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.