Alchemy, Sorcery & Magic: Crossings

Table of Contents

The Good Life

The Courts of Pain

Ominous Portents

Ending of Beginnings

In the Eye of the Beholder

Druids to the Rescue?

Revenge Thwarted

Birth of the Tarrans

Disappointments

Over the River and Through the Woods

The Hidden and The Baby Bump

Death and Thoughts

Alchemy, Sorcery & Magic: Crossings

Jeffrey A. Michael

Copyright 2013 by Jeffrey A. Michael

Smashwords Edition

Dedication

This book is dedicated to my family, all of them, who have been my biggest supporters all my life. They have been there through thick and thin. I love them all! Thanks mom, Carl, Pam, Jacquie, Connie, Denise and all the rest.

I’d also like to thank the owners, staff and patrons of Havana Cigar Club which is my home-away-from-home and where I’ve spent the majority of my time writing in the past few months. It’s a great place to sit quietly and write. My good friends there include Danny, Todd, Leon, Kara, Malory, Erik, Joe, Victor, Bert, … The list is much too long to list everybody but they all have been there to cheer on my efforts and have kept abreast of my progress throughout the creation of this book.

CHAPTER ONE

The Good Life

What more could anyone ask for? It was another bright, beautiful morning. The birds were singing, the sun was warm, the nearby stream was gurgling merrily... and Greg was about ready to kill anyone or anything that came near him. His sour outlook all started a few long weeks ago when Gina had insisted he start learning alchemy and the runes for himself so he could mix his own potions for his experiments. Being naive, he thought it would be easy and a lot of fun. It didn't take long for him to figure out that though it looked easy when Gina did it, he had to work hard to achieve even the smallest of results. On the surface, the formulae she used were matters of measurements and simple step-by-step procedures. What he soon found out was that no minor deviation was tolerable. The slightest under-measure, the smallest deviation in rune placement, and the properties of the potion were changed completely. It was almost an art of measuring she seemed to have by the way she seemed to be able to detect the difference of a couple of grains in a measuring device. He seldom got the runes wrong or misshapen. It was almost as though the language of the runic symbols were a long, lost second language.

Take this morning as an example. He had been at the chemical workbench trying to mix up a potion for preserving the blood he used in his conjuring. As the final procedure was drawing to a close, he discovered that he didn't have enough powdered rattlesnake tongue. He was only short by a pinch, but decided to go ahead. What difference would such a small change in the formula make? It probably just wouldn’t be effective for as long. After all, as any alchemist worth his or her salt would tell you, the rattlesnake tongue was the preserving agent of the formula!

He had to wait for a few minutes to let the potion cool a little before he could add some of it to the contents of his makeshift blood storage device in the stream. Instead of being careful and only taking out some of the stored blood, he added the potion to the entire quantity. As the contents of the potion hit the blood, he knew something was wrong. Instead of the usual swirling, glittering effect, the color of the blood was subtly changing. Pulling the brown and tan earthen-ware bean pot back out of the partially submerged refrigerator, he also noticed that it wasn't as thick as it had been just a few moments ago. Sniffing at the open lid of the pot, he thought he recognized the aroma. Cautiously putting the opening to his lips, he allowed a small amount to dribble into his mouth. Rolling it around his tongue for a moment, he swallowed with a dissatisfied sigh. It wasn't Dom Perringnon or Chateau Rothschild, but it wasn't Ripple or MD 20-20, either. It was, however, a rather promisingly good, heady wine. WINE?!

As he realized what he had done to the last of his small reserve of blood, he turned and threw the jug against a large rock that just happened to be in the way of his toss. As the shards of the stoneware scattered around the rock, he regretted his rash action. Though the wine probably wouldn't have made it on to the wine list of some of the finer restaurants, it had been a hell of a lot better than that homemade stuff they had made during the fall a couple of years back and saved for those 'special' occasions. Now, not only did he not have any more blood for his experiments, but he also had thrown away a tasty method for drowning his misery. There was so much meat stored now that he couldn't justify killing any more animals for their blood just to further his experiments. Besides, Gina would hand him his head on a platter the moment she returned from her restocking trip if he asked her to make another batch of the meat-preserving potion.

