Chapter 6

Malcolm rolled out of bed quite early in the morning. He had been up fairly late the night before, trying to get work done at Alchem’s hut before his trip into Vorren. He didn’t bother looking in the mirror as he was washing his hands in his bathroom basin; he knew he looked unkempt so there wasn’t any point reminding himself how bad it was; he simple dressed and wondered into the kitchen. None of his dishes were clean and there wasn’t much food left anyway so he grabbed some bread and headed out the door. Standing on the front stoop for a moment, he realized he had no idea how to get to James’ ranch unless he went there from Alchem’s cottage. Malcolm sighed to himself and marched off to Malcom’s residence so he could then go to the take care of James’ chores.

When he reached the hut he noticed lights were on in Alchem’s room. He had no idea why Alchem would be up so early in the morning but didn’t think too much of it; Alchem was excited about the upcoming trip and probably wasn’t able to sleep. Malcolm knew he hadn’t been out of Vorren in years and was eager to get traveling. He almost headed inside before remembering he had to go take care of horses first. This wasn’t such a big deal to Malcolm as he had plenty of experience taking care of various breeds, but there were a lot of things he had to finish before they started their journey and taking care of James’ chores was going to be time consuming. Regardless, Malcolm felt he owed it to James, especially considering the position he was soon to place him in, so he head off to the ranch.

Malcolm started pushing through branches and brush as he left the main trail to take a shortcut to the fields. He didn’t realize how overgrown the old path through the forest had become. He wished he’d brought a machete. Eventually with a swing of his arm he fell out from the bush and landed in the field in front of him. Malcolm smashed his fist onto the green grass underneath him, spitting leaves out from his mouth. He was too old for this kind of nonsense. With another exaggerated sigh meant only for himself he pushed himself to his knees at which point he realized there was a large and old hand in his face extended to help him up. With raised eyebrows Malcolm looked up to the giant standing in front of him.

Perhaps not literally a giant, but about seven feet tall, the old man with a long flowing dark beard smiled gently at Malcolm. He was wearing a giant green robe, similar to Alchem’s. He had a few silver rings on his fingers. Malcolm figured they must be made especially for him considering how large they were. He recognized some of the symbols on the rings from Alchem’s older drawings; they had some sort of magical origin. Hesitantly Malcolm took the man’s hand and was pulled quickly to his feet.  “I already took care of the horses.” He smiled as he wondered behind Malcolm into the woods. Malcolm looked out towards the horses running ahead of him behind the fence. They were all groomed and looked satisfied as they had presumably been fed as well. Malcolm was confused. He turned to ask the man how he knew James. Behind him there was nothing but the same brush he had come through moments before. Malcolm was left there to stare confused into the empty forest.

From the lower balcony of the eastern bridge, John watched the citizen’s charge through the streets below. Order must be restored. The bridge was raised but they could still easily clash on any of the western crossings. He grabbed the officer on standing next to him. “Grab every idle man you can find and have every functioning western bridge raised. Do not let the citizens clash over this.” The officer jumped down the stairs without question. John headed down behind him but was much slower due to his damaged knee. By the time he reached street level he could see the crew was struggling to unload the ship. He ran aboard ready to direct where necessary or unnecessary. On board, the captain stood on the dock screaming at his men as they struggled with the massive canons.  “Captain! I’m here to assist.” Yelled John, of course, by assist he meant command.

“Great, if you happen to find a crew that isn’t completely incompetent!” yelled the old and withered captain “let me know!” The captain turned around and watched his men struggle to bring heavy equipment up from the lower deck. “If I had any other crew available I’d throw you all in the ocean and bring them on board!” He screamed as loud as his voice allowed. Suddenly, a flaming arrow soared through the sky and struck John on the shoulder.  His uniform was fairly well padded and the shot didn’t pierce his skin. John bent over and picked up the arrow. There was no tip but rather a flaming bundle of fabric on the end. Realizing the attackers weren’t focused on the crew he turned his attention back to the captain.

“Are there any explosive powders still on board?” The captain smiled.

“They’re being unloaded now!” he replied confidently.

“Well don’t; they’re trying to burn the ship. Let’s not give them the opportunity.” The captain’s smile faded as he caught up with John’s thought process. There weren’t any accelerants on the ship but the crowds on the northern bank were trying to get near enough to douse it in fuel. The river was barely wide enough to accommodate the large vessel and lighting the ship from either shore would be no problem for the resistant immigrants. “Have your men dump the powders starboard. Unload everything else as quickly as you can.”

“But, sir…”

“NOW.” The captain wasn’t sure whether or not John realized how valuable the explosive powders were, but he didn’t argue. Down into the haul he went to convey the message to his crew. John grabbed hold of a stray cannon and began pushing it by himself to the unloading ramp. The other men on the ship paused for a second, amazed by his tenacity, before continuing their desperate plight.

Meanwhile James and Bart reached the next crossable bridge across the river. Over the bridge they could see a crowd of Shiden immigrants carrying fuel in buckets as they made their way to the northern bank. Two lines of men formed on either side of the bridge. None carried particularly deadly weapons, but neither side would step off of the bridge. From off in the distance a whirring sound followed a single flaming arrow which planted itself subtly on the bridge with a quiet thud. As if a captain commanded the charge both sides began their assault. Bart and James yelled defiantly with the crowd as they collided with the opposing mob. Shortly men began punching and throwing each other from the bridge in an attempt to prevent the other side from reaching their target.

James threw both his arms up in front of him and began pushing through the crowd. He felt a hard knock on his head before he finally looked up and realized he was face to face with a Shidenite who threw another quick punch towards him. An impulsive duck and an uppercut from James put the man straight on the floor of the bridge. James hadn’t ever really punched anyone like that before; his hand ached from the knock on the man’s skull. He looked towards Bart to gauge his reaction but Bart was preoccupied, easily lifting a smaller opponent over his head and dropping him into the river. Turning his attention away from the attackers was a mistake as James took another hard hit, this time to his left leg from a blunt object. Falling to his knees James realized not all the men were unarmed. His leg wasn’t bleeding or broken but certainly bruised. It was going to be difficult to walk on the next day. He reached his arm between the legs in front of him and grabbed the man’s ankles, throwing him to his back as he rose to his feet. A quick few kicks to the ribs assured he wouldn’t get back up, James left him there coughing on his side, holding his stomach.

Men had formed a semi-circle around Bart who wasn’t backing down from any man that wandered too close. People were genuinely afraid to get to near him as a stray swing of his weapon could take off a head. Bart had picked up some kind of board and was wielding it tightly in his bleeding fists. From the back of the crowd a rock came flying towards him and whizzed just past his head before stopping another charging sailor with a muffled thump in his stomach. Bart turned to the man and then back to the crowd with a face that made his intent obvious. He threw his board down onto the bridge and began walking speedily towards the mob. Men began backing into each other before finally beginning to retreat off the bridge and back onto the street followed closely by a charge of mainland citizens. Bart managed to grab the shirt of one man to pulling him back and smashing his jaw with his free hand. He very unceremoniously dropped the man and continued moving towards a new target, leaving him spitted globs of blood onto the wooden surface below him.

James heard people in the back of their group screaming about the ship. As he ran forward he gazed to his right and noticed some fires beginning to erupt near the shore. James ran ahead quickly and passed the massing crowd. He took a hard right down the small road adjacent to the river and ran straight for the boat, where men were throwing oils onto the walls and lighting fires. Everyone behind him soon followed, some breaking off and heading to the shore with him while others continued to push back the opposition. To the right of the road there was a stone wall that dropped into the river. Ahead of them lay stairs that led down to a narrow shore near to the cargo ship. James jumped down the stairs and rolled onto the sandy beach. He jutted forward and tackled a man attempting to throw buckets of fuel onto the wooden bow. As the man made it to his feet he and the others with him saw the massive group charging down the stairway they retreated under the moving bridge and out towards the bay. The men had left a few buckets which were promptly picked up and filled with water from the river in an attempt to put out the flames.

At this point the side of the ship was significantly damaged and still burning. Men began removing their shirts and soaking them in the river to try and smother the flames. The smoke was burning their eyes, causing men to fall back onto the beach coughing and choking. Shortly after, the boat began tilting towards the northern shore as the flames near the bottom of the ship sizzled into the water. On board the ship John struggle to stay and his feet while keeping his composure. His eyes widened as he turned to the crew. A canon began rolling backwards and eventually collided with the end of the dock beginning a loud symphony of cracking wood. The crew began dropping what they were carrying and sprinted towards the ramp in a panic. John was dismayed at the chaos and simply stood where he was shouting for men to continue to unload the weaponry.

