snatches of the writings of the eastern sages restlessly tumbled about in his mind. ”How am I to make it when I have no formula, no synthesis of the elements from which to create it? From what is it even formed?”
Letting his feet wander as they would, Lantes delved into the depths of the task. All things were made of different permutations of the four elements, he reasoned. Certainly there would be some combination, some process by which the stone could be made. If only he knew what base with which to start, what reagents in solution to draw out the essential forms he required. Again and again he traced the same path, tapping a finger to his chin. Nothing in his own thoughts was sufficient. None of the lore he possessed gave more than the vaguest of hints. Fists balled and arms shaking, he forced down the urge to howl.
”Xio wrote much of it!” Lantes thrust an exuberant finger into the air. He strode past his desk and on towards where his Master kept the many books the alchemist used in his research. A triumphant smile lit his face. Xio was the master from which many later alchemists would base their own observations. It had been his writings that had first come across the wine dark seas of Acostium. If there were any writings in which Lantes might find the clues to the stone’s properties and the manner in which it might be synthesized, it would be the treatises of Xio. He pulled down the heavy tome from off a dusty shelf, pouring through it with hungry eyes.
”Here.” Lantes stabbed a finger onto the parchment of the work, finding one of Xio’s own descriptions of the elusive stone and its properties. He whispered the tome’s translation aloud, tracing a finger along the page. ”Noblest of all the elements and the processes by which they might be manipulated. When the four kings rest upon a single throne, the sage shall hold within himself the origin of elements. Alkahest, the irresistible solvent. The Philosopher’s Stone.”
”Four noble kings!” Lantes closed the book, motes of dust billowing up from all around him. ”The elements in balance, this is how you make the stone.”
Standing before his Master’s alchemical equipage, Lante soon found that such a process was simpler to conceive in the mind than to distill into a flask. No matter how he distilled each element, or how he held them in solution, their combination always failed him somehow. First he had attempted a mixture of sulfur and salts, but that provided him dismal results. Next he set to start the process with various strengths of acid, and after that combinations of mercury and arsenic. Yet after all of his efforts, the stone eluded him.
”What am I missing?” Lantes gripped the rough edges of the table, the acrid smoke of his failed distillations wafting listlessly in the air about him. He clenched at the splintery edge, letting the wood bite into his palms and fingers. ”Earth destroys the wind, fire ends water’s power. These forces cannot be brought into balance.”
”There is something missing, something I have overlooked.” Lantes trudged once more t his desk, scattering his notes and casting aside sheets of parchment as he looked through them. Pulling out a fresh quill, he scribbled numerous calculations and worked through formula after formula. Slumping against the desk, he heaved an exhausted sigh.
There was no formula or process by which he could balance the elements. No matter how he might attempt to combine them, their nature was to cancel each other out. He might combine two in some effort, only to invite disaster at the addition of the third. Lantes head sagged between his shoulders, a nagging cough tickling at his lungs from the fumes of his work. It would not be much longer before the sun rose at last, its golden rays crowning his failure and the end his apprenticeship.
”Gold … gold!” He slammed his fist atop a haphazard pile of parchment. ”Was it not Hasian who believed a mixture of gold and royal water might yield the elixir of immortality? Could he have been speaking of the stone itself?”
Once more he set himself to work, determined to beat the rising rays of the sun. Once more he was certain that he had found the base from which he might derive the stone. He held the suspension of gold and aqua regis triumphantly in a hand, a mixture of sulfur and purified salt in the other. Each flask contained the distilled essence of two of the elements, the alchemic powers drawn out from the aether itself and bound to the metals and salts within. The flickering light of guttering candles illuminated the swirling, smoking liquids. He gazed into them, wondering if he had gained the process at last. If he had finally attained the formula to derive the Philosopher’s Stone itself.
”Earth and fire coalesce.” Lantes uncorked a smoldering flask with his teeth, spitting the cork across the room. It softly rolled down the steps, and was soon joined by another. ”Essence of wind and waters combine.”
