The Alchemists
Felion the Selfborn,
They called him All-Father.
They bowed to him, even if he wasn’t a crown bearer.
They saw him endeavoring to rebuild the living standard for mankind, even though he wasn’t one of them.
They perceived his mightiness at dawn and frailty when the setting star sent him to roll under the naked, cold sky, with starvation.
However, the folks who were calling themselves Roofless fed him for his service as they were gifted an unnamed, ruined manor. They later called it The City, as Felion made it a land full of Green-things alongside the mountains and a river.
Then there were made songs and tales of Felion’s glory against nature. Well, afore the great struggle, nature was once his trouble over the land: it failed him many times to grow a plant. But when, by chance, he learned magic, his surrounding followed his words, and thereby, the land of Roofless folks became.
Independent beings from far countries joined him. They helped him to build the potholes and mountain shrines, to fill them with the techniques of making papers, potatoes, tools for digging holes, fire, and a comfortable bed where they could sleep for over four hours, which was actually the fair time of night as the night had no more hours to thwart the light of the great yellow star. But whenever they roused, they learned alchemy from the Selfborn. However, they had no luck, and it made them jealous of the guy less noble than them, and they never found any miracle as if magic wished not to be with them.
A day they fathomed the blood of Felion possessed the power to change any weather into a wet monsoon. They attempted to steal it by greed and, at last, were blamed for the fall of man no less than a beacon of hope for mankind. Nevertheless, few knew him as a felon man who had brought the ill will to their heart; few flung his tale into the dust as if he was inferior to them, and the remaining queer folks overlooked what was a concern to The Elder Days when they had no roof.
Despite that, blessed was he that he had a small company of people who liked his revolutionary thoughts; who were courageous and, of those old hearts he called friends, unfurled his undone and unsung fable to the new generation: ‘A crook, he wasn’t,’ said the oldest guy of Felion’s company, proudly, ’but, too, kind wasn’t a relevant word to define him. As much we savvied, we would have introduced him as the Wise. And the Wise we knew never fell without a great farewell and peace...without giving a mark of the tiny, joyous smile whilst hiding the burden of the world. Aye, fellas! But do not ask pessimistic stuff on this occasion and forget that he was detested by a few of us...who were once his followers...when the time was young enough to proffer alteration in their thoughts faster than the time itself. We grieved it the most nevertheless. We grieved it till The Elder Days were wiped off. And we have wept enough, wondering why a man has to die fighting for others while the others are the reason for...′
‘Anyway, let us inaugurate the anecdote of valour of the white-cloaked man who dared amend Almighty Nature by his bare hand wrapped under the misty sleeves, and mend it for us to live for eternity.’
’Felion! Yes, that was the name of the faceless guy we gave when, mysteriously, he alighted behind the tallest mountain everyone knows as The Deity Rock. The region is far in the east from here...beyond the green ocean Greioliandis. It was the land where our first ancestors had fallen from the sky when the mighty—but also treacherous—guy of Cursegiver race had named them Nemesis and bound them with an uncertain hex.′
‘The retribution performed by the Cursegiver was, however, unfair that the Giver knew well. Because punishment to create elements for living should not be so cruel. Not, in any case, the life of the species called Human would perish was the order of Almighty Nature in the time of The Elder Days. Yet as the consequences of dwindling in the numbers of the newest creature, there was left no choice and The Cursegiver was given two choices: would he follow the ascendancy of the Cursemaker and rode to his doom, at Inferno, to suffer endless torment before his actual death? Or would he cure the ill-doing of his past before his tranquil demise by the time?’
‘None of our ancestors wondered that the arrogant man would follow the first. They knew the entire universe scare of our race; of what we would become. Even the mighty of the mightiest feared the fools who created humour to recall past and to feel their heart and provide contentment by the humour. However, the myth depicts that humans are absurd creatures, soon they will decay. But the fate the Cursegiver chose was opposite of it.’
‘As if in regret, he said in a low tone, “There are left no many good years to spend in this uncertainty. I never deem a life like a pawn. Never did I wish to feel so nugatory. I understand that soon the Curse race will meet to its downfall; soon this element would be so futile, and along with my race, the Cursemaker would be embedded with the fire of Inferno. So lifeless we would be. And I fear if anyone would remember us for good. For the sake of our ingenious work that the universe has witnessed would be in vain. The villains, we would be called for massacring humans. I fear it the most. I fear that all my people will be called The Sinful Bastards or the Devil Angels, if I bide stubborn. The poor mighty like me cannot overcome it after death. Not such strength like the Boongiver possessed I have. But I...I reckon, it will be fine if the curse will remain. However, the way it stays in reality would be different.” And then he cursed the curse of the human that...’
‘Even though the world would fall apart...’
‘Even though the gems of the inside would be annihilated...’
‘The Cursegiver, I himself, accord the curse to the life in uncertainty to suffer misery afore triumph; dilemma afore hardship; dying-thoughts afore life, and hate afore love...’