Bart could hear series of deep thuds coming from within the ship. Barrels began dumping out of the hull and either bobbing in the river or thumping onto the sand. He realized James was in the crowd ahead of him still attempting to extinguish the flames, to no avail. Fire was pouring off of the ship as chunks of wood broke free and collided with the bank. One canon managed to break through the wood on deck before crashing loudly and sinking straight into the river. Bart had little knowledge of canonry but was aware enough to realize that the barrels floating in the river may contain something explosive. He ran to James and started dragging him away from the fight, yelling for the others to follow, as James swung his arms around wildly unknowingly being drug along the beach by his ally. As he squinted and rubbed the smoke from his eyes he regained his sight long enough to see a large explosion culminate from one of the burning barrels. Men who were near the river were thrown onto their backs, attempting to shield themselves from the barrage of splintered wood that followed.

The shock aboard the ship was enough to send John to one knee, specifically his bad knee. He grunt and ground his teeth before pushing himself up with his fist and watching the men now frenzy to get off board. He finally abandoned his position and limped slowly off of the ramp and back onto the opposite shore. He was the last man to leave he vessel before it tipped over onto one side as the masts crashed onto the street and into a building north of the river. When the explosion finally halted, men on the beach began climbing back to their feet. They searched for friends and began wrapping each other’s open wounds with whatever cloths they could find. James could see at least two bodies floating in the river, presumably dead. Another fighter had been thrown into the stone retaining well and cracked his skull, killing him instantly.

James was panting and coughing as he waited for the ringing in his ears to die down. He could feel a warm stream of blood drip down his forehead. Flaming chunks of ship were scattered across the sand, smoldering in the salty breeze. He turned to Bart who was sitting with his arms resting on his knees on the shore, watching as men scattered through the area, trying to escape the carnage of the wrecked ship. Bart was bleeding down one arm but didn’t seem too bothered by it, despite the sizable pool of blood that had collected around his feet. When James’ hearing returned nothing but the sounds of screaming and cries of pain met his ears. He turned to his friend Bart, who had an annoyed look on his face. “I think I lost a tooth.” He mumbled as he rubbed his jaw. James was shocked by the calm tone of his friend. He had never seen this side of Bart, the gentle giant fought so ferociously; in fact, he had never seen Bart fight at all.

“Sorry man.” Replied James, not sure what to say. Bart hesitated for a moment and shrugged his shoulders.

“I guess I got more anyway.”

Chapter 5

James sat at a table in the bar attempting very actively not to try and fall asleep. Bart was sitting right beside him in a very similar situation while Michael was off at the bar buying the next round of drinks and poorly attempting to talk to women. This would normally be the stage at which Bart and James would be laughing together at Michael as he tried to court the lady-folk but instead they falling asleep at the booth they were sitting at. By the time Michael resigned himself to an evening without women Bart and James where nearly asleep. Michael slammed three pints down onto the table in a last ditch effort to liven the mood a bit. “Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pints!”

“Repeating the first sound of a word over and over does not make it exciting.” James said after a big gulp of his liquid dinner.

“I know, but I make it exciting when I do it.” Bart was sitting very sternly with his hands locked together in front of him. He slowly scanned the crowd in the pub; it was mostly old locals. The most threatening people he saw were two gentlemen on the edge of the bar having some kind of argument. They were both clothed in rough work gear and covered in various tattoos. They didn’t come across as menacing, just some working class men unwinding after a long day. James snapped his fingers in front of Bart’s face, who responding by drinking half of his pint without a breath.

“Not everyone is out to kill us Bart.” Bart simply resumed his concentrated position.

“Not everyone. Just most people.” He growled. James just rolled his eyes and turned to say something to Michael, who had excused himself from the table without either of the other two noticing.

“What? How?” Bart responded to his inquiry by quietly pointing to the two men at the end of the bar who were now having some kind of conversation with Michael. Michael was clearly trying to act too tough for his own good, but neither of the two men seemed to care or even notice.

“This may end poorly.” Murmured Bart, after a few moments Michael returned to the table with a big smile on his face. He was always very proud of himself when he accomplished something. It was good that he was, because somebody had to be.

“Drink up boys; we’re going to a different pub.”

“Walking is difficult.” James whined in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Is there a particular reason? Why don’t we ever stay at the same pub and just hang around until they kick us out?”

“Because this pub is incredibly bland and those guys over there told me about a bar not too far from here filled to the brim with gorgeous women waiting for us to arrive.” Michael always had a certain amount of finesse when he got excited about things. He must have been very excited this time because he was doing a substantial amount of arm waving for demonstrative purposes, as well as clearly exaggerating the information he had been given.

“This sounds like a fantasy.” James was hardly impressed. “I have a feeling this bar either doesn’t exist or is just filled with old cranky sailors who aren’t going to appreciate our company.”

“Do you really think two random strangers would steer me wrong?” James and Bart stared at him blankly.

It became apparent at this point that Bart and James were not going to be able to convince Michael not to go, and arguing with him when he was set on something was actually less productive than arguing with a wall. Michael had an incredible ability to debate his way into or out of anything. If he was assuredly wrong about something he would simply turn logic on its head in a manner enough to make a philosopher puke on the street. This was a constant problem for Michael’s parents and friends growing up. Eventually most people learned to just resign to it or ignore him. His father would lay down the “Do it or leave” argument, but his mother for whatever reason couldn’t let it go. Michael was just as bad in that he would continuously start these sorts of arguments realizing that the inevitable ending was his butt meeting his father’s belt. Still, that was just how stubborn Michael was. So the boys finished their drinks and wondered off further into the city.

After about twenty minutes of Michael claiming he knew exactly where he was going the boys grew tired of his antics and disappeared into a pub in an ally. They assumed Michael would follow them but this was not the case. Michael continued wondering the city looking for this mystery bar. Bart and James realized this a little too late but were sick enough of the antics that they didn’t care. They both grabbed a couple of pints and sat down. The pub they ended up in was clearly more oriented towards sailors. It was a great deal busier than the previous bar as well. Bart was pretty excited about the new atmosphere; he loved to listen to wild fish stories and especially culture stories from all of the places the shipmen had visited. As much as James was ambivalent about taking over his father’s trade, Bart was completely the opposite; he couldn’t wait to get on a boat. His biggest hurdle would be convincing his mother to allow it, of course he was going to be an adult soon, but Bart just wasn’t sure he was ready to remind her of that fact.

James came up behind Bart and patted him on the back. “I like this place. Maybe we’ll actually have a good time tonight.”

As usual, he spoke too soon.

A man named John Hedding stood with his arms crossed on the front deck of the bridge tower. He could see the delivery ship coming into the bay, riding on the cool evening wind. John’s hair was trimmed neat and swept to the side of his forehead. He had his military uniform cleaned and ironed to near perfection. All of his pins and medals from his time in various wars were hanging proudly on his breast pocket.  He had his boots freshly shined and even tied with the laces at the same lengths on either side. His facial hair was the only thing about him that wasn’t cleanly maintained. He had some stubble visible simply because it grew so quickly. He also reeked of tobacco due to his constant pipe smoking; he kept his pipe tucked in his other shirt pocket. He had several rings on his hand that he would toy with in an attempt to keep his fingers busy when he wasn’t smoking. The older rings had worn down quite a bit as a result of this.

John had retired from the King’s Army after fifteen years of touring in various small wars. He moved down into Vordenport to act as chief of the governors protective service, which was essentially a police force. John was dressed to the nines because of his excitement for the coming mission. Despite less time spent traveling away from his family; John missed the complications and extreme conditions he used to endure during times of war. He thrived on the rough travel and sleepless nights. Every time he heard soldiers complaining about the environment it was like a high for him. He liked to think of himself as a strong person, strong enough to handle situations that would make an ordinary man crumble.

More than anything, John was controlling and obsessive. He spent nearly every waking moment concentrating on his work and criticizing the efforts of his men. He felt the behaviors of his troops were a reflection of his success or failure. This led to a substantial amount of strict regulations emplaced by him. His troops were disciplined and very skilled as a result. This also applied to his own family, much to the dismay of his wife, who was extremely laid back in comparison. Every time he came home to his family with any news from the current struggles of the King’s Army his wife would eagerly use it as an opportunity to attempt to convince him to reenlist. She felt that both the family and John would benefit from him spending some additional time with the army. Despite his somewhat abusive behavior towards their two children she felt he was truly a good father, but too much time at home was straining his relationship with the family.

John’s second in command officer slowly approached him from behind and peered out towards the bay. There was a massive delivery ship coming in through the docks in the harbor heading towards Gastine Bridge. The boat was not built from a Mainland design; it was from the northeast territory of Sanzeterja where many different sorts of goods were traded back and forth with the Mainland. The journey was not extremely long or treacherous so often different expertly crafted tools and furniture were imported from the region. Today was a very unique shipment. Ordinarily no ship would be allowed to come through the bay all the way towards the city center. Gastine Bridge was built at the shallowest and least wide region of the bay. It allowed for foot traffic to easily navigate the docking areas but could also raise and lower. Ordinarily this function was only used to let newly built ships from the upper plant to travel out into the bay for maiden voyages, but today was not an ordinary day.

