Scorched

By the time I stepped outside, the leaves were on fire. The spectacle was simultaneously beautiful and terrifying to watch. The orange glow in the sky and the flames dancing in the crowns of the trees. I tilted my head to the side and inhaled the hot air. Well, I tried. The ash and the heat made it difficult to breathe, and my lungs burned with every inhale.

I knew I should hurry inside, return to safety, but I could not. The scenery was mesmerizing, and I could not avert my gaze. It was as if something compelled me to watch it, as if I had to bear witness to the destruction and bear the burden of knowledge.

My heart broke and despite the heat, I shivered and wrapped the coat tighter around myself. I pressed my eyes shut, trying to block the images from searing themselves into my mind. Even so, the orange and red glow broke through and set the inside of my eyelids ablaze. I brushed at something soft landing on my cheeks and lashes. My eyelids fluttered, and I opened my eyes. Ash fell from the sky like a spring drizzle, obscuring the mountains like a thick as fog.

But the flames remained.

They raced indiscriminately through the forest, jumping from tree to tree, consuming the small branches in a flash while taking their time with large ones. They licked at the roots, scorched the trunks and feasted on the crowns. Crackling filled the air, a haiku of destruction punctuated by the toppling of trees. If I had not known better, I would have insisted the flames were alive, filled with purpose, like creatures on a mission.

My heart beat out of sync and I felt out of breath. Why was this happening? I inhaled and choked, bent over coughing. Why had we been so reckless?

---

“Wake up.”

I sat up and rubbed my eyes, still feeling the remnants of the dream clouding my mind. Hardened streaks of crystallized tears crumbled on my cheeks as I opened my eyes. It had only been a dream, the same one which had been haunting me since the king’s passing.

“Rise and shine. You’ve got work to do.”

I turned my head and blinked, staring into Chavás’ eyes and wondering why she was here. She was too close for comfort and I retreated, moving towards the wall, away from her. The memory of our last encounter resurfaced, and I bit my lip. Anger and disappointment welled up inside me. What did she want from me? I had made it abundantly clear I would not be part of the experiment.

“Why won’t you let me be?”

“I can’t. We need you.”

“I told you. I will not be a part of it.” I shook my head vehemently. “I am an alchemist, not a miracle worker. I vowed to do no harm. I can’t be part of it. I don’t want to.”

“I know, and I understand.” Chavás sat down on the edge of the futon, her head in her hands. “I am not here to ask you to join me.” She lifted her gaze and stared into the distance. “I should have listened to you.”

“What did you do? What happened?”

“What’s done is done, it doesn’t matter.” Her head snapped around and she stared squarely into my eyes, shoving past my barriers and appealing to my heart. “All that matters now is to stop the curse.” She gripped my hands between hers, regret drawing deep lines on her forehead. “We have to. We can stop the fallout of the curse. You and me together, like we used to. Please.”

I brushed her hands off and got up. “What do you expect me to do?”

“Make the Albedo. Please.”

I could not bear watching her, so I turned my back and strolled over to my desk. I paused and stared at my notes, uncertain if I could bear the consequences of what she asked me to do, or the repercussions if I did not.

“There is a price to pay,” I said, knowing she would agree to anything to undo the damage she had caused with her foolish attempt at resurrecting the king.

Suddenly, I felt unimaginable heat in my back. I turned and took a step back, but there was nothing. And yet, I could smell the rancid stench of my hair singeing and my flesh burning. I clenched my fists and swallowed hard. He had been my king too.

Chavás stretched her hands towards me. There was desperation in her eyes and pleading. I knew she tried to reach for me, to reach past my sorrow. I shook my head again, softly and without conviction. She grabbed my hand and pulled me in close.

“We’ve got the ingredients. We need you. Please. We can stop the curse, together.”

Too weak to protest and too consumed by grief, I fell for hope and followed her. What else could I do?

---

“Are you sure you are doing this right?”

