The Alchemist's Practice Chapter 4

Edric awoke with a terrible aching head. His previous night's revelling came back to him with a vengeance. His arms and legs ached, though he couldn't think of why that could be, and his stomach churned without his movement.

He was reminded of what arithmetics scholars used to say: For all actions must have a reaction, equal and opposing, and thus the balance of the world is maintained. Though they would frown at his countryside interpretation, Edric thought it fitting that too much imbibing the previous day created his punishment this day.

With a shaking body, mind, and even spirit, Edric rose up from his bed and gingerly poured himself a drink of water from a bedside pitcher. Though he didn't feel thirsty, as soon as the water touched his lips, he felt the need for it and drank three glasses one after the other.

Like the water, he supposed he should also fill himself with food to heal his aching body. He chastised himself for bringing potion books, but no potions. He could have been rid of his pains with one simple drink, but it was not to be so.

He got up from the bed, fixed his matted hair, and exited his room, intending to head downstairs to break his fast, but a lovely surprise stopped him.

Outside his door, on a small wooden platter, was a hearty meal. Eggs scrambled just as he liked them, sausage, bacon, beans, hash, and onion, and a fresh glass of milk straight from the cow. He also saw the key to the room, which he hadn't gotten in his haste. With it, there was a note, clearly written by Wynn on account of the horrendous script, that said, "Don't expect this every day."

Edric smiled at the note, reading it in his head in a coy yet stern Wynn impression, and took his food back into the room to enjoy.

He was grateful at how thoughtful the gesture was, not only because he needed the food after his night of drinking and reunion. Having food at his door would keep him away from the other folk for just a bit longer.

After rearranging the writing desk to be in front of the window, Edric sat down to eat. As he ate, he watched wagons and horses on the road and small dots of people working the fields in the morning sun.

He opened the window to let in some fresh air, and he could hear the sounds of his old home once again. Birds talked to each other from the rooftops or the forest's edge, wind rustled leaves, doors creaked, and villagers greeted and chit-chatted with each other.

Edric thought about what he needed to do now that he was back home and somewhat well-rested. Though he wanted to put it off the most, the most critical task was the funeral rites. For that, he needed to go to Yynndal's House, the church on the far end of the village.

He finished his meal and set the empty tray outside his door before locking it behind him. He raised his cloak and entered the hall of the inn. Few people were there at this hour, and none caught sight of him as he exited at the back.

Edric made his way behind the inn and away from the main road, weaving his way through the gaggle of houses built with almost no rhyme or reason to them. The familiar dirt tracks that he and his friends ran through and made their own came to him naturally, almost as though no time had passed.

He almost looked over his shoulder for old Jeb chasing them, the memory bringing him a warmth until he remembered what Garrick had mentioned about his passing.

Was he being selfish by wishing that he could have some time to deal with these affairs without the entire village interjecting? Jeb's family likely didn't have the same opportunity. A local death in a small country village wasn't just a family's time. Everyone knew everyone, and everyone grieved and consoled each other.

It was the first time Edric had thought just so about the impact his parent's deaths had had in the community that he left behind. Garrick and Kennard had touched on it, but they were his close friends and like sons to his father. Beyond that, his father owned the largest farm in Mayel, helped in the village's council, and built some of the houses that still stand to this day. And his mother was an active volunteer at the church, assisted as a teacher, and was a prominent voice for the village women at council meetings.

With them now gone, he was the last Foster in Mayel. The last Guardian of the Forest. And his parent's legacy fell on his shoulders—the shoulders of an outsider.

By the time Edric had finished his sobering thought, he had already entered the House of Yynndal.

The church was spacious and felt grander on the inside, thanks to high open ceilings. Tall windows on all sides let in light, symbolically meant to let the light of Yynndal in so her children can bloom. More practically, without the windows, it would be too dark inside. Instead of long pews like they had in Sybold, here, there were sturdy, well-crafted, and much more comfortable chairs made by the local woodworker.

A small raised platform and podium for the speaker was at the back, and behind that was a statue depicting Yynndal three times as tall and wide as an average person. Yynndal held a rose, colourless, barring wood's natural colour, meant to represent the many colours and many roles she takes on.

In Sybold, the largest and most lavish church has a statue as tall as twenty men and holding a rose made of crystal that must be covered at certain hours, otherwise, it could burn down the church.

After taking in the look of the place, noting the new and remembering the old, he noticed a man in priest's robes sitting down near the front. From the side, at least, the man looked young of age and not someone that Edric recognized.

Edric began to walk towards the man, and his footsteps caught the priest's attention. The priest rose from his seat to greet him with a smile.

"Yynndal's blessings on you, friend," the young priest said as he closed the gap between them. "Apologies. Had I heard you enter, I would have greeted you sooner."

"Yynndal's blessings on you, teacher. Thank you for welcoming me into her garden," Edric said formally with a bow. He wasn't sure about this new person, and it always paid to be overly zealous in the face of the faithful rather than the opposite.

The young man's reaction set Edric at ease. He laughed and, with a wave, told him to raise his head. "All are welcome here, to receive her light and life and bloom within it," he matched Edric's formality in his words, but then his tone softened. "Now, with that stuffy business out of the way, what may I help you with?"

Edric stood up and met the other man's gaze, now taking in his appearance in whole. He was a bit older than Edric, by about ten to fifteen years, he guessed, or possibly less, and his face had not the weathered appearance one came to expect from the clergy.

He was youthful and still in his prime and looked akin to Garrick with a bit of a stocky build one came to find from working the fields. His hands, too, looked rough, and his nails bore some dirt. Perhaps he took Yynndal's words of "to nurture the people, one must nurture the land" literally.

"Perhaps I should introduce myself, and that may answer the question you asked," Edric said, a pause revealing his hesitancy at what he was here to do. "My name is Edric Foster."

The light of recognition flashed on the priest's widened eyes, and then his face turned sorrowful. "I knew your father and your mother well. Allaine was a hard worker and well blessed as evidenced by his flourishing farm, and Dina, ever with the spirit of a rose within her, was a great help to the women in Mayel." The priest bowed low. "A white rose to you, Edric. I hope the words haven't withered yet, with how many times you've no doubt heard them."

"Yynndal's many blessings on you and your family, teacher," he responded reflexively. "Not many know I'm home yet, so I've still many roses left to receive."

The priest chuckled. "Your parents gave you strong roots. You'll survive." The priest pulled Edric over and guided him to a chair. "Come, sit, and we'll discuss what happens next."

____________________________________________________

Thanks for reading chapter 4 of The Alchemist's Practice. Please be sure to give it a heart and share it with your friends. If you like it then be sure to check out my novels at www.mcleansnovels.com.

I