“Shall I call the order to raise the bridge?” John hesitated for a moment. He liked to act as if every suggestion made by a subordinate required some amount of thought before answering. He normally twisted his mouth or eyebrows to extenuate this, and he did today, mostly as a matter of habit knowing his officer could not see his facial expressions. A deep breathe usually sealed the deal. For John, today was the day that he couldn’t spend an incredible amount of time frustrating his officers.

“Call the order.” His subordinate immediately ran down the tower stairs to relay the order. At the bottom of the stairs of the tower another officer ducked out the door and raised a flaming torch through the air. Corresponding soldiers in the other three towers observed the motion of the torch and relayed the message to the bridge operators to raise the large wooden bridge. A series of soldiers began reeling back the giant spindles to raise the bridge. Ordinarily the bridge would be operated by city employees but due to the value of the incoming cargo the crew had been replaced by high-ranking men. Large cranking and creaking noises dominated the nearby streets. The bridge, for the first time all year, began to rise.  It was an engineering feat to bring the bridge to almost nearly vertical stature.

The shipment began slowly creeping forward from the entrance of the bay into the main center where the city culminated from. Crowds began forming in the street, much to the dismay of John, who was hoping for a quiet and quick entry. The ship was clearly not of Mainland origin and not only discomforted the city residents but brought about the attention of many immigrants from Shiden, outside the mainland.

James and Bart turned to a sudden source of noise outside the bar where they resided and watched as a crowd of immigrants quickly ran through the city bearing torches and arms. Something happening outside on the streets was obviously capturing the attention of the bar patrons as well as much of the city. The sailors placed their drinks on the bar to observe the sudden passage of mainland citizens from Sanzeterja who were converging around the closet bridge to the bay in Vordenport. The bar slowly emptied as the men filled the street to observe the spectacle. John watched from his balcony as the streets began to fill below. A sick feeling in his gut took hold. He turned to his officer who had returned from the lower bridge. John drew his sword quickly to convey the urgency of the situation. Realizing what was about to take place, the officer hurried back down the stairs without any hesitation to inform the troops of the current situation. John followed not far behind him.

More and more citizens left their homes and places of work to take to the streets. There was a great unrest among the people of Vordenport due to the potential of a planned attack by the differing clans of people that lived together in the culturally diverse city. Long term residents of Vordenport watched hesitantly as the ship slowly escaped the path of the openable bridge and into the deeper territories of the city. John reached the bottom of the tower and began ordering his men to disband the crowds in an attempt to subdue the situation. It was too little too late.

James and Bart stood far enough away from the crowds to avoid getting involved in the protests, but close enough to see the bulk of the ship other than the massed sails slowly waver past the tall, overbearing buildings of the city.  Soldiers began slowly pushing crowds away from the rivers and bridges. There was a severe sense of discomfort among them. Despite the attempts of the soldiers the local crowds and the crowds of previous Sanzeterjain citizens had naturally separated themselves from each other. John ran down to the nearest docking station with a stern warning to alert his men of the situation. He quickly boarded the ship without any need for identification due to the strictness of his demeanor and uniform. The captain of the ship stood near the bow awaiting the arrival of John. Upon eye contact both men confirmed with no words that a situation was quickly developing.

“I don’t care what takes place in the next hour. Move the weaponry to the governor’s castle in haste. I will alert you of any further orders from this moment. Any discussion of payment can proceed after the crowds disperse.” John was adamant enough in this command that the captain began instructing his crew without any question. Canons quickly began unloading from the ship. Every single member of the crew abandoned their traditional role and rushed to remove any and all cargo from the hull. They began rolling everything off of the ship in a frenzy. Even though they did not understand the gravity of the situation developing around the ship they knew that urgency was key.

Bart managed to find a sailor who he had been conversing with at the bar who was standing among them in the crowd of Vordenport native citizens. James couldn’t move from his spot and simply watched as both crews quickly converged to work together like clockwork in removing the canons. James had never seen a canon before in his life, but could recognize what he saw and judged based on the urgency of the movement that something very serious was afoot. As he began to realize what was taking place, Bart came back with confirmation. “It’s some kind of explosive weapon, they’re delivering them to the King’s Army!” he screamed into James’ ear. The noise of the crowd was beginning to escalate. James was not familiar with military equipment or tactics, but he was adept at reading people’s emotions. Unrest was growing in both sides of the crowd.

“We should go.” He stated calmly, attempting to deter Bart from getting involved. It may have saved them had this suggestion come a few minutes earlier. Instead, they both turned their heads to witness a single flaming arrows sail from an unclear position and land on the boat in a very anticlimactic thud. John turned from the boat and quickly gauged the positioning of the author of the arrow.

“Northeast tower!” he yelled for anyone within earshot to hear. His crew immediately responded and relayed the message to the ground troops below. Despite this early response there was very little that the communication could solve at that point. The first strike would ring through the night and bring chaos.

James watched as the crowd quickly transformed from quiet onlookers to a mob of angry activists before his own eyes. They had all watched the arrow fly from the tower onto the boat. What followed was an immediate volley of arrows onto the ship below. James figured there were at least twenty other archers stationed at various points throughout the city north of the river. He was pushed over by the ensuing mob and fell harshly to his knees on the street below. The noise that followed was that beyond what he had ever heard in his life before. Deep roars of angry men filled the street in one triumphal charge as every bystander instantly became a part of the attack against the resistance. As fast as John and the captain thought men could move a shipment off the boat, the effort suddenly doubled. Most of the crew had hidden themselves in time to avoid the sharpened sticks which befell them. As always, there were many whose reflexes failed them and they became victims to civil unrest, arrows piercing limbs and even a man’s side.

Still on all fours on the ground, James struggled to his feet with the unexpected help if Bart, who had maintained himself through the situation much better than James had. James carefully met eyes with Bart, who he was expecting to express some kind of fear in his face. Bart instead burned with some intensity previously unknown to James. He wasn’t sure whether or not Bart was planning to run or to hide until Bart finally uttered something very uncommon for such a mildly mannered person. “They’re on the western bridge. Let’s go.” Without hesitation, James managed to his feet and followed Bart deep into the crowd as they pursued the threat deep into the city. James had no idea what lay ahead of him, but couldn’t bear the thought of leaving his friend behind. So into the thick of it he marched with Bart at his side. 

Chapter 4

Far off on the moon a man sat with his brass telescope peering at the earth below him. A big grin overtook his face as he watched Alchem lift his sword for the first time in over a hundred years. He knew things would finally get moving again and more than likely he would be reunited with his old companions from before the Dark Age. He pushed himself in his rolling chair away from the telescope and over to his small window. He could see the sun floating around in space and decided it was time to go visit.

Back on earth, several miles away from where the telescope was focused, Michael was banging on his cousin’s door. He stopped knocking for a minute to gauge the facial expressions of his friends. Neither of them appeared to be supremely excited about the situation. “Hey, he could be out at the grocery or something.” This sentence instilled no confidence in either Bart or James. Michael shrugged his shoulders before slamming on into the door. The door opened with the sound of splintering wood. Michael about smashed his face into the wooden flooring as he fell with a crash. Right in front of where he landed was a note and a key. He grabbed the note, read it to himself and quickly crumbled it and stuffed it in his pocket. “He says he had to go out for the weekend and we have the place to ourselves!” Michael claimed triumphantly. Bart and James were still less than impressed.

“Under what circumstances would he leave the key behind a locked door? Was he assuming we would break it down?” asked Bart, while trying not to sound condescending and sounding extremely condescending regardless of his efforts. James couldn’t disagree with his logic.

“Hey, he’s related to me; he’s not a genius.” Replied Michael. They both figured something was astray considering Michael would never admit to his own daftness under normal circumstances. Regardless, they were both extremely tired from the journey and were not about to pass up a place to sleep for the night. As they headed upstairs, Bart and James noticed how barren and abandoned the property was. It was tucked away in a small alley in southern Vordenport, which was not a nice place to be in, especially for two boys used to living in a small town populated by nice old people young families. James remembered Michael mentioning the price of the place being exorbitant compared to what his parents paid for the ranch, even considering they purchased the ranch many years prior. The place was pretty much a dump. James had seen worse, but not much worse. Upstairs when they saw the one and only bedroom and bath it became more apparent that this was not exactly the living arrangement they were promised. James peaked into the kitchen opposite of the bedroom and regretted it.

“I thought you said your cousin lived here with his parents.” Asked James. Michael realized what they were getting at. Having lived in both a county setting and the city he knew the cultural gap would be surprising to a couple of country boys, especially boys. He pointed out the extra bedding spread around the floor in the single bedroom.

“They do.” He replied with a raised eyebrow. When James and Bart realized that Michael was overplaying the quality of the apartment rather than actually lying about the residents they backed off a bit. Still, it was fair to be a little cautious about the rest of the weekend due to how much Michael had talked up the place. Michael slung his backpack off of his shoulder and onto the bed space on the floor. “Pu-pu-pu-pu-pub Ty-eeeeme!” he screamed triumphantly into the faces of his friends. They simply dropped their baggage. Bart slumped into the one and only bed while James collapsed into the chair in the room. As they fell asleep Michael resigned, but not without a quick reminder. “Pubs after naps.” He whispered, essentially to himself, and fell deep asleep.