Turning away from the small stream, he turned toward home and headed through the light brush on the slight incline of the riverbank. Reaching the crest he stopped for a moment to scan the lowland marsh area that stretched between him and a rather dense-looking stand of tall pines. Seeing nothing menacing, he started his short trek to the cabin on the other side of the stand. As he passed into the darkness under the pines, he strained his eyes trying to see the cabin that he knew was just on the other side. It was not until he neared the other side of these whispering pines that he could even make out the outline of his home. Looking toward the often patched roof, he saw that it would have to be patched again. The wind storm the other day must have blown off a couple of cedar shingles. He had never realized the trouble that owning a house could be. Looking at the repairs of the past few years, he could no longer see the same hunter's cabin they had accidentally stumbled onto so long ago.

He and Gina had been traveling off and on for months, looking for a place to settle down. Each time they thought they had found a place, something happened that caused them to move on. Sometimes it would be due to the starving and desperate people leaving the disease-infested cities. Sometimes it was because the cave they had selected was a winter home to some wild animal that didn't look kindly upon intruders. Mostly, they moved on because of people. It seemed that if they stayed around other people for any length of time, they became the object of envy and/or fear. Envy for their abilities, and fear that they would use those abilities to hurt them.

Snapping out of his reflections, he reached the steps leading to the porch, and opened the door, continuing into the cabin. The interior of the one-room cabin gave little sign of being inhabited. Oh, there were some cooking utensils hanging near the fireplace, and a few dry goods, such as salt and flour on the shelves at one side of the room. The stairs leading to the loft were well-worn from many feet having used those stairs en route to a good night’s sleep. The little table by the only window that still had real glass in it held dishes left there from a recent meal, and one of the two chairs was pushed back while the other was neatly pushed up to the table.

With a feeling of guilt, Greg pushed the chair up to the table and picked up the dirty dishes from it. Opening the back door, he tossed the remains of his breakfast on the ground, wiped the plate with his sleeve, and set it back in the cupboard with the rest. The silverware he tossed into a large metal tub of water near the fire. From the sound they made when they hit the water, he knew the tub was almost full. Since Gina wasn't due back until tomorrow, they could wait until morning. Knowing how she was about dirty dishes, he made a mental note to be sure the dishes were done before she got back tomorrow.

I thought it was your month to do the dishes?

Whirling toward the sound, Greg saw Gina standing in the doorway. Outlined from behind by the morning sun, she was a vision of loveliness. The sun shining through her flaming red hair made it look almost like a halo surrounding her head. He thought she was beautiful even in the flannel shirt and farmer's coveralls with a strand of bottles hanging over her shoulder.

"Jesus jumped-up Christ! Don't sneak around like that! You scared the shit out of me. I thought you wouldn't be back before tomorrow? Is anything wrong?"

Looking at her he thought she looked little different from the way she had looked eight years ago when they had both left the city in favor of a more peaceful setting. There seemed to be little impact showing in her face from the hard life they had led. If anything, he thought her more beautiful now than when they had first met at her witch's apothecary.

No, no, just easier than usual. It seems the people around here are starting to accept us. They’re still a bit afraid, but nobody was outright hostile this time at least. I guess they all learned a bit of a lesson the last time I was there and that asshole thought I was born to be his slave. You know they put him in the center of town with the other stone statues? I guess it’s supposed to either stand for a lesson learned for the rest of the townspeople, or a subtle reminder that you should know who you're dealing with before jumping to conclusions.

Good, I hope he's well covered in a suitable blanket of bird shit by now.

Not quite. But let's not get off the subject of the dishes. When do you plan to do them – or are you hoping I’ll get disgusted enough to do them myself?

"I'll get to them in just a few minutes. Say, it's almost lunchtime. Why don't you sit down while I whip up something for us to eat? Then I'll do the dishes."

I don't mean nag you, but I know how you are when you get ready to start a new series of experiments. Once you start passing out the blood among your Dork friends, the party doesn't stop for days.

I'm not that bad! Besides, I won't be starting any new experiments for a while yet.

Why’s that?

Well, you were a little low on powdered snake's tongue, but I continued with the formula for blood preservation potion anyhow. So it’s really your fault for not keeping enough tongue around.

And ...?

And it changed the blood into a rather good wine.

I warned you about even the slightest change to any formula you worked on. Well, at least it wasn't a total loss. Where's the wine?

I... uh... it's... uh...

You didn't drink all of it, did you? You know how I love a bit of wine with my dinner from time to time. And after my trip to town, I feel like this is going to be one of those times!

Sorry, but I accidentally broke the jug on a rock down by the river.

"How did it accidentally break on a rock?"