Closing his eyes, Lantes poured both flasks into iron crucible he had prepared.
The fire below leapt with green and bluish flames, smoke billowing out from the mixture and bubbling down the sides. Strange vapors erupted out from the crucible itself and gathered in the rafters. Lantes fell back, a fit of coughing seizing hold of him. The forgotten flasks rolled from his hands, spilling the last remnants of their suspensions in rings upon the floor.
”Can it be?” He muttered, dazed and a little sick from the noxious fumes the mixture had produced. Lantes struggled to gain his feet once more, traces of sweet and acrid vapors sending him into fits of coughing once more. He held a filtering mask to his face, waving away the haze about the crucible as best as he could.
It must have been an effect of the vapors, but Lantes felt strange as he approached the still smoking crucible. Gazing down into it, at the bottom of the bubbling liquid a tiny dark shape had already begun to crystallize. It rapidly grew as he watched it with astonished eyes. Bright rays of sunlight slid in from the high slit of the window, casting a long beam across room.
”Alkahest.” He murmured, lightheaded and uncertain upon his feet. Gripping the table to steady himself, Lantes watched the stone take shape. Sensations which he could not name tickled along the length of his skin, while a hammer seemed to pound from inside his skull. When it was at last complete, he reached a gloved hand in to fetch it.
The crystallized stone shined in the glowingly bright morning’s light. Lantes held it out before him, rolling it about in his hand and admiring how the light played across its surface. it was beautiful and yet appeared to be no more than a simple bit of quartz. He marveled at its perfect structure, and how the light played across its surface.
”The four noble kings upon one throne Xio.” He managed a weary smile. ”I have done it at last! I have derived the Philosopher’s Stone. I am an alchemist.” Stripping off his leather apron, Lantes carried the stone down the stairs. His Master snored peacefully, the faint embers of the fire tinting the silvery white length of his beard with a subtle crimson.
Filling up a cup with the last of the tea kettle’s water, Lantes set the stone within it. The crystal sunk to the bottom with a soft plunk. He gazed down at it, expecting something miraculous to happen. Nothing did.
”Finally figured it out have you.” The old man stirred to life, searching beside him for the pile of wood. Finding a log, he set it atop the fading embers and settled down once more into the cushions of his chair.
”I have created it Master!” Lantes beamed, gently holding the cup in his hands as hurried over. ”I have made the stone!” The alchemist raised a dubious eyebrow at his claim, shrugging his shoulders a bit to settle deeper into his chair.
”And have you drank the elixir?” The old man asked. Lantes gazed down into the cup, wondering if he were truly missing some step of the process. Was there something he had to do to unleash the stone’s fabled power? For all that he tell, nothing about the water had changed. It did not seem much like a potion of immortality at all.
Lantes tipped back the cup, letting the slightly warm liquid chase down his dry throat. The pounding of his head had faded a little, but not overly much. With only a few drops left about the stone, he rattled it about in the cup.
”It seemed like nothing more than water, Master. Is there something I have failed to do?” Lantes looked up at the old man, gazing into his sleep rimed eyes. ”I have derived the stone, but I do not understand its power.”
”It was never the stone that had the power, Lantes. It was always you.”
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Riddler reviewed Version 1 -
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This is an extremely well-crafted tale of sorcery. You seem to have captured the spirit of alchemy in all its myths and legends. The interaction between Lantes and his master is drawn well. The descriptions are excellent, drawing the reader into the very presence of the budding alchemist. I suspect you’ll get some comments about the ending just hanging there, but I think it works in this story. Well done!
There are only a few errors in the piece, most of which are probably just typos.
Secrets lingered in the piles of scrolls and unwashed flasks, it danced about the airs…––The pronoun “it” seems to refer to “Secrets”. Change “it” to they.
I would be hard to leave.––Should be It.
Lantes trudged once more t his desk,––Should be to.
Lantes head sagged between his shoulders…––Possessive, Lantes’.
