Although the facade of the fort and its castle seemed cold and uninviting, its interior was absolutely ravishing. Stone built, the structure harbored a refined taste for art and tapestry as well as military gear, displayed in many halls and rooms. Andrei found himself lost in the many items decorating the place, surprised and amazed by the beautiful architecture of the edifice.
The young man followed Sir Colton without a word, slightly shivering as the rain seeped through his clothes. Each doorway and entrance he passed was carved into the stone with a beautiful archway, intricately sculpted with sylvan motifs. Andrei wondered if this fort has always been one, or changed from its initial purpose to anticipate the threat of the Emperor. Even if rallying every single house in one Empire is realistically impossible, it was another thing to mount an army to go against it - and even despite many talks to reduce the tension, the Hatchets kept going forward with their plan.
The halls were all silent, guards and maids refusing to utter a single word. Andrei could sense some tension, but could not understand its source. And so he observed, the great tapestries depicting The Great One’s hands over humanity; ghastly and cold, Its fingers hovering over mankind menacingly. In this Andrei could not see why the cult of The Great was still heavily practiced: to him it inspired fear, not adoration. It looked as if the Hatchets were religious people after all, as every piece of art was another portraying the miracles of many saints and martyrs of which Andrei forgot the name of. As an Alchemist he researched the occult, not an intangible belief relying on blind faith; was what he would think before all of this happened.
The whole conflict was very confusing still. Artifacts had appeared yet no one saw them, it was reported they held great power, yet never displayed. Andrei was starting to doubt their existence as well but he had nothing to lose, and if the entire thing ended up being nothing but a grand hoax, then at least he could make some money by exposing it.
When they arrived at a hall, greater than all the rooms they’ve passed, Andrei’s eyes shone in excitement. Despite all the religious items meticulously disposed before, this hall seemed to have preserved its original owner’s beliefs. On the stone roof painted in a deep blue was a magnificent depiction of a dragon holding the moon between his gigantic maws, the sun above him, and the earth gripped between its claws. Inside the sun was depicted the first three components of the Philosopher’s Stone: Nigredo, Albedo and Citrinas. And the very last step, the last element that gave its renown red glow was held in between the earth, within the dragon’s clutch. Rubedo was the spirit, the soul of the world, trapped in between the doubts of man yet within its reach.
“Hurry,” Sir Colton pressed him, forcing Andrei to detach his eyes from the beautiful painted ceiling.
Together they climbed stairs delicately carved, reinforcing the thought of this place being taken over by necessity. Passing paintings of former family members, Andrei couldn’t help but imagine what this place would have looked like before. An Alchemist Fort perhaps, for this was not the Hatchets main castle, simply a stronghold. Maybe someone in the history of the Hatchets was a fellow chemist, occultist, researching arcane subjects. He could picture the halls and rooms filled with elixirs and plants from around the world, gathered in one castle.
In one of the highest points of the fort, the path became wooden, the stairs less intricate, and the silence even more deafening. It almost felt like the entire place was completely empty. They arrived at a small corridor that led to a single wooden door at its end, where shadows of burning candles escaped through its cracks. Sir Colton signed him to stay put, as he grabbed the doorknob and entered without knocking, closing it behind.
Andrei could vaguely hear the conversation. The butler’s voice was clear, although the one answering was a bit more shy, mumbling words in return. Colton talked about the plants, the help he received and after a brief exchange that bore some pleading in his voice, he opened the door to Andrei.
The young man entered slowly, unsure of what to expect or see. Maybe an old man that liked to brew medicine or elixirs, forgotten high up in the tower of the Hatchets. As he came into the room, a flood of familiar scents and sounds engulfed him. Suddenly he felt like he stepped foot inside his old master’s laboratory. Noises of bubbling pots, flasks and glass bottles filling the shelves against the wall. The smell of freshly cut herbs and jasmin, combining with the light aroma of dried rosemary hanging down against the wall. So many colorful stones gathered on a table next to a stone mortar, ready to be crushed into powder. His green eyes finally met with a figure that sat near a window on a crimson sofa, gazing at him with an uninterested look. When Andrei observed their long ginger hair he quickly bowed, afraid to have caused disrespect for losing himself to the familiar environment, and forgetting proper etiquette.
“And you are?” a voice arose. It was a kind, gentle voice veiled with a sadden tone.
When Andrei straightened up he soon recognized the face before him. It was the person that stood next to Lord Hatchet, ridiculing his entire speech by showing up unannounced. Flustered, he bowed again.
“Madam. I am just a simple man under your command.”