Well, I kind of threw it when I realized my attempt at alchemy failed and the result was just a bit of wine. And wouldn’t you know it, some loose Dork must have been hanging around and put a rock right where the pot was going to land. The next thing I knew, pieces of pot were flying every which way!

As she stood there after letting him finish without interruption, the disappointed look slowly evaporated from her face. Sitting down beside the dying embers of the fire in the hearth, she unslung the containers from around her waist and set them on the shelves beside the fireplace. Reaching toward the embers, she rubbed her hands to get the early morning autumn chill out of her fingers. It wasn't that cool outside, but from all the experimentation with her formulae, her hands had become stained and scarred. Early in her days of experimentation, she had not taken the proper precautions and some of the results had penetrated her skin, leaving a little bit of itself in her skin in the form of some faint stains. The residue caused her hands to be more susceptible than normal to the cold.

Don't worry. I have a little powdered snake’s tongue stashed away for a rainy day. So go ahead and work on getting the right ‘flavor’ blood. I'll make a batch of the preservation potion so that the blood and the animal carcasses won't spoil.

We have more preserved meat stored now than we could eat in a couple of years. Besides, there's no place to put any more even if it’s been treated with your potion. All of our meat lockers are full to overflowing now.

Hesitation and reluctance were plainly written across her face as she turned both her head and attention to the fireplace. Knowing her moods very well by now, Greg just stood there, silently waiting as she stared into the fire, preparing herself to tell him something that she would rather not talk about. While he watched, she picked up the poker from the stand on the hearth and began to stir the dying embers of the morning fire. As he watched the sparks drift up the chimney above the orange coals, a chill and sense of foreboding engulfed him. Without turning to look at him, she began to speak.

In a couple of days, I'm going to take the horse and part of the preserved meat for bargaining and head toward the city two valleys eastward. Please wait until I'm finished before you interrupt. I know that the city has turned into a vast wasteland of degenerates run by a powerful magician, which in this case also means the meanest, who turns all who are captured into slaves to be bought and sold at auction. I also know that a number of these degenerates are using the same magical talents the two of us have in order to hold power over their ‘subjects.' Trespassing on their turf is tantamount to placing the chains around your own neck and ankles. I’m aware of the consequences and more... but some of the ingredients in the formulae can’t be found around here anymore. Besides, I want to see if I can find another witches' apothecary and take a look at their book of potions to see if it also makes reference to The Book of Tara and Merlin’s Journal. I don't know what they are, but I’ve got a feeling deep in my gut that we're going to need to find those books soon.

It sounds like you’ve thought all this through, but you haven't weighed the dangers against the potential gains. And I do mean ‘potential’, because we don’t know that there is an apothecary in that city. There has to be another city a little farther eastward that might house a witches’ apothecary. Don't forget that rumor we heard in town last year. You know, the one about a powerful and sadistic sorcerer by the name of Tim having moved into that very city. The last reliable report we got from that city was that he was taking over each little empire one by one. And that those who had the audacity of voicing their thoughts could later be heard echoing up from the depths his inner city dungeon, begging for death to release them from their torture.

It's probably just a coincidence at worst; at best, the rumor has no real substance at all. After all, how much faith can you put in the babbling of a half-dead whipping post? It's amazing that that emaciated scarecrow of a slave was ever able to get away from there at all.

Just the same, I’d prefer it if you’d wait a couple more months. By then I could go with you and together we could look for another city somewhere nearby. I feel sure that the experiments I’ve been conducting lately have some sort of importance from the way the Dorks have been trying to keep me distracted. You know how they are when they think that one of us is about to gain control of an even more powerful lever to use to force them to our will. I’m sure I’m about to find the right sequence that will give me the control I’m looking for. Then we can start out early next spring, right after the snow melts. What do you say? Is that a plan, or what?

If not for the fact that I just heard from one of the townspeople that he seemed to remember seeing a witches' apothecary as he was leaving the city, I'd be glad to wait and search another town with you. On top of that, he even gave me directions to where it could be found... as best he could. On top of that, I'm sure I'll find all the formula ingredients in one fell swoop. That is, if I find the apothecary intact.

Still ....

Still nothing! You know that my ‘feelings’ aren't often wrong. Besides, take a minute and remember what the oracle of the woods said. Thinking back to the day they had accidentally stumbled upon the oracle of the woods, Greg's mind ran over the events of that day…

They had been wandering through the woods one warm spring day shortly after they had found the cabin. They had decided to take some time to become a little more familiar with the area, so they had packed some food and had headed into the woods. Their plan was to first walk toward the west since they had come upon the cabin from the east. They planned to take their time walking slowly and become familiar with their surroundings until lunch, where they would stop, eat, and then turn back.