‘May the darkness fall on the life of humans who have dreams to achieve greatness...’
‘And when they survive enough, they will become the beacon...’
‘The Cursegiver was then died and became the shadow of someone we called the Wise. Yes, that was when, after two hundred centuries of life in uncertainty began transforming into the life with intelligence...that was the moment when came our beacon of hope, the one who enjoyed darkness to gain the victory; the one, who was in conundrum, found his courage and new aim to help our race; who died twice to live thrice, and the one who was hated afore as an uncanny creature of human, and then...’
‘Well, for whom he lived is still a riddle. We never asked where he had been wandering in regret. The entire Curse race was doomed by Almighty Nature when it found the exploitation of their position. But why he remained with the same memory and different body nobody knows. It must be goodwill of him that evolves him as a human and travel to this part of the world. We still believe that he might be a messenger of Almighty Nature. Yet it is uncertain that why he suicided and why Once-Roofless never respected him as a dwarf...’
The tale never ended, neither the rage in the hearts of its teller and the supporters. But they assaulted none of the ruthless outsiders: ‘These hard-hearted fellas will never understand what he did...’ Their words infuriated the outsiders and the insiders, even if the voices of the speakers were full of pity. But the pity was the reason for a day when the healing seemed to be possible, and the thoughts of the new generation altered into something useful. Reputable, they became, wherefore the disciples of the Wise gave themselves another chance to stay in, and The City again became a blithe place of Terra.
Nate of Orongo was one of the courageous geezers who had no business with any sinful deed. He kept the son of Felion, Scrokward, to his hometown, taught him to become a member of the angel’s assembly at Gruh, and found him a wife, Arista the Nobleborn of Terra, also known as a red-headed pythoness.
Scrokward was no less noble as he was famous around Orongo as an inheritor of The Dwarvish-wizard. The Dwarvish-wizard, he was not born ordinary, neither any devilry touched him to grow taller than his father and an average man—well, how was a Dwarvish-wizard born? That question was once asked to Felion, and he had recounted to his friend, an astrologer, young Nate, ’A body dies, but the soul of it lives forever...until the end of the given task. And once after the death when the soul gains control over its energy conversation, there is born the race named The Alchemist: there are five individuals in it: The Dwarvish-wizards—one of them is me...or perhaps the only one that makes me the lone survivor...′
’The Sage-wizards are the second, the wisest of my kind. And I respect those monks. The only worthy beings when it comes to emanate the words of the true wisdom and to amend the world. But I cannot say the same about The Noble-wizards. They have warrior blood in their vein, and so to the persons like me, they can be cruel. But it doesn’t matter anymore. I do not know where they are dwelling nowadays. I do not think I would have any encounter with them or their shadow.′
’However, often I see the Elvis-wizards in my dream. I love those pure ones. They have strongest magic, therefore are known as The Invisibles. And...and the last, no one wants to mess with them. Not even Almighty Nature when they walk around the universe. The Time Masters, they are the first beings of our race and the controller of the time and realities. If I recall my one of the bad moment in life, among them I know only one: Zurgard that is his name and be scared if you ever see him instead of others. He is the clockmaker, eventually the Ace of The Time Master order... ′
‘Um—all the same, I...I deem there’s nothing obvious to be the one of The Alchemists. There are lots of aspects. If you ask me, “Why am I being a Dwarvish-wizard...or one of The Alchemists?” I am not the right one who can answer you. Rather I don’t know who truly I am. I don’t even know if the answer lies around the world or within me...or even really exist by the word or sense...’
Quite hopeless guy he seemed by the words he had spoken. Well, who knows if the Wise converses like nihilistic or pessimistic or realistic? Because the world is so big that one alone cannot learn. By the time, he or she dies, with the prospect answer they fail to pass forward. And life is kept going on, with the answers moves like an invisible string that can only be behold by its seeker.
Anyway, Nate found a worthy answer to be an Alchemist that he gave to Scrokward: he said, ‘The Alchemists have never been born naturally. Alchemy is a gift to a soul after its countless death. A miracle! And the gift will pass from a generation to another. Keep rising until it reaches its limit. You too can become the time ruler or mightier than it. But it will be defined only when you survive the greatest misery of your life. Defeat it!’
‘I have learned that no man can ever achieve greatness. Not even you, my dear Scrokward. Yes, you are an alchemist, and you have to learn what you must do with what you have given...before it would be taken back for other...or for other use...’
*
Knowing he was a superior being, Scrokward remained cold-hearted, learned around his surrounding, snubbed all ugliness done by mankind, and travelled far away in the space until his time of becoming a teacher came true. He said, ‘I no longer belong here,’ looking at the impassive Nate. ‘But that doesn’t mean I cannot walk the path that my father ever walked. Even if he was betrayed, I ought to pursue his will. It is for him who put everything for others...for the things that are undone. Because the future of my kind must be different. They have to remember my bloodline as a saviour. And here I ought to make it happen by—well, I have found my way to do the same as Felion once did—and for it, I have to serve the giver of the hope.’