Sir Colton's face went pale, as his master widened his eyes before bursting out laughing. Andrei looked towards them once again in confusion, unsure of what he had said was a matter of pleasantry.
“Apologise right this instant!” urged the butler with an offended tone, while his master was waving at him to be at ease, still chuckling.
“It is quite alright Colton, do not fault him.”
Andrei realised his mistake as he observed who he was talking to. It was a man in fact, betrayed by his voice more or less, but his feminine features could deceive anyone at first glance.
“I deeply apologise, my Lord, I did not realise.” Andrei said with remorse.
“Do not call me ‘my Lord' for I hold no such title, but Raghnall is my name.”
Raghnall wore a used nightshirt that fell down to his feet. He looked tired, his blue eyes tarnished by the lack of sleep and his long ginger hair shriveled from the stress. Andrei noticed that his lips were dry, and his overall body was very skinny. When his gaze lowered to his legs, he frowned unconsciously.
“You pity me?” Raghnall observed raising an eyebrow. Andrei shook his head.
“No. I just think about all the stairs I just climbed and how difficult it must be when you wish to go out,” he let out sadly. Raghnall looked away for a moment trying to hide his emotions, before grabbing some of the herbs Andrei picked out with the butler.
“These are beautiful. At their prime, nonetheless. Thank you for helping Colton, I’m afraid he isn’t very knowledgeable about plants, but he tries at least.”
“It was a pleasure,” muttered Andrei with a slight smile. “And I could leave the barracks for a little excursion, so I was more than happy to do it.”
While Andrei spoke to the crippled young man, he wondered why he got locked away and refused to be called a Lord. From appearance only, it was easy to see that Lord Eóganán and Raghnall were indeed brothers, but it felt as if Raghnall was an outsider in his own family. As much as Andrei needed to access the Howling Halls for his own benefit, he questioned if this person that seemingly held no power could be useful at all.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Raghnall smiled at the plants before shifting his focus to Colton who was standing back, observing the scene and especially Andrei with suspicious eyes.
“Could you bring us some camomille please? I am in dire need of a hot beverage.”
“Right away,” the butler obliged, stepping out of the room, not without glancing at Andrei one last time.
A silence fell into the room, although it was not a displeasing one. Andrei let his gaze wander on the many alchemical tools he once used, his green eyes shining with excitement.
“Grab a chair, please,” insisted Raghnall, pointing at the desk where flasks were boiling on a tiny flame.
Andrei grabbed a wooden chair that was in a rough shape, a thin yellow cloth wrapped around its seat. Facing Raghnall he waited, unsure if he was allowed to speak first, as he began to observe the cripple’s face darken.
“You are knowledgeable,” he stated, his voice stern. “I cannot bring myself to believe you are here to simply hold a sword and fight a war you know nothing about.”
Andrei stiffened.
“Although you are a liar, you do not seem stupid enough not to give out some truths about yourself. But you do not strike me as a manipulator, unfortunately. Now you have gone out of your way to help Colton and it benefited you; so, what do you seek?” Raghnall continued coldly.
This man had managed to see right through him. Andrei knew he wasn’t the finest liar but to understand so much about a person you just met was a bit unsettling. He smiled nervously. There is no point stirring this over, he thought.
“The Howling Halls. A friend of mine is kept down there.”
Raghnall frowned, and threw the plants at him in a rage.
“Do not lie to my face!” he yelled out. “I am sick and tired of being deceived!”
Andrei widened his eyes in surprise. He was definitely not expecting such a reaction. As he started picking some of the herbs that fell on the floor, he thought about a way to describe what he was looking for without being thrown into prison. While it was hard for him to tell the truth, this man clearly knew something was wrong with him, and made it hard to come to a solution.
“I just don’t want to be killed,” explained Andrei. “What I want is so foolish I do not expect to be believed…Or trusted.”
Raghnall calmed down slightly, and listened to Andrei that had lowered his gaze.
“I want to stop this chase for power. These artifacts-”
“You want to destroy the relics?” Raghnall cut him in disbelief. “Annihilate the only potential source to produce the Philosopher’s Stone? And here I thought you cared about every Alchemist’s dream, seeing your face lit up at the sight of my tools.”
Andrei chuckled nervously, flustered.
“Of course I want to see the Philosopher’s Stone. But…I am incredibly selfish. These artifacts brought every man and woman of intellect to be overcome with greed and power, and I sometimes find myself wishing they never existed. Although this Empire wasn’t the most prosperous, you could find contentment and build a family. Now the people are starving, the citizens neglected and an obsession for these relics and their properties are plaguing the ones that hold power.”
