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.”