Neither of them talked much as they passed beneath the boughs of the surrounding trees. Every now and then, the silence of the woods was broken by the sound of a scampering squirrel, the hammering peck of a woodpecker, or the sound of a scampering animal through the leafy undergrowth. The green, leafy canopy overhead kept out most of the direct sunlight and gave the woods an almost gloomy aspect, but that same canopy also kept enough light out so that little underbrush grew to slow them down much. Each of them was so caught up in their own reverie and absorbing the peaceful scene around them, that neither wanted to break the peace with their voice.

They had been traveling for a few hours in the dim light of the forest when suddenly they entered a small clearing. A quick glance at the sun told Greg that it was nearing the midday mark they had set. Without a word, he looked toward Gina, and in silent agreement they turned and headed for the center of the clearing. As they crossed the small glade, they heard the sound of running water. They followed the sound until a small pool of crisp, clear water welling over the top of some stones and trickling away came into view. The pool was obviously fed by an underground spring, but what had formed the cairn out of which it rose? With the magical creatures that were beginning to roam the land, it could have been created by any one of them, or it could be a leftover from the days of the early settlers, or even the Indians.

With a collective shrug of their shoulders, they tossed their packs to the ground next a large boulder in the warm sunshine near the small pool. Then they set about preparing the noon meal, even though it was at least a good hour before noon by the position of the sun. It was almost as though they had made a silent pact that this would be as far as they would travel for the day, since neither of them seemed to want to break the almost mystical beauty of the silence around them with idle chatter. So they ate their meal in the warm golden rays of the late morning sun.

After eating, Greg pulled Gina toward him and onto his lap, and then leaned back against a boulder with a full stomach. The peacefulness of the glade permeated his entire being as he tenderly pressed his lips into the back of Gina's neck. Before long, he felt as though he was drifting off to sleep but was still strangely aware of what was happening. Slowly, he came to the conclusion that the feeling was similar to the one he got as he reached through the veils or summoned a Dork. About that time he felt, rather than saw, the presence of something he couldn't quite define waiting patiently nearby. His attention turned toward whatever it was and it felt as though it was becoming more tangible; almost a physical presence.

What the hell is going on here, and who are you? Greg asked the presence.

"Great! All this time lying here waiting, having not been consulted for eons before that, the first person to contact me is illiterate and rude."

Now wait just a minute! I'm far from illiterate, and on top of that, I'm a powerful sorcerer. I'd watch what I said if I were you. If you don't, you might just find yourself in a situation you won’t like.

"So, you think you're a sorcerer, huh? Well, that statement alone proves that you're ignorant. If you knew anything, you'd know that only magicians are capable of consulting oracles."

Do you mean to tell me you’re an oracle?

No, I'm just your imagination run wild! Of course I'm an oracle, you dumbshit! Now, can we get on with this, or are we going to play guessing games all day?

What's your hurry? Going somewhere? Wait a minute, why are we arguing like this? Please accept my apologies. I am Greg, a sorcerer, not a magician. Who, or should I say what, are you?

Apology accepted. Who I am is also what I am, for I am the Oracle of Deep Woods. As far as oracles go, I am neither all-seeing nor am I all-powerful. I can, however, help you make it through these early formative years of this age of magic. If you wish, I will be your guide through the realm of the magician, for whether you know it or not, you are a budding magician. And if I read my signs right, you could quite possibly become an extremely powerful magician. There are many things you don’t know about being a magician that differs from what you know about sorcery. There is, however, a price to be paid for my assistance. Are you willing to pay that price?

I must know what the price is before I can determine whether I will be willing to pay it or not. How can a bargain be struck without both sides fully aware of what they are bargaining for?

Thank the gods! You are uneducated in the ways of the magician and not just stupid. Very well. My price for guiding you and helping you to start along the path of the magician is that you must, in the end, free me from the bindings of the oracle and change me into a magical beast. As a magical beast I will be able to once more roam the earth physically, and there is nothing t I want more than that. If you don’t agree to this single condition, then our conversation is over. You can go find another oracle to help you unless you agree to this small concession.

May I ask a few questions before I give you my decision?

Ask away; just know that I won’t be giving you information toward furthering your quest and/or magical education without payment.

"First of all, why would I want to be a magician? I'm perfectly happy as a sorcerer. Occasionally summoning a Dork or two is