“Oh, a hero? I expected better. So you’ve come to this place to rob the relic so you can free your people?” chuckled Raghnall, seemingly unimpressed. “Even if all that you have said is true, I just don’t really think you care about the people that much… Do you?”
Andrei remained silent, glowering at him. It was hard to admit that even if seeing people suffering made him feel guilty, he knew that he would not go out of his way to help them. It’s not like I know them, he told himself. He was a selfish man, and always had been thinking this way as far as he could remember, even when he could’ve saved lives. Like the time his puppy drowned in a lake near his house as a child, and couldn’t bring himself to save him not wanting to get scolded for being soaked. He cried about its death for a few days, and then got a cat from a neighbour's litter. Andrei never really cared.
“Even if I do not care, I still hold feelings,” he pointed out.
“I know,” replied Raghnall, his face understanding. “So, if I manage to grant you the access to the Howling Halls, and you can face the relic and take it for yourself, what will you do next?”
“I wish to gather them all, and use them all at once.”
Raghnall sighed, rolling his eyes.
“What for? You might die just after taking one.”
Andrei got up and walked around the room to a bookshelf that was on the brink of collapse, looking for something specific. Even if the cult of The Great One was to him nothing but an excuse to pay for more extravagant churches to praise their Lord, their ancient history held a lot of interesting facts that have been used by many occultists and alchemists for their work. Philosophers too found material to be discussed in the early days of the cult. After shuffling through the shelf, he found one book with a black hardcover with a gilded symbol of a tangled snake harboring a lion head.
“There.”
Raghnall gazed at him with curious eyes. Everyone had a copy of the saint book of The Great One’s cult, but he never bothered finishing it, finding its content repetitive and not very interesting. Andrei riffled through its pages until he found what he was looking for, and cleared his voice.
“Prophecy thirteen: From the four quadrants of the world shall come forward four kings, called upon by our Lord, praise thee, to carry its blessed Tear. Graced be the red star, illuminating the earth with Your unconditional love. O rejoice! The Great One gift shall be the salvation of mankind. The four kings become one, blessed by our Lord benevolence, to rule by his command.”
Raghnall raised an eyebrow.
“And you can read too? You are full of surprises-”
“From the Red King shall rise the stone, the mighty Tear, graced by our Lord - praise thee - to reign as the God of the people and ordinary men.”
Andrei turned to sit back to his chair, the book still open between his hands. Raghnall bore a confused look.
“I’ve read this passage,” he started, eyes doubtful. “It is known that this section is one of the many ones describing a red tear, a red star, a red stone; although it is questionable why a religious book would go lengths to talk about what is the closest description of the Philosopher’s Stone, why would that paragraph be more important than others?”
“Because nowhere else in the book the ‘Four kings’ are mentioned, " argued Andrei. “ It’s a part I studied too much for my own liking, and it's the only time where these ‘Four Kings’ become one to create a God, seemingly holding the blessed Tear. How I see this passage is the culmination of the alchemical compound to produce the Philosopher's Stone. The ‘Red King’ is implied to be the stone, or the stone implied to be the ‘Tear’, making it all three the simple result of the four kings rallying into one. It is science turned into a divine prophecy.”
Raghnall observed him, silent. Leaning against the wall, he glanced by the window where the rain had stopped, and the cloudy sky was welcoming the night. Saying it that way, yes it made sense, but part of him was convinced that the Philosopher's Stone was a tangible substance, a powder or liquid that was the epitome of Alchemy. Something reachable by transmutation, by trials of errors and small victories, leading to humanity finding perfection through natural process. Although Raghnall blamed himself for not being more open minded towards a religious book, he could not outright say that he disagreed with this logic.
“So be it,” he let out in a sigh, making Andrei hopeful. “I shall try something. But if you get caught, I will deny your existence.”
Andrei nodded. This was better than what he had expected from someone so close to Lord Hatchet.
“May I ask why are you willing to help?” questioned Andrei as he closed the book.
Raghnall detached his gaze from the outside to look at him with eyes that had lost all sense of hope. The more days passed, the more freedom seemed out of reach. Even if he planned the most elaborate strategy despite the odds being stacked against them, Eóganán was never satisfied. He had given up so many nights, scratching his brain to find the best possible solution to gain his freedom, but nothing worked. And now, he was too tired to care about his fate.
“I have nothing to lose,” he murmured.
Andrei smirked and chuckled to himself. Neither do I.