…his failure and the end his apprenticeship.––Insert “of” after end.
Lantes poured both flasks into iron crucible…––Need an article, the or an, before iron crucible.
For all that he tell,––Insert could before tell.
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Evilpsychokitty reviewed Version 1 -
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I like this story and the lesson it tells. There are places that could use some polishing. But this is a good story. Keep up the good work
BigNothing reviewed Version 1 -
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This is a very interesting story, very detailed, but maybe a little too detailed at times. Personally, I don’t care for all this talk of the process of creating the stone. This is the crux of the story, I appreciate, but at times I think it is too much to take in and does a disservice to the rest of the story. Also, I don’t think you convey very well the difficulty of creating the stone, which essentially is the point of any story, the overcoming of a problem. You paint a lovely picture of the tower, very desciptive and with good use of language. It seems a little didactic at times to appeal to casual readers, but not being a reading of fantasy I have no point of comparison. Tone is good, you could maybe make more of the encroaching sunlight, more urgency to Lantes’ task. Generally well written, rich in detail, and highly imaginitive.
kglinux reviewed Version 1 -
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I think you have done a very good job of constructing the story and the beginnings of the outlines of the characters.
It is obvious that you have a keen interest in knowledge in the subject and you share that well with your readers.
I encourage you to continue on with the piece. I would like to know where it is headed.
godmanix reviewed Version 1 -
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Excellent piece. Very well written all the way around.
You made Lantes into a well developed, solid three dimensional character. Master was a good secondary character as well.
I liked the little details here, especially Master’s ‘oddly curving pipe’, and the fact that you always made sure that the characters had light burning in the room.
Overall good piece. Very enjoyable.
warrior_princess_86 reviewed Version 1 -
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A suggestion, my dear fellow writer: perhaps you could consider dividing your paragraphs into shorter chunks so that it will make for all-around easier reading.
The dialogue could use a little more action and polish but I like the narration!! I feel that is your strength. Retain it, and coupled with a more polished dialogue, this would be a very good short story.
I like the elements of fantasy and alchemy and how you blended the two together. Not quite my genre, but as I always tell myself, any writer who is able to capture my attention on a subject that is not within my favourite genres is good indeed!!
Keep up the good work! Cheers, Jules
javaverses reviewed Version 1 -
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I think you could use a little work on the dialogue and need a little more character development. Those two areas seemed a little flat, but otherwise you seem to have a simple smooth flowing story.
shelerella reviewed Version 1 -
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This is a good story, one that interests me a lot. I was disappointed in how rushed it felt, I thought you needed to slow down, pace yourself a bit. Even for a short story there was no need to rush from the task given by the master to the task achieved. It is okay to take your time, and step back a bit from the action for reflection. The character was toiling through the night on this task, you want the reader to feel that toil, (while not being bored of course) You put some real thought into the alchemic process which will interest readers. We all like to see how the lady got sawed in half so to speak. Well done!
lindenflower reviewed Version 1 -
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I really enjoyed this story. It sucked me right in, letting me live the story in my head. The descriptions were good, and I really liked how your main character was developed through his reactions and thoughts, rather than being told about his specific qualities.
The only thing that I can point out are minor grammer and spelling errors. Otherwise your writing spoke to me.
I really hope that you’ll build on this and develop more stories to follow this one!
NThisStyle_10_6 reviewed Version 1 -
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Chuck Palahnuik (author of Choke and Fight Club) also wrote a novel called Lullaby. In it, there is much reference to a culling song, but he did a very nice job of carefully omitting the dangerous poem.
You need to do this (or something like this) here. The Alchemists were known for trying to turn things (mostly straw) into gold. It seems too simple the way you have written this to be believable.
I do like the style, you write like a roleplayer. This can be used either to your advantage or your disadvantage depending on how you try to write. Stick with fantasy and you should be fine.
I spotted one typo: “Lantes trudged once more t his desk…” (t should be to)
Overall, I liked it. Good work.
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