Nate had no worries: pride on his face had no wish to fade. He spoke nothing, neither acted. But when Arista gave birth to a son, his face stretched in joy: ‘Heir has been born to carry the burden of his grandfather...and father,’ whispered Nate, holding an orange cloth wrapped around a kid they named Grisel.
It was an auspicious moment, however, also grim when Scrokward told them that he and Arista had to move back to Gruh: ‘The conflict between the angels and The Tower has enlarged. Even though the new king is overthrown, the treacherous tower has some strangeness the angels cannot understand without The Alchemists. We must aid our companions to bring liveliness over Terra and the other globe of Xite...’
The night of first January, they passed Grisel to Nate and didn’t come down for a long while. Nor did they write a letter to their dear son and teacher until something unexpected held their path, and thereupon, their son heard, ‘The silence has been broken. The wind has been carrying echoes in its hold. The bird has the tiding of the old days, yet the present is named by those who were ever stuck between the conflicts and their fate. Oh, my dear lad, these words are coming from the high realm. And they have been heard—but not their shadow I have seen yet,’ the old man Nate spoke in joy as if something beyond his thought happened.
It could be said a miracle, because not every teacher could get words from their students, neither the abandoned son could think of his parents’ presence all of a sudden—but nobody could stop something that meant of making the colourful routes for the coming age. However, it was the arrival of someone who called himself the messenger of the angels and the tongue of Scrokward and Arista. He was named Raven and was ordered to deliver a new rule passed by Lady Divine of Gruh: he said, ‘The untouched rights for mankind is come to pass. All peculiars have to go back to their realm. Even the humans who have gone somewhere must return to their home. And their ability will be sucked. The Hope Giver wants to establish peace. She knows that the work she ought to accomplish will never happen without partition and rule. Thus, everyone has given their separate home: humans have Terra, whether they like it or not, and the Alchemists are their teacher as well as the saviour for several years as we know humans need guidance. Every species have been represented by the wise of their kind: Scrokward is the one from Terra.’
‘All the same, a new leader will be needed from the side of Men. I have come to choose one.’
Raven was a supreme of bird-kinds: more like an eagle, he was, but could turn into any flying beast: he remained as a crow on a twig of Neem that Mr. Nate had been growing since he had met Felion.
It was the cold morning of the first of January. The year wasn’t obvious for Grisel, but Nate had told him that it was the eighty-fifth Green Era of mankind as they had made assembly under the shady sky. Nate was excited, while Grisel hated the existence of the strange bird. But he loathed the work his parents were doing: ‘Their business might be dark. But what if they have chosen a wrong path?’ the young man in the orange robe asked.
‘No path we chose will be wrong until we realize it,’ said Nate, in his grim voice. ‘Lad, they have their ideology. You cannot question it. We are individuals of mankind. Even though you have the blood of such superior beings, you have to act as with whom you are living. Because that is what makes you normal to them.’ And he smiled, adding, ‘I learned it from your grandfather...’
The lad was eleven years old, knew nothing about the history of his family, nor was as tiny as his grandfather.
Nate dared not to answer him who Felion was, how he learned magic and vanished by the curse he was carrying. However, in the end, he spoke, ‘The Alchemists are wishful creatures. They never die by someone’s curse. But they have a lot to keep in their mind—sorrow is one of the parts of what they have been gifted by their own will. You will understand it...’
‘As I know, your bloodline is shrewd enough to expound what reality is. That is all you have to be aware of...’
‘As I once told you, the Dwarvish-wizard is just a name, not an identity,’ said Nate, looking at the sky. ‘You are born to know the roots. Maybe even the end of how the reality of your-kind will amend into something unimaginable. You are time. And the time begins and ends with something connected to it. You must have that mysterious adventure if you would ever seek it...and without its part to be player, you will not know who you are...’ Nate sighed, looking at bemused kid, and added, ‘Well, that is my guess. A kid I never thought would possess such skills, though I’ve learned from you that how a tiny life can give a surprise. I am thankful. Yet something that I don’t want it to happen must come to your part. I deem, that will be your reality and future. You will have to accept it as your true fate. You are wise to know what you have to do when the time comes. But I cannot tell if you are wise enough to know who your father and grandfather are. Not even I understand them truly...’
The old man might be hiding something, Grisel thought. And the old man remained silent until he left him at the borders of Orongo, saying, ‘It ends here. Find your own path is the same thing as finding your own self. You must do it for your own sake.’ And he turned back.
Grisel was advised not to look back instead of walking even further and abandon him. He followed what he was taught. Thereinafter, although the terms weren’t meant to be told, Grisel bided with his precious self and travelled alone for the next few years.
A day when he turned eighteen, he unknowingly stepped into The City, made a beautiful house over the grave of Felion and lived there in joy and wonder of how he would make the avant-garde for the coming age of The Alchemists.
*
