SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

Qian handed it over. It was a rough chunk of black stone larger than a man’s hand. When it was brought near iron, it would pull the metal towards it. Magic. But, the stranger could do magic as well. So why would he want it? Why? When he could do—

Magic.

He was no longer behind a stall in the marketplace, talking to a stranger.

He was standing on a hill, overlooking a valley containing a small village. He could see the cozy homes of the people, and the trails of smoke drifting up to the sky, vanishing against the white clouds. Cheerful sunlight fell on the fields of rice where men were working diligently to feed their families. He could hear laughter piping up from somewhere.

Home. He was home.

Qian broke into a run, dashing down the hill as fast as he could without tripping. He laughed with unrestrained joy, and leapt straight over the fence at the edge of the village. He kicked off his shoes, running barefoot in the soil of his village, and made for the largest building in the center of the town. Entering with sudden speed, he startled the men drinking inside.

Qian stood for a second in the doorway, his face red with exertion and eyes shining with tears. Then, “One cup of your finest wine please!”

With the lodestone tucked away safely, the djinn went back to the stall where he had left the boy. The lad was looking at the toys a vendor was selling. The djinn bought him a wooden horse, and asked for directions to the Plaza of the Alchemists. He brooded as he walked.

The ifreet had told him where to find the trinket-seller, and what he would ask for the lodestone. He’d prepared the power beforehand, but still…

The metal is vital, it said. But I find it hard to believe something that looks so plain will help me kill the sun. And the lodestone wasn’t enough on its own—its power needed enhancement. He had the rock in his robes, could feel the weight of it as he walked. The beggar’s price had seemed just to him. He knew what it was like to pine for a home you could not return to.

There was only one alchemist in the small, walled oasis, and he made his stall in the corner of the plaza, hidden from view. Everyone knew of his reputation and he received visitors from many lands, ferrying gifts of jewels and silver in exchange for a favor: a tonic to heal the sick, some parchment bearing a spell for power, stolen from the tomb of a long-dead king…and for the power to turn lead into gold. He turned them all away, claiming if they wanted magic, they should see a magician. This was what he was doing when the djinn and boy approached.

A thin voice shrieked from inside the tent. “A philter?! You want me to brew you a PHILTER?! No I will not stay quiet, if you cannot woo this girl, then go to some godforsaken magician! Bah! A warrior like you, with a sword like that! And you cannot even hold your own…Pfah! Get out! Get out, you stupid boy!”

A young man stormed out of the tent with his face burning red and a curved sword strapped to his waist. The djinn watched him exit the plaza to the sniggers of several old men playing at stones. It seemed everyone had heard the outburst.

The alchemist emerged from his tent muttering to himself. “Love potions and beauty spells. What do they think I am?” He had on a dirty old caftan striped with stains. His beard was dirty and bushy and for all the jewels customers brought him, he did not look like a wealthy man. He caught sight of the two and said, “And what do you want? A potion to keep your hair in? A dagger that won’t rust? Something to help your wife, because you can’t…oh…oh! What are you doing here?” He took two long looks around and grabbed the djinn’s arm and pulled him inside.

It was much larger than it looked. The tent was only a place for him to meet the customers; at the back, the djinn could see a house through the flaps of cloth, presumably where the alchemist lived and did, well, whatever he did.

“Sit, sit. Please.” He waved them towards a couch in the middle of the space and left through the back, returning with a tall woman who the djinn correctly guessed to be his daughter. They were carrying two trays of food and refreshment.

“Uncle, I came to you because I—” the djinn began.

“Oh hush. You must have crossed the desert if you came from the capital. Wash your throats first. Then we’ll talk.” He perched himself in a tall spindly chair with his hands on his knees and watched them intently with his bright eyes as his guests drank wine from small crystal goblets. The boy tore his teeth into fruit and swallowed nuts, but the djinn chose only drink. The woman sat on a chair beside her father. She was very young, and not hard on the eyes. She had the alchemist’s dark brown hair. She reminded the djinn of his wife. These recollections were not unpleasant, but when he remembered how she’d died and felt a pang of grief, he was almost grateful for the sudden outburst: “Did you do it?”

“Do what?”

The alchemist opened his mouth to answer, glanced at the boy, and then changed tongues. It was a language of the people to the west. “Did you kill the king and queen?”

The djinn was not surprised that he knew the tongue. He was known as a wise man. “Yes.”

“And is that…the prince?”

A nod.

He sighed. “I won’t presume to judge you; I can only imagine what it must have been like. But for all his faults, he was a good king. The land will be worse without him. The Regent, is he a good man?”

“He is. How did you know me?”

“I have seen enough to know a magician when I see one. And I’ve never met a human sorcerer who could hide things with magic the way you do.”

The djinn’s face fell. Was it that obvious? He sighed and dispelled the illusion. A large purple carpet shimmered into view. There were precious stones and fabulous paintings, tapestries and rare books. All floating on the carpet three feet above the ground. All the things they could sell to start their new life, stolen from the palace.

“Remarkable,” the alchemist said. “But now, why you have come to me?”

The djinn grew serious. “I am on a search for the greatest treasure.”

The man’s face was not unkindly when he said, “The Philosopher’s Stone does not exist. It is a myth, nothing more.” He spread his empty palms. “Brimstone, mercury, and salt. These are my elements. I can shape them, mix them, and break them. But, try as I might, I cannot turn one into the other. I cannot turn lead into gold for you. I am sorry.”

“That is not what I seek: I want the secret of immortality.”

A hardness drew lines on the alchemist’ face. “The Elixir of Life does not exist either. And if it did, it is something that should remain hidden.”

“I know. And that is why I seek immortality from a different place. I go to kill the sun.”

The alchemist looked stunned. He gaped at him for several moments, and then closed his mouth. He stood and up and said to come with him. “My daughter will watch the boy, you need not fear.”

The djinn left the two of them behind and went with the alchemist. They left the tent through the back and entered the house he had noticed earlier. The alchemist kept his work in a small back room.

It was clean, with a large window to one side. Wooden benches held flasks and beakers of strange substances, and there were books everywhere in open piles, many with scribblings in the margins. A notebook lay forgotten on a bench beside a glass chamber, the pen dry and ink smudged. He took a quick peek, and saw it was written in code. There were words in different languages all mixed together and symbols he did not recognize. But he knew enough to see what the alchemist had been investigating. Quintessence, the entry read, remains beyond my grasp. I am convinced of its divine nature, my evidence is undeniable. Yet what baffles me the most is the simple paradox of its existence. How can something exist within a vacuum, yet be solely responsible for the vacuum as well?