Outside of the window the sounds of a busy city could be heard off in the distance. Vordenport was an old city that centered around a large bay. The city was composed mostly of white stone brought down from the mountains just north of the city which led into the Bechlian at the northeast corner of the Mainland country. None of the buildings were very exciting to behold but were somewhat impressive in size, especially near the bay. The docking stations were always busy as ships were constantly moving in and out of the port making deliveries and picking up new cargo. If you were far enough away from the center of the city to get a good view you could see all the greenery growing on the roofs of the structures. As you got closer to the bay the streets became tighter and the buildings taller to the point where it always seemed dimly lit, even at day’s peak. Once you made it to the shipping docks, however, the sun beat down like fire and bounced off the white stone making it almost impossible to see.

The bay was shaped like a large “c” which made it nearly impossible for any sea based attack. Vordenport hadn’t been involved in any conflict since before the Dark Age and even when it was very few ships actually made it into the harbor. Inside the bay was a very lively atmosphere. The waves constantly crashed up against the stone walls all day and night as seagulls flew overhead squawking and pooping on everything. Seals would occasionally gather on the lower section of the wall and bark loudly enough to make it difficult to have a conversation near them. The only prevalent color other than the white stone was the brown from the massive wooden cranes and other equipment used for loading and unloading the ships.  The cranes would swing massive crates and pallets around all day while dock managers screamed at their men and tried to keep things moving as quickly as possible. Moving in and out of the bay was a nightmare considering how much traffic there was. There weren’t very many unloading docks despite being packed together as tightly as possible. Larger ships would occasionally arrive and really goof up the works.

There was a river inside the bay with a bridge over it to allow men easier access to all of the docks. Late in the day when the tide was rising the bridge could be raised and ships could make it partially up the river, assuming the wind was cooperating and the ship was under tight control. On each corner of the bridge stood a large tower with ropes leading from a top window down to the center of the bridge. The ropes were attached to massive systems of pullies and spindles within the towers for raising and lowering the bridge. The technology was simple but performed on a massive scale. Raising or lowering the bridge required very coordinated work of at least sixteen men. It took three men to wind up the spindles and a man was required on the deck of each tower to ensure that timing and orders were being relayed properly to the men down below. This was mostly an effort of reading flag signals and screaming loud enough down the tower to be heard over the creaking and whaling of century old machinery.

The bridge was built this way because there was a large ship-building house slightly upriver from the bay which provided work for many citizens of Vordenport and was also the primary source of work and income for immigrants from other lands. Building of ships had slowed down tremendously as more and more lands began developing technology to replace the materials that were often shipped in and out of Vordenport bay. This led to a lot of civil unrest and discouragement among people living in Vordenport as less and less work became available to an ever growing city. This was the primary reason James’ parents were always hesitant to see James head off to the city for a weekend. There was a large amount of crime in the city and it seemed to be getting worse every day. It didn’t help that the small town boys stuck out like sore thumbs in a big city, including Michael.

Up above the city, on the moon, the man known as Shernine wondered out onto the surface of the massive grey rock. He outstretched his arms behind his shoulders and let out a mighty sigh. As much as Alchem liked to sleep, the man on the moon slept at least twice as often. Shernine was not nearly as committed to his human form as Alchem, for example, Shernine could live on a rock in space with no oxygen. Both of the other magicians who knew of Alchem and each other lived in places uninhabited by humans as well. Alchem was very different in this aspect. This separated him from the other wizards in their powers as well as their abilities to communicate with mankind.

Shernine could easily and often communicate with the sun as they both existed outside of the earth’s atmosphere. The sun rarely left his home, so Shernine knew it would be upon him to initiate the visit. With a small breath he leaped off of the moon and on to the nearest star. It was then a journey from star to star until he could find his way to the sun. Shernine continued to dance his way across the universe slowly making his way to the sun. He finally touched down on the fiery surface as lightly as he took off. Fire began to form together into a small, concentrated area until it took the form of a towering human in yellow robes. This being appeared as a man but was as far from human as even Shernine could understand. He had a long brown beard and a smooth bald head. His demeanor was nothing short of commanding. Still, Shernine greeted him with a devious grin. “How’ve you been brother?” This happy greeting was returned with a deep furrowed brow, above a stern frown.

“Alchem is on the move again.”

“Why do you think I came all the way over here?” Shernine laughed with his arms outstretched.

Chapter 3

Malcolm sat down in the only chair in the house next to his mother’s bedside. Calling it a house would have been generous. At this stage he and his mother had moved into a small shack that used to be a part of the large property where the home they lived in with his father had been built. The original house was sold off with most of the land a few years into his mother’s illness. Malcolm could afford to upkeep this accommodation, but there was not much more he could afford in the way of amenities. As appalling as he felt about the situation, his mother never failed to show a smile when Malcolm sat down next to her. He tried not to notice the discoloration in her gums. The disease had taken such a strong hold of her there was barely enough life left for her to lift a hand to hold Malcolm’s bruised wrist. He sat with her very quietly for hours before stating the inevitable.

“I have to go.”

His mother very proudly held her smile for another half of an hour at least. It was the only way she could truly show the appreciation for what he had accomplished over the past few years. Most of their time spent together was in silence. Malcolm would hold a stern look on his face hoping to instill some confidence in his mother that she may still escape the clutches of death that held her so tightly. His mother merely stared back with compassion for her son. Malcom’s mother had come to terms with her own death but Malcolm could hardly bear the thought. All she wished to convey at this point was how proud of him she was. She wished he could understand. What he had done for her over the years meant more than a cure ever could. Deep down she realized that Malcolm could never accept this, but by never shedding a tear or breaking a smile she relayed the message the best she could. The only time Malcolm’s mother ever felt despair was before she spoke the words she knew Malcolm needed to hear before he left for the last time.

“I won’t be here when you get back.”

Her voice cracked as she spoke the words. The mutual realization that their time together on earth had ended left them feeling both empty and relieved. Malcolm never wanted his mother to suffer the way she had, but neither he nor she could let go for fear of what it would do to Malcolm. At this stage, however; it was clear that neither could hold on any longer. Malcolm’s mother would die peacefully as he went off to war. He could rest easy knowing her pain was no longer. He had held on to the idea that she could be saved by some means for so long that it became a part of who he was. This would shape the rest of his life despite him never being able to truly fulfill his goal.

As a member of the King’s Army Malcolm saw both magic and technology used to win wars, but the Mainland’s recent advances showed a great deal more of unknown possibility in his mind. Magic was a dying craft, but the new sciences were still developing into a force more powerful than he had ever known. It would consume Malcolm now in place of his desire to save his mother. Fighting for the King’s Army to prevent losing the resources they needed to continue the research was the only way to ensure the advancements could continue. If it was too late to save his mother, having a sense of purpose could at least save Malcolm.

 “I’m not pulling the swords out; last time I did you guys almost killed each other.” Malcolm came back to his senses and scolded the boys.

“Less of us to deal with then! I don’t see the problem.” Michael was practically bouncing off of his seat with excitement. Malcolm’s swords were a rare sight to be seen. Swords such as his were not crafted in the Mainland. Stray-Housian swords were of a prized value due to their rarity in the Mainland and the expert craftsmanship needed to make them.  The fact that Malcolm’s swords were used in Mainland warfare made them all the more special.

Suddenly the unmistakable creaking of Alchem’s door loomed over their heads.  An old man in a long red robe slowly emerged from his chamber with a slight bow. He stretched while heaving an exaggerated sigh which barely could be heard due to his weak lungs. As his eyes finally opened the deep blue color of his irises captivated James and his friends. Not even Malcolm could avoid his hypnotic gaze. Alchem slowly wondered into the workspace and scanned the room. Malcolm was paranoid about any deviation from Alchem’s preference that may be noticeable. Alchem, of course, would never say anything about it with the boys around. He was very hesitant to undermine Malcolm when the boys were around. They were aware enough to notice but weren’t sure if it was because Alchem didn’t want to embarrass Malcolm or because Alchem didn’t want to seem overbearing in front of them. He was concerned about what people thought of him. Regardless, Alchem did not emerge from his room today to discuss work practices. Malcolm quickly realized by Alchem’s demeanor that something was up; he waited patiently for him to speak. Rather than actually saying anything he simply raised his chin towards Malcolm and wondered back into his room. Malcolm began to follow but quickly turned to the boys before closing the door. “I’ve got the chores this weekend James. Stay out of trouble.” The expression on his face showed that he was willing to take over the chores but wasn’t in the mood for any shenanigans. They figured he and Alchem had something important to discuss in private and didn’t want to be any more invasive that they already had been, so they quietly headed for the door.