“Sure enough. It’s what the book says.” I nodded at the decaying stack of papers that used to resemble a book before I returned to staring at the three beakers before me. Salt, niter, mercury. I just had to mix them together and I should have it, the solution. I just had to have faith it would work, hope against hope it could ease the suffering and dispel the curse.

I cracked my fingers and exhaled in an unsuccessful attempt to calm my nerves. If I did this right, we could put a stop to the curse. Purification and restoration, that was the goal. Perhaps the concoction could work for me as well and dispel my nightmares.

My fingers trembled as I reached for the first beaker.

“How much of each do you need?”

“Equal parts of each.”

“And how much is that?”

I dropped my hand and shrugged. All the text said was to combine equal parts of each, but it remained silent as to the amount or the denomination. Was it weight, volume, or mass? And how much was needed? I let my gaze wander over the beakers containing a solid, a liquid, and a gas, but found no answer in staring at them. How could I derive the substance from this set of ingredients? How much did I have to mix together to achieve the desired outcome? I hated winging recipes, but given the ambiguous set of instructions, it was the only choice available.

Nevertheless, I needed to play it safe. I had conserve enough of the ingredients to repeat the process at least once - just in case something went wrong.

I flinched and blinked, startled when Chavás put her hand on my shoulder.

“Here,” she said and handed me a beaker. “Just go for it.”

The confidence in her eyes caught me off guard, so I nodded and grabbed the first of the three substances. Eeny, meeny, miny, moe - volume it was.

After a quick calculation in my head, I put on my goggles and reached for the next beaker. Holding it far from me and squinting one eye shut, I poured the liquid onto the solid. No explosion. So far, so good. Next, I reached for the gas and poured it on top of the two others and corked it. I held my breath as I swirled the concoction around, waiting for something to happen. But there was no reaction. None of significance, at least. Although the three ingredients briefly combined, they separated almost immediately.

Exasperated, I furrowed my eyebrows and examined the mixture. I held it up. I tilted it. I swirled it some more. Nothing.

Chavás who had followed closely behind me, tracing my steps almost perfectly, peeked over my shoulder. “Is it supposed to do that?”

I snapped my head around. “Obviously not.”

“What are you going to do now?”

“Really?” My grip around the beaker tightened. “Rather than asking what I am going to do now, why don’t you help me? Provide constructive input or check the book?”

“I am sorry. I am trying.”

Still pinching my lips together and glaring at her, I put the beaker on the counter. It was not her fault I knew that, but…

An idea crossed my mind. Yes, that had to be it. I snatched the concoction from the table and dashed across the room to the other side. Energy. Heat. That was what was missing.

I sat the beaker into the water bath and turned on the Bunsen burner. Then I squatted in front of it, watching and waiting for the mixture to react.

The gas settled, the liquid bubbled, and the crystals dissolved into a black molasses at the bottom of the beaker. I drew my breath, tilted my head to the side and released it slowly. I did not want to disturb the process.

“Is it supposed to do that?”

Pop.

Chavás and I shot up, shoving the table as we did. The water in the water bath swapped back and forth and the beaker tilted precariously, threatening to spill its contents. Clumsily, I rushed to save the mixture and reached for the carafe without thinking.

I screamed as I pulled the concoction from the water bath but refused to let go despite the pain. My skin blistered, and I felt the beaker sear the raw flesh beneath it. The stench of my cooked hand had me gagging. I bit the inside of my cheek and pushed back the tears as I set the concoction on the counter.

When I turned, Chavás stood behind me holding a towel drenched in cold water. She wrapped it around my burned hand, her movements precise resulting from years of practice and training. Then we waited for the molasses to cool, stooped over it as if doing so would expedite the process.

As it cooled, the black goo turned brown, then green, and finally settled into a bright white liquid glowing at the bottom of the carafe.

I dropped to my knees and sighed in relief. Albedo. I created it. Tears clouded my vision, and I collapsed into myself, only to be woken to intense heat. I looked down at my burned hand, and watched in terror as the flames licked at it, engulfing it up to my elbow before leaping towards Chavás.