Transmutation

By Michael Dolan

Other than the cramped quarters and questionable smell, the carriage ride was a welcome change from the dungeon I’d just spent nine months in. And even though my soldier escort refused to talk, I had plenty of practice making conversation with myself until we arrived at a half-hidden hut beyond the castle walls.

The soldier opened the door and motioned me out. Keeping my balance despite my iron manacles, I stepped down and looked around.

“Don’t even think about it, Ryla.” Captain Desail appeared in the hut’s doorway, outfitted in the dark green of the royal guard.

“Don’t think about what, Captain? Just enjoying the change in scenery.”

“Get in here.”

I complied, striding to follow the captain inside. In the hut’s center stood a large octagonal table covered with alembics, retorts, and other alchemic instruments.

“Ah,” I said, “So that’s it.”

“We believe your particular experience could offer insight into this investigation.”

I reached out and tipped an aludel, then raised an eyebrow.

“In exchange, we would commute your sentence.”

I let the aludel roll back to its upright position. “That’s what I like to hear! First things first.” I held out my manacled wrists. “Offy with the irons. Not suited for alchemic—or investigative—work at all.”

Desail rolled his eyes but had the soldier from the carriage unlock my shackles. I shivered as the dead metal fell away and I sensed the heaviness of raw elements.

“No funny business, clear?”

“Nosir.” I scanned the room for a moment. “Why, exactly, are we here?”

“An amulet from the royal ossuary was stolen. We traced it to this location but haven’t found it or the occupant who lives here.”

“Ahh,” I said, “Have you checked the shelves and cupboards?”

“Of course. Nothing but old manuscripts and junk.”

“Tsk. Captain, sometimes the most helpful clues are in plain sight. Allow me.” I pulled a fistful of loose parchments from a shelf and scanned them. “Oh, interesting.” I glanced at the captain. “Looks like you’ve found yourself a proper alchemist.”

“What does that mean?”

I leafed through the pile. “Most people study alchemy for what it can do. Things like achieve immortality or tap into magic.”

“Or turn rocks into gold and pass it off as the king’s coin,” Desail said with a pointed look at me.

I allowed a slight pause. “Touché. But, at its heart, alchemy’s all about understanding—and especially manipulating—the elements.”

“Fire, water, earth, and air.”

“Exactly. And what we have here,” I gestured at the pages, “are some especially archaic writings about just that.”

“What does that mean?”

“Based on these manuscripts, this person was particularly interested in each element’s unique properties.”

“Why?”

I looked around. “Still figuring that out.”

“So what do we do?”

“Keep looking for clues…” I found four mortars on the table, arranged them in a rectangle, and looked at him with a smile. “My way.”

Bending down, I scooped some dirt from the floor and placed it in the nearest mortar. Rifling through the vessels on and around the table, I didn’t find what I was looking for. Then I looked at Desail. “Captain, I need your canteen.”

“For what?”

“Ummm, alchemy.”

“No.”

“Ugh, fine. Just pour some water in that mortar.”

While he did, I turned my attention to the walls, rummaging through the bric-a-brac for one final ingredient. When my search proved fruitless, I turned back to the captain.

“What now?” he asked.

“I need your sword.”

“Ha! Another request like that and I’ll clap you back in irons.”

I lit up. “Oh yeah! That’ll do.” I raced to the soldier who had removed my manacles. Snatching them out of his hand, I said, “I’ll take that,” and returned to the table.

I tore a few thin rags from the bottom of my shirt and placed them in a still empty mortar. Raising the manacles next to it, I struck the wrist constraints against one another with a clang.

“What are you doing?” Desail asked.

“Alchemy, Captain!”

He stepped closer with a hand on his sword, but I paid little mind. Sparks flew as I continued striking the manacles together. A minute later, the tatters caught and started burning low.

I grabbed one of the old manuscripts and laid it on the four mortars, making sure each corner was enveloped in air, water, earth, or fire.

“Don’t do— That’s evidence!” Desail shouted.

I stepped between him and the manuscript. “Just watch.”

I turned around, and we both stared as shining golden script appeared on the parchment. Seeing the captain’s eyes bug out, I smiled. “Old alchemist’s trick.”

We stepped close, though only I could read the script.

“What’s it say?” Desail asked.

“Seems to be about deconstructing things as close to their foundational elements as possible.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“No. But it does sound exciting.”

“Ryla, be serious.”

“That’s no fun,” I said, replacing the manuscript with a new one. Minutes passed as I illuminated manuscript after manuscript. Some philosophized about elemental attributes. Others offered practical steps to deconstruct common alchemical ingredients. A couple theorized about what one could accomplish with elements in their raw forms.

Then I set a new manuscript on the mortars, and the entire hut blazed with golden light. Desail and I squinted at the elaborate design shining at its center. “Did the amulet look like that?” I asked.

“Aye.”

I leaned in and started reading. I muttered and shook my head, trying to process the words. Desail asked, “Ryla, what is it?”

I ignored him, focused on the manuscript.

“Ryla. What’s it say?”

I looked up. “According to this, the amulet grants not only the power to dismantle the fabric of creation, but also the power to rebuild it too. However. They. So. Wish.”

The captain breathed deeply. His eyes betrayed the realization of the type of threat we could be facing.

“You wanted serious, Captain? Things are about to get far more serious than you could’ve ever dreamed.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Michael Dolan’s short stories have appeared in Havok, Splickety, and The Norwegian American. When he’s not writing marketing materials for a global nonprofit, he can be found hiking, reading, gaming, or writing some more. He and his wife live with a small library loaded with YA and fantasy books in Seattle, WA.

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