A novel

The Alchemist of Goreau — Chapter 14

Follow me to have new chapters delivered straight to your inbox!

The Alchemist of Goreau is a fantasy novel set in late 1800’s in a mountainous Central European country with magic, incredible and unbelievable situations, and a healthy dose of humor. The story follows Donwillo, a mid-twenties alchemist struggling to make a name for himself in the world. When the world starts to crumble, he’s the most likely suspect. Follow his journey as he seeks to clear his name.

Are you ready to join Donwillo on a fantastical journey?

Chapter 14 — Gunther’s Meadow

Donwillo’s eyes fluttered open. He was lying on his back, in the snow, with grey clouds passing over him like distant ships. The cold numbed his skin, decreasing the pain from the wounds. He gingerly sat up, wincing at the ache in his bones as he looked around.

He did not recognize his whereabouts. The bear had deposited him at the edge of a meadow with a tall, looming cabin sitting directly in the center. Large puffs of dark smoke rose from the three-story chimney.

On one side of the house, strong winds had blown the snow partway up the side. The rest of the house was oddly untouched, and the porch and the overhang were clear of any slush. It was as if the front of the house was experiencing a different weather than the other three sides. The cabin itself was symmetrical with large wooden logs stacked on top of each other and huge cross beams extending past the sides. It seemed to dominate the meadow with its presence, drawing your focus on it.

He assumed that this was the drop-off point. Either the person living there had summoned him or someone else had sent Donwillo to this place for some unknown reason.

Either way, he had to attend to his own needs before anything else, which meant administering a bit of first aid.

He reached into the inner lining of his coat and fumbled around until he found a small leather pouch. Inside it were segmented slots with zippers, liners, and an assortment of colorful powders. He’d received the kit many years ago during his first year of Alchemist Guild training in a class called “All Things Life.” The professor, a man with stark blue veins that were always visible no matter what the temperature, had presented the young alchemists with the idea that all life is made from the same material as non-living things. He proposed that once you understood this principle that medical care could be performed with the basic elements found in nature, you just had to know how to combine them.

To the irritation of his classmates, Donwillo remembered much of the class without really trying, that’s just how his brain worked. He never had a opportunity to put the theories to test until right now, at least not on humans.

He flattened a small patch of snow in front of him, and laid the pouch in the circle. He then tore off a piece of his pant leg before mixing course, gold powder with a fine white grainy one. He then made a snowball and held it against his body until it started to melt before adding drops of water to his mixture. The powders congealed into a gel. With great effort he removed his jacket and shirt and tried to reach behind him to apply the concoction, before discovering he couldn’t. He twisted and turned, fresh blood starting to leak from his wounds. The cold wrapped around him like a frozen blanket.

Suddenly, he felt a small presence on his shoulder as Beverly appeared, administering a small squeak of greeting. She proceeded to rub the gel all over his bare back. He knew she was making a mess but she had covered enough of his wounds that he was starting to feel a burning, itching sensation followed by mild pain relief. He studied his tattered clothes with a sigh before putting them on again. They were damp now and clung to his skin.

Beverly scampered back up his jacket, licking his face. Somehow she’d found her way to him, possibly by following the trail of massive footprints left by the Carrier Bear.

“Thanks,” he said affectionately as he rubbed his fingertip over her head. His gaze came to rest upon the cabin ominously chugging away at whatever unholy fuel source was being used to heat the place.

It dawned on him. This must be Gunther’s lab. The remote location, churning smoke, the general sense of doom. The cleared meadow was typical of Gunther too, who always had issue with people standing too close to him. People tend to replicate their boundaries in their larger designs even when it doesn’t make sense.

He wondered if he could walk away, and if the bear would return for him if he did.

He decided to investigate.

A flurry of snow danced around his face, tickling his lips, nose, and cheeks. Beverly crawled into his breast pocket and hid from the cold.

He scooted around towards the other side of the meadow, the side Gunther wouldn’t be able to see because of the snow piled up against his home. The small blizzard greatly reduced visibility. Squinting, Donwillo saw the front door open and a figure in a lab coat walk outside. Sure enough, it was Gunther. He could tell by the faint yet distinct cough. Gunther had had that same cough for years. He shook out a rug that was half burned and placed it over the wooden railing before returning inside.

Donwillo continued until he came to the bottom of the embankment creating a snow ramp leading up the side of the cabin. He took careful with each footstep as he worked his way up the pile of snow until he came to a window. He wiped away the condensation so that he could look inside.

In the center of the room was a large circular metal structure. Massive tubes connected rumbling motors, and turbines whirred so fast they gently vibrated the siding. Horizontal spokes were attached to a large center chamber. There were also several cooling and heating apparatuses, a massive switchboard with wires going every which way, and more magnets than he could count.

The machine seemed to be idling. Gunther came into view carrying some handheld power tool. The device spun seemingly on its own power. Gunther would hold it up to some strange piece of equipment, press a button, and the device would then tighten a screw.

Donwillo was impressed, more by the fact that the tool didn’t need to be plugged into anything to sustain its power. He had devised many of his own tools that would impress most common folk, but nothing like this. Gunther was on a completely other level.

Gunther moved about the lab in a frantic rush, checking tolerances, flipping switches, and occasionally bringing a ratchet down upon some stubborn part. Donwillo saw several lights flicker on and off in a console near the large contraption. His ears began ringing immediately, followed by a wave of nausea. He barely caught himself from falling back down the steep embankment.

The effect stopped as quickly as it started. Donwillo leaned toward the window to get a closer look inside. Now Gunther stood by a chalkboard, on it were three columns. The far left one, written in blue chalk, read, “Hypothesis.” The middle column, in red, read “Test,” and the far-right column, written in green, was labeled “Results.”

Gunther lifted up a box of chalk and held in his hands. He stared for a great while, intently.

Finally, Gunther selected a blue piece of chalk and, in the very last row of the Red column, he wrote, “Test 351, Success.” He then picked up a green piece of chalk and wrote in the blue column, “Hypothesis: proximity to portal creator may cause side effects.”

Donwillo pulled a shivering Beverly from his coat and held her up to the window so she could get a better view.

“That’s a very bad man,” he told her. Donwillo liked to involve Beverly in his life.

She squeaked her agreement before he placed her back inside his coat for safety. He found fur on his gloves, indicating she was shedding again. There was little doubt in Donwillo’s mind that Gunther’s experiments were the cause of all the recent chaos.

Donwillo grew angry. Angry that he had been delivered to Gunther so unceremoniously. Angry that Gunther would put the world at stake.“Angry, angry, angry, I am angry,” he repeated to himself. He didn’t want to be angry, because anger required confrontation, and he had no desire to confront Gunther. Gunther was a lunatic. Donwillo may be a little crazy too, but he was comfortable with his own brand of crazy. It was harmless, and endearing, like the weird uncle during the holidays. Gunther though, Gunther had fully descended into madness, which left Donwillo with the question: If I don’t stop him, who will?