This was only the second time Bart had ever seen Alchem but he had heard enough from James to know to stay out of the way. Alchem was incredibly brilliant but was also very private in most matters. Since he hardly ever spoke, there hadn’t been a whole lot of exchange over the years between Alchem and James. From what little interaction they had, Alchem did seem like a pleasant person, he was just very secluded from the outside world and clearly preferred to keep it that way. Despite this, he was by no means a misanthrope. Alchem like to have long conversations with people. He could carry on for hours about his experiments, despite the fact that no one else understood them. Malcolm and Alchem would discuss projects at length with each other in Alchem’s chambers or in the kitchen while Malcolm cooked dinner.

Alchem was just very tired and having a conversation required him to think more than usual. He never thought with words. Alchem saw the world in pictures and colors. Talking to people required him to take the thoughts in his head and translate them into a comprehensible language, which was not Alchem’s strong suit. The one time James entered into Alchem’s bedroom he saw that it was filled with all manners of drawings, none of which made any sense to him. They were filled with line patterns meticulously drawn to be geometrically exact. There were many different colors that represented all types of things, but only for Alchem to understand. He definitely fit the definition of madman, just without the crazy hair and world domination schemes.

As Alchem had aged he started to stray away from experimenting with chemicals and into experimenting with ideas. He would convince himself to think in different ways as a means of trying to better understand the world around him. Alchem was one of the very few people left in the mainland who had a relatively deep understanding of magic. This was both incredible and troubling for Alchem. Magic and technology were treated as two opposing forces for most in the mainland. In the King’s labs, far northwest of Verron, magic was essentially forbidden by the head researchers. Most areas in the mainland shunned it in some way. Malcolm, despite working with Alchem for many years, still never grew comfortable around it and wished Alchem would abandon the practice altogether. Magic was considered the old way of doing things, and as science continued to progress it had become more and more irrelevant. Science had brought cannonry and improved living conditions to the changing world, but magic never progressed beyond simple spells such as fire and levitation. It seemed that the more time was spent developing magic the weaker it became; even Alchem was having difficulties with simple spells. In the old days before the first scientific age (immediately before the current Dark Age) many strong curses were known but were only used by the very darkest souls for nefarious purposes. The men using dark magic lived mostly away from civilized life and were not welcome due to the nature of their spells.

Alchem believed that in some way science and magic could work in unison to become more powerful than ever. Unfortunately, Alchem was fully aware that magic would likely die out long before the tools necessary to understand and develop important spells would ever be created. He did see technology as the future builder of civilization, but was still saddened to see magic collapse out from under him. There was no way for Alchem to change the way the world was turning. Malcolm saw this sadness in him and knew that, in a way, watching magic die out brought Alchem face to face with his own mortality. Alchem was getting so old and weak he barely spent five hours a day out of his bed or the bath tub. Malcolm built him a small desk to use for drawing and writing in bed with so he could continue working. Still, even his mind was starting to grow weak. Malcolm tried to downplay the reality of it but Alchem was growing more and more forgetful each and every day. Malcolm was often reminding him where items where that he had just sat down. He would even occasionally forget whether or not he had eaten during the day. Malcolm once made him lunch a second time just so he didn’t have to argue with him about whether or not he already had it.

As sad as Malcolm would be to see Alchem pass into history, it was not as if they both hadn’t seen this coming. Alchem’s greatest focus has become writing a summary of his life’s experiments and works. Malcolm was working tirelessly to collect the final pieces of data for projects that had been spanning for over many years of work. Alchem had left instructions for all the equipment and chemicals in his hut, not without some help from Malcolm. When Alchem finally passed, Malcolm would take control of the projects. He was hoping that James would still be interested in assisting him with some things even after he assumed control of his parent’s ranch. He had agreed to take over chores for the weekend hoping to start a sort of “I help you, you help me” relationship.

Alchem sat in his desk chair gazing at all of his things. His eyes slowly worked over his chamber until they fell onto Malcolm, who sat in another chair staring intently at Alchem’s wrinkled face. Alchem’s long gray hair and beard rested lightly on his bright red robes. He opened his dry and greyed lips to sigh.

“I will make the trip.” Malcolm shook his head when he heard this.

“You can’t; it’s just not safe for you.” He replied hastily. Alchem rose to his full height of over six feet. Malcolm forgot how tall he was when he wasn’t slouching or in a chair. Alchem wondered over to the stand where his large two handed sword was kept carefully on display. His old skeletal fingers delicately brushed the handle of the blade. He then pulled both curtains open and stared directly into the sun. Malcolm couldn’t believe it didn’t blind him; Alchem’s room was kept quite dark, even the light coming in not shining towards Malcolm made him squint. He took another slow breathe and effortlessly lifted the sword, carefully examining it as it glistened in the sunlight. He grasped the hilt tightly as blood began pumping into his hand. Slowly placing in back in the holder, he smiled. “Let’s get packing.” 

Chapter 2

James’s mother Catherine stared out of the small cottage window into the fields near the woods just in time to see her son disappear into the forest. She noticed, just as James had, that three of the horses were standing in a semi-circle looking very suspiciously at something that wasn’t there. She squinted just a bit as if it would help her failing eyesight.

“That boy isn’t going to run this ranch for long. Our horses don’t like him and he doesn’t know a thing about breeding.” James’ father Paul said as he made his way inside. His wife simply walked over to a kitchen chair and slumped into it, exhausted.

“I don’t think they care for us too much either anymore. We’re growing distant from it all.” Catherine stated. Paul exhaled a deep breath and stared at Catherine. The two of them used to have a very strong relationship with the horses they raised. When James was merely an infant it was almost as if the horses were simply renting space on their land. They would come running to greet either of them when they entered the fields and eat straight from their hands. At any point if a buyer was having any trouble Paul would visit the horse and the behavior would change immediately.  They were both legends in town when it came to raising steeds.

As life began taking its toll on them, Catherine and Paul grew distant from the horses and James assumed a majority of the chores around the ranch. Unfortunately, James never developed the same sorts of skills his parents naturally had; for him it was merely a job to take care of. Both Paul and Catherine had noticed this, but never mentioned it James. They had assumed he would take over the ranch eventually, but as time passed that notion seemed less and less likely. Even their costumers notice a change in the horses’ behaviors as they were raised. Paul feared that he had passed his peak and the downward trend in quality was unavoidable. Catherine had more prophetic feelings; she was convinced the horses sensed their time was coming and where no longer as engaged with them because of it.

“I know. But I’m too old to be out there all the time and the boy’s never taken to them as we had.”

“I think it may be more than that.” Paul turned to his wife. She was usually more in tune with nature than him in general, but he thought this might still be a bit of a stretch.

“What, do you mean something more ominous?” He chuckled as he buried his face back in his book.

“I’m serious.” She replied with a furrowed brow, her typical way of showing some subtle anger. “They don’t respond to either of us the way they used to. They seem off in their own world at times.”

“Of course they don’t; we spend a fraction of the time we used to with them, besides, they’ve started to catch on that we aren’t the ones with food anymore.”

“No. It’s more than that.” She said with a shaking head. “Don’t you feel distant from them?”

Paul stood up and looked back at the window. It was true. He couldn’t name every horse without being close up to them. He used to be able to point each out from a great distance based on their demeanor. He knew each horse’s name and ages. He knew their daily habits and could pick each horse from another based on their personalities. As of late he could barely tell without inspecting each. He knew it was discrediting his business but couldn’t find the energy to spend all day in the fields with them. Catherine hadn’t ridden a horse all year. Paul didn’t want to press her about it because he was afraid she may fall and seriously hurt herself. His business was fading away from his eyes rather than being renewed by James.  Still, Catherine feared something more sinister was afoot.

“Maybe we could have James whip up some potion to get them into shape. He spends enough time with those fools out in the woods he should at least be able to do something useful for us.”

“Don’t discourage that boy!” Catherine scolded. Paul didn’t look towards her because he already knew the facial expression she was making.  “He’s moving on with the rest of the world. The horses are too. I’m just afraid this new world may be moving too quickly for us.” Paul looked back out the window. All of the horses were out of sight. His heart sank a bit as he realized they had become completely independent of him.

“You really think it’s them and not us?” He asked cautiously.

“Well, I know one thing for sure; horses move faster than humans.”

Out in the woods, James was trying to keep up with Malcolm. “Will you hand me the lye. Please very carefully.” Malcolm muttered. James gingerly placed the jar in Malcolm’s hand. Malcolm’s upper body leaned away from it as he slowly placed it on the counter next to the pot of boiling water. He measured the correct amount with his scoop from his belt and very cautiously poured it into the pot.  Most of the pots used in the lab were composed of copper, but when making soap Malcolm used an iron pot so it would not react with the ingredients. Ordinarily Malcolm moved very fluently throughout the lab, but James noticed that he was being quite a bit more conscious after nearly destroying his hands. James had assisted with the soap making process many times and was as familiar with the recipe as Malcolm was. As soon as Malcolm started adding the lye there was a knock at the door.

James made his way to the door and looked through the peephole to see who it was.

“One of your friends?” asked Malcolm without turning from his work.

Outside the door, Michael stood peering in with a big smile smeared across his face. Michael was the sort of person who always felt comfortable around other people; his problem was getting girls to feel comfortable around him. Michael was loud and proud. He never hesitated to speak his mind and he figured everyone should listen to what he had to say. He was Michael after all! This occasionally led to trouble, especially when there was drinking involved.

Michael and James had met a few years earlier when Michael’s parents moved him from a larger city up north down to Verron. His father was a builder looking for work in a smaller area. He was getting old and building larger structures in cities was getting to be too much for him. He preferred to work on simple cottages; it was a much easier way to make a living and was significantly less dangerous. Michael considered the move an uprooting from where they belonged to “hickville,” as he referred to it. Verron was quiet compared to his hometown, even in the city center. Michael had grown up accustomed to constant noise and light. It might have explained why he was so noisy himself.  Every weekend he would try to drag James west to Vordenport to spend time in the city. Being around Michael was exhausting for James, who would rather spend the weekend quietly reading or exploring the woods. Michael didn’t even know how to read, and he thought nature was boring. They really didn’t have much in common at all, but James was Michael’s only real friend in Verron. It may have been because he was the only person patient enough to put up with him.

“Sort of…” James replied as he opened the door for Michael. Michael wondered inside while shaking his head, his brown shaggy hair flopping about. As soon as he got inside he leaped high into the air and grabbed onto a wooden rafter. After pulling himself up he sat comfortably up by the straw roof.

“We have chairs you know.” Muttered Malcolm, although he figured even if Michael was paying attention he wouldn’t get down anyway. Michael’s constant antics were a little too much for Malcolm to deal with.

“What are you doing this weekend James?” asked Michael while swinging his small shoes back and forth under his ripped baggy pants.

“Chores.”

“Wrong!” said Michael with his bright white I’ve-planned-something-without-your-consent smile. “We’re going to Vordenport. My cousin said we can crash at his place for fah-ree!”  James shook his head while continuing to clean up old pots in the wash sink.

“There’s no way my parents are going to do my chores again this weekend.”

“Can’t you find somebody else to do them for a weekend?”

“Somebody might already be doing them. The horses were all taken care of this morning before I even got up.”

“Perfect, it’s all set then.”

“Funny. Doubt it. It was weird; my parents didn’t see anybody feeding them. I thought maybe it was that little girl who comes over to pet them, but there’s no way she could lift the feed bags.”

“Only you would question getting out of work.” Michael rolled his eyes, but Malcolm cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow.

Then there was another knock on the door. James was still washing dishes so he asked if Michael could get the door. Michael let out a long breath. “I mean, I would, but I exerted too much effort getting up here so I don’t think I could manage opening that heavy door.” James rolled his eyes and marched back over to the door. This time it was Bartholomew.

“Come on in. Michael’s already here.”

“I’m not running a daycare here.” Malcolm whispered to himself. Malcolm appreciated Bart’s company more than he did Michael’s, but he still wasn’t thrilled to have an extra body standing around. In fairness, Michael wasn’t in the way at all since his was up in the roof.  Bart ducked as he entered the door. He was tall and built like a tree. He had to twist his body slightly to get through the doorway. His messy blond hair brushed up against the top post as he waddled inside. Bart always wore a simple oversized shirt and whatever pants he could find that fit him. He was by no means a giant, but he was just big enough to be scary if need be. This came in handy when Michael was stirring up trouble in pubs.

“Vordenport tomorrow, yeah?” he asked with a smile.

“Haven’t quite convinced him yet; he keeps going on about chores.” Bart looked up into the rafters and realized Michael was perched in his usual spot. Bart had met Michael a couple years before through James. Bart and James had known each other for much longer but never spent much time together until a few years back as well. Bart’s father was a sailor and wasn’t around very often. He would sail in and out of Vordenport on long trips but spent his time off living in Verron. Bart always wanted to work on boats like his father, despite his mother’s disapproval. Sailing was a fairly dangerous profession, even after a cure for scurvy had been discovered. Bart always found it amazing his father never died while at sea. His mother seemed convinced every time he left it would be the last time they saw them. Both Bart and his father were lucky. It seemed they both managed to get out of situations unscathed when they should have been maimed at least. Bart always remember a story his father told him about a trip when everyone on his ship came down with an unknown illness and almost half the crew died. His father was the only crew member not to get sick. The rest of the crew thought he had some sort of magic spell placed on him. He said the only spell he had was good luck. Regardless, the crew expelled him and he never went on another ship with any of them. Sailors were notoriously afraid of any kind of magic; they were very superstitious about it.

“Don’t do chores, James; it’s bad for your health.” Bart felt the need to inform him.

“I wish my parents saw it that way.”

“Hey, you know, I could actually feed the horses for you this weekend.” The boys became silent for a moment; they were all taken aback by Malcolm’s statement. Malcolm was not the sort of person to help some young kids out so they could go for a drinking weekend. Malcolm maintained a level of discipline from his days with the King’s Army. He was of the opinion that everyone under the age of eighteen should be doing chores every day of the week. He always said Michael was lazy for working less than six days at a time for his carpentry job. He would give James trouble too, any time he complained about chores. He’d give him trouble when he complained about helping him clean the lab as well, even though he was working for free. Michael jumped down from the rafters to look into Malcolm’s face just to see if he was pulling a trick on them. They all stared at him in disbelief, waiting for him to crack a smile. After a few minutes he finally raised his eyebrows. “I’m serious.” Michael snuck up behind James and whispered in his ears.

“Don’t question it. Let’s run before he changes his mind.” Malcolm rolled his eyes at Michael and went back to his work.

“Look, you’ve been helping me for basically free here for a couple years. I may be a strict, but I’m a man of fairness. You guys go have some fun this weekend. I can feed your parents horses.”

“I’m not sure my parents would be alright having a stranger…”

“I’ll take care of them early in the morning. You can tell them whoever you want is doing the chores. Don’t you have a cousin who helps out sometimes on the ranch?” It was true, James’ cousin Marcus did occasionally take care of the animals when they needed an extra hand.

“Thanks, but I don’t think they’ll be okay with me leaving for the weekend to go drinking with these two.”

“First, ouch,” Michael chimed in, “second, tell them you’ll be out with Malcolm getting supplies. They won’t mind that.” Malcolm shrugged. It seemed plausible enough.

“You’d really do that for me? I can take you around the ranch today and show you everything that needs to be done.”

“Not even a problem. I have to be up early this week working on some things for Alchem anyway. I can get it done first thing in the morning. Besides, I have plenty of experience with horses. Back in the day I was even a skilled rider.” Bart threw himself down into a chair. Listening to Malcolm talk about his work was enough to make him puke, but listening to him talk about his time in the King’s Army was an unending fascination.

“Did you ride war horses then?” he asked with widened eyes. Even Michael could hold still for long enough to listen to Malcolm talk about the early wars fought in the Mainland.

“No. Only the highest level knights rode the war horses. When I was trained with my swords it was for very close combat based. In the northeast it’s a different sort of training.”

As soon as Malcolm brought up his training in the northeast all alchemy immediately stopped and the three boys became enthralled in the conversation.  Malcolm was raised and trained in combat in the northeastern territory of Stray-hou. Stray-hou was a very mountainous region and was sparsely populated. During the so called Mainland War before the Dark Age began Stray-Hou was one of the very few territories to remain neutral. This was mostly a result of the difficulties of traveling through the mountains to reach the territory. It was at least a three week journey through the snowy and rocky terrain that could not easily be passed by horses except during the very late summer weeks. Stray-Hou had a history as long as any other territory on the continent but was so isolated the culture differed vastly from most other regions. They had access to the sea but no easy land access to any other country.

Malcolm was born and raised in this region. He had never met his father and his mother grew quite sick when he was young. She remained bedridden for most of his childhood and he supported her by enlisting at a very young age in the army reserve. This was not a bad deal for Malcolm as the Army Reserve had not participated in a war in many hundreds of years and would not likely participate while Malcolm was part of it. It still paid a decent amount and gave him skills that would be beneficial outside of an army position. The most useful skill he learned as a reserve soldier was the ability to hunt for food. Despite his young age Malcolm spent most of his time off from training in the woods scavenging for food for him and his mother to support them both beyond the small wage he earned for his training and time in the army. Hunting was more of a hobby for Malcolm, but when it came down to it, it was also his only means of keeping what was left of his family alive.

Training in a Stay-housian army was vastly different than any training experienced in the Mainland. Most significantly was the use of two smaller and more agile swords. The three boys were fascinated by the technique as it was not taught and even looked down upon typically in the King’s Army. Malcolm on the other hand was very sufficient from his many years in the reserve (most soldiers served four years while Malcolm served ten due to his early admission) that he could easily take down a trained soldier with any weapon ranging from a two-handed sword to a spear and shielded horseman.

At the age of eighteen every training member of the Army Reserve became eligible to apply to be a full-time member of the Stray-Hou army. At least two recommendations from professors or trainers were required for a full time application to enlist. Malcolm knew he could easily obtain four or five, but chose to not even apply. Instead he took a job as a traveler’s assistant escorting caravans from Stray-Hou to Menschliff. This was a much lower paying job that trainees from the Hou King’s Reserve would often take to build a sort of history of ability to serve as a functioning fighter. Malcolm was one of the very few to accept the position willingly, but he wanted to see the world outside of Stray-Hou. He was willing to submit to a lesser pay in order to have the freedom to explore the Mainland. The biggest drawback for Malcolm was the constant fear that upon his return he would find his mother dead and rotting in the bed she hadn’t left for years.

Despite his father’s well-known reputation in his town, Malcolm found that most of his father’s coworkers were not willing to take on any extra time to help support either him or his mother. Malcolm’s father was a member of the Hou King’s Reserve for many more years than most members stayed. He was also a very highly ranked officer among the elites who were garrisoned in the king’s keep.  The primary reason Malcolm was able to enter the reserve at such a young age was because of his father’s highly reputable name. Unfortunately, getting Malcolm into the reserve seemed to be about all his name was good for. As much as he would hear storied of greatness about his father from other soldiers who served with him there seemed to be no interest when Malcolm and his mother needed it. Malcolm remembered very specifically that at the tenth anniversary of his father’s death his mother organized a small reunion for the soldiers who served under him. Almost everyone came to his and his mother’s home and drank to their heart’s content, all while recounting stories of his father’s bravery. But while Malcolm retained the stories told of his father, he remembered most clearly that when it came time to clean up after it was he and his sick mother who were left with the mess. Malcolm resented the way the soldiers treated his mother, a feeling that stuck with him during his time in the reserve.

This may have been the primary reason Malcolm refused to officially join the army after his eighteenth birthday. It was also possibly the potential he knew existed in the Mainland for finding a cure for his mother’s disease. The Mainland was well known for advanced medicine among the Stray-Housians at the time Malcolm was getting ready to leave. No one was sure whether this was a result of advanced sciences or a deeper understanding of magic, very few citizens ever traveled there themselves, so most of what he had heard was conjecture. What was clear was that many diseases that afflicted the crops and animals of the Stray-Housians were of no problem to the majority of Mainland nations. Malcolm was unable to relinquish the idea that his mother may be saved from the painful death that all else saw as inevitable. He was very uneducated in both magic and medical science, but part of the reason Malcolm was so successful in the Hou King’s Reserve was due to his ability to learn foreign concepts quickly.

This ability carried over well when he accepted a small position in the King’s Army in the Mainland Country. As a seasoned warrior of Stray-Hou he was allowed a special dispensation to fight with dual agility swords, but was disrespected by native soldiers for his alternative training. When Malcolm had first joined the Hou King’s Reserve he was treated very poorly, even by the new recruits, due to his young age. He spent a lot of effort and time proving himself as a worthy soldier. Malcolm was not willing to submit to this treatment again as a soldier in the King’s Army. For this reason he worked extremely hard during the first months of training and became proficient in the methodology of the King’s Army. He began rising quickly through the ranks of the army before becoming a general sergeant and having a meeting with the king’s highest officer Malthesus. Malthesus was one of the very few who recognized Malcolm’s unique abilities. He had Malcolm placed in charge of a small army tasked with reclaiming certain territories with access resources necessary to the war efforts of the Mainland.

Almost five years later, when Malcolm returned for the last time to Stray-Hou before beginning his campaign to reclaim western mines he sat down with his mother, holding her hand in silence. She knew what he was about to say, but he couldn’t get the words out.

“I have to go now.” He whispered. 

Chapter 1

James found himself standing on a hill, looking down at the landscape he was familiar with as his home. Not just his parents home, but the village a few miles north from his cottage. He could see every stream and river as they snaked through the valleys and the dense forest. Thick green brush exploded out along the sides of the small road where sun could find its way through the trees. James hadn’t ever seen the entire town from this view. It was so picturesque it seemed unreal. He stood silently, basking in the beauty of the bright sky. He couldn’t remember how he had found the spot. Looking over his shoulder for the path he had taken, the calming warmth that ran through him grew cold as a black spirit materialized behind him. He stood, frozen, as the head took the shape of a crow, but with a larger, distorted smile. The body retained some human features but rested in the air with its body dangling underneath its floating white skull, hunched like a gargoyle. It was staring towards James, but over his head completely ignoring his presence, as if looking through him. When James returned his gaze to the once romantic setting of his home he watched as it fell away, into the darkness of night. The shadow of the horizon stretched across the world until the night had swallowed James as well, where he stood, lost.

As he slowly opened his eyes, James felt the rays of the morning sun reaching through the trees and warming his face. Based on the shadows cast on his bedroom ceiling, he figured it must be almost noon. As he sat up rubbing his temples he wondered why his parents hadn’t come and woken him to do chores yet. There was no way his father had done them; he was probably still sitting in his chair reading. After stumbling out of bed, James managed to get his old, worn boots on. He tucked in about half of his long hanging shirt and through a jacket on figuring that would be sufficient dress for the day. Both of his parents were in the kitchen as he wondered out of his small room and walked downstairs.

James’s father was indeed sitting in his rocking chair reading a book. His mother was fixing lunch. “Did you go back to sleep?” she asked calmly, as she heard him stomp down the stairs.

“I just woke up.” He mumbled.

“Didn’t you take care of the horses this morning?”

“Not yet. I just woke up.”

His mother turned her head over a shoulder and raised her eyebrows before shrugging and returning to cutting potatoes.

“They’re out in the field, looked like you’d taken care of it already.” She muttered.

James wasn’t going to argue if it meant he didn’t have to carry any more bags of feed, so he sat down at the table and began tying his boots. He had noticed a few days earlier that the horses had all been combed and cleaned. He wondered if Martha, a girl from the pig farm down the road, had done it. She loved the horses, but James wasn’t sure how she would have reached the tops of their heads to comb them. The horses tended to be calm around her, but he was worried about her getting hurt if one of them kicked. He figured he’d have to say something to her about it later.

James’ family had been raising horses for several generations. His father was an incredible breeder and his mother unnaturally good at keeping their attention, as if the horses understood the words she would whisper to them. It was a talent that was not passed on to James; James took care of all the simple work around the ranch. He was almost eighteen and would eventually take over the property, but he knew no matter how far his father relinquished control, he would never really be in charge while he remained on the property. Still, James didn’t mind having his father there to assist him because he was far a superior horse master.  James was much more adept at raising chickens, he wondered if was because they’re disorganized and hapless, qualities James felt aptly described his personality.

“Well, since you’re so well rested you can help me patch the roof today.” James’s father grunted with a wide grin without looking up from his book. James recognized the grin; his father always wore it when he had work to delegate. James felt his heart sink into his chest.

“Do we have to do it today? I was going to visit Malcolm today.”

“It’s begun to drip at the foot of our bed. It kept your mother up last night.”

“Why don’t you just move the bed?”

“I’ll eat his lunch.” James’ farther yelled over his shoulder, his mother just rolled her eyes.

“Fine, can we hurry though? He said the next test might explode a bit and I want to be there for it.” His mother turned around with a furrowed brow.

“I’m not going to let you keep going over there if you’re going to permanently dismember yourself.” She said with her hands on her hips. “You’re more likely to do that than turn led into gold.” James hated when his mother made jokes about alchemy. James believed what Malcolm was working on was going to change the Midlands. His projects were beginning to show real progress. Over the years that James had been assisting Malcolm they had been developing a new gunpowder that could easily be produced with the limited resources that were available in the region. Previously the Midlands had access to mines with rich soil that was used to produce the materials needed for canonry, but after the mines were lost the military suffered a huge set-back and only imported powders were available. This made canon warfare unfeasible. James was hopeful that if the continued to work at it they could find a solution to the problem, although, it was true they occasionally did try to turn lead into gold.

“There’s no way canons are coming back in time to save us; those boy are better off throwing rocks.” His father added.

“It’s not dangerous; Malcolm knows what he’s doing. Besides, he said Alchem might even supervise this one.”

“The old madman himself? I’m not sure if that’s better or worse.” His father snickered. “Better hurry up and feed those horses. They’ll be hungry now.” James stood up from the table and ran out to do his morning routine. He tried to rush through it so his lunch wouldn’t be cold, but it was unlikely he was going to finish in less than an hour. So after feeding, cleaning and brushing, he returned home to cold eggs.

James’ father and mother were skeptical about the work that went on in the hut through the swamp. There was an old man who lived there with an ex-soldier from the King’s Army. They claimed they were still working in conjunction with efforts at the capitol to redevelop their explosive powders. The powders were used in ancient canons in the Midlands, but it had been many years since there was any widespread effort to revive their use. No one knew how to make the old powder anymore; it was an art lost in the Dark Age. The story seemed a bit farfetched from James’ parent’s point of view.  The army hadn’t been on any conquest of territories in ages and his parents weren’t sure they were actually working in communication with the capitol. No one in the southern territories communicated with the capitol anymore.

After eating, James and his father climbed up onto the roof with some supplies and began patching things up. Their cottage was on the outskirts of the small town of Vorren. James and his family had a large patch of fields where they raised their horses, which was their primary mean of income. They were surrounded by farms and bogs towards and away from the town center. They lived a short distance from a road that went directly into town through the twists and turns of the humid forest. Behind their fields was a thick wooded area. James preferred to be out of the sun, in the woods, so he would frequently spend time there. The fields were very hot during the summers and cold with wind and rain in the winters. The forest on the other hand was much more welcoming once he made it past the brush on the outside.

James spent most of his time as a child exploring the woods and swamps. Although his parents were in love with the horses, James never felt any connection with them. He did spend a lot of time taking care of them during the year but never learned to ride well and resented the way they all behaved around him. He figured the horses sensed this feeling and felt the same toward him. Unfortunately for James, it was taking care of the horses or starve. His father and mother were well regarded in town as they were the only ones in the area who could produce high quality steeds of various sorts. James’s father rarely traveled into town. They had a seller in town who would collect orders from buyers and pick up the horses himself from the ranch. Both of James’s parents preferred to live outside of town away from city life, despite it hardly being much of a city.

Vorren was mostly a farming community. The city center consisted of some stores and sellers but most of the residents lived outside the city streets and owned swaths of land. The principle source of income was trading supplies with ships heading back into the large bay east of the city. The much larger city of Vordenport was a short journey down the river and was the southeastern hub for exports in the Midlands. James would occasionally visit Vordenport with friends. Since it was mostly a port town, there were a substantial amount of taverns and pubs to drink at and listen to sailors talk about fish they never caught and islands they never really found. It was always a fun crowd and there would be at least one fight before the night ended. It was also a great place to buy fish from the smaller ships that went out into the ocean during the day. James sometimes wondered if he’d ever go out onto the ocean in his lifetime, but his feet had never left land before, and it didn’t appear likely they would anytime soon.

James had a strong desire to explore the world. He’d never been very far from Vorren. His parents needed his help too often for him to take any long trips away from home. When he did have free time he would spend most of it assisting Malcolm with experiments in his hut. Malcolm and Alchem worked together in their so-called laboratory hidden out in the swamp beyond the forest. Both men had been all over the Midlands and even beyond. James rarely saw Alchem, but Malcolm would tell him all sorts of stories about the regions beyond his home. He had explored many parts of the world, although he refused to specify any timeframe, occasionally insisting it was long before James had been born. James sometimes wondered if he was making it all up; Malcolm didn’t seem very old and he’d been living in Vorren for almost forty years. But for James, listening to Malcolm was a way to escape the boring atmosphere of the town he rarely left.

He was daydreaming about it again on the roof when his father tapped him lightly on the head with a mallet.

“Anybody home?” He asked while smashing a nail into a board.

“Sorry dad, I was just…”

“I get it.” His dad interrupted. “I can finish this up myself if you want to head out.”

“Thanks! I’ll be back in time for dinner.”

“Whatever, just make sure your fingers are all still attached and you don’t smell like sulfur when you get home.” James’s father barely finished his sentence before James had leaped off the roof and started heading towards the woods. Running through the field, he paused and noticed several horses standing in a semi-circle, almost as if they were having a conversation with each other. He froze for a moment and watched them remain calmly in place. After a pause, they quickly dispersed to various parts of the field. James shrugged it off and wondered through a hole in the brush. The woods were much cooler and darker than the fields, which James enjoyed. He found his walking path and began his trip into the wilderness to find Alchem’s hut.

Alchem’s cottage was modest and hidden deep within the forest, isolated from passers-by. He lived off of a smaller road that led into town. Alchem himself rarely left the hut, but his assistant Malcolm, who essentially controlled what was left of Alchem’s operation, headed into town about once a week to restock supplies. Sometimes James would go with Malcolm and help carry back necessary equipment. His parents would even supply a horse and a cart if they needed it. James considered Malcolm a good friend and an excellent excuse to get away from the ranch.

As he wandered through the woods, James began to pick up on the unmistakable scent of ammonia. It always wafted through the forest near Alchem’s hut. He could hear some screaming and swearing outside.  He crawled through some bushes and found the narrow path that led up to the cottage. The cottage itself was fairly large and looked as if it was three smaller buildings smashed together without any forethought or planning. None of the architecture aligned and there were three different roofs of varying heights. There was a second floor which hung halfway over the house with large wooden beams holding it up. Every time James saw it he wondered how it had been crafted in such a way. He was waiting for the day when the precarious structure would collapse in on itself. From his limited dealings with Alchem he figured it was just because he liked things that appeared nonsensical to everyone but himself, in his own mischievous way.

Outside the house Malcolm was still mumbling things to himself while washing his hand off in a rain bucket. “Everything alright?” James asked as he approached, catching his breath. Malcolm was a tall and sturdily built man, save for a weakened left shoulder that always hung below the right. He was wearing his usual work jacket with his goggles held on his head. Alchem had made a few sets of homemade goggles. They were essentially glass shaped ovals Alchem had blown with some metal strips around the outside and leather bands to go around the head. Malcolm also had his leather boots on and a large, black tool belt around his waist filled with all sorts of utensils for his work.

He turned to James while rubbing his free hand through his short brown hair. Malcolm tried to keep his face cleanly shaven, but it been unkempt for several days. He appeared as though he hadn’t slept in a while. “Alchem’s had me making soaps all day; I have no idea why. I spilled some of that lye powder on my hand and burnt myself quite severely.” He pulled his hand out of the bucket for a moment and waved it in front of James. It was bright red in spots.

“I thought that stuff was only dangerous when it got wet.”

“Yes, well, my hand was wet, obviously.” He huffed while swirling it through the cool water.

He finished rinsing his hand off and the headed inside. Grabbing his leather work gloves he winced as he slowly slid his burnt fingers inside. The inside of the cottage was much less chaotic than the outside, but that was Malcolm’s preference, refusing to work in a disorganized space. Messes drove him crazy; he insisted working in a mess was more dangerous than working with the explosive powders. James preferred to live in a mess. He was the sort of person who randomly spread dirty clothes throughout his room just to make it more cluttered, but when he worked with Malcolm he kept everything clean; Malcolm was not the kind of man James wished to butt heads with.

“I thought you were trying new recipes today.” Asked James, as he helped carefully clean up the powder spilt around the sink.

“I did too, but Alchem said soap was more important. He’s nuts about personal sanitation these days. I think it’s because he’s getting so old…” Malcolm was pulling a pot out of the fireplace, “even more nuts than I am.” He added.

“Where is he?”

“In the bathtub.”

Alchem was very old. No one was really sure how old, not even Alchem. He rarely left his cottage and spent at least 4 hours a day in an extremely hot bath. Malcolm couldn’t fathom how he could stand being in that water all day, but it was almost as necessary as eating for Alchem. Even though he was working in the hut, James rarely saw him. When he did, they almost never exchanged words. If they did it was nothing more than formalities. Alchem was a mysterious old fellow; he liked to keep his affairs private although Malcolm would talk about them sometimes. For the most part Malcolm ran the operations and Alchem simply consulted with him for difficult experiments and new directions. Alchem was definitely a genius when it came to alchemy. He loved the science, although he wasn’t always prepared to share his insights with Malcolm. He was very reserved in that way, often mistrusting of his own expertise.

Malcolm also knew that Alchem had tinkered with magic before they had met. He never discussed this with him, nor did he ever tell James about it. Malcolm was old enough to remember spells from very early in the Dark Age when magic was still commonplace and fairly well understood. As the days came and went magic faded into history and new scientific pursuits began gaining ground again. Alchem still had some control over his magic but to what extent Malcolm was not sure. He wondered if Alchem might be the last person alive to be able to manipulate the old powers in such a way. Malcolm was staunchly against using magic as his limited experience with it only led to problems and death, which was an experience typical for most. The last spells to be used in his sight were all various curses. Malcolm never pressed Alchem on it and just tried to avoid the subject in general as he knew it would only be divisive to their relationship.

Malcolm told James he had begun working for Alchem when he moved into the small town of Verron after his contract with the King’s Army ended. He wanted to get away from the larger cities and find a simple way to earn his living. Malcolm’s time in the war had taken a brutal toll on him. He wasn’t young anymore and certainly was sensing his age. Although he used to be an incredible fighter, Malcolm wanted to get away from it and focus on science. The King’s Army was starting to get too bold in their objectives and Malcolm was sure it would bring about their demise. He had worked closely with the king’s second general during battles for disputed resources in the northwest. They had often discussed the king’s contempt for western nations. They feared his determination to reclaim old lands from before the Dark Age would lead to a large war that the King’s Army was not prepared for. Malcolm wanted to get away before such a catastrophe would take place. He felt Verron was distant enough from the front lines to act as a haven where he could continue with his work.

As James finished sweeping up the mess he heard Alchem’s bedroom door lock. He looked up at Malcolm inquisitively.

“He’s been locking himself in there a lot lately.” Malcolm whispered, before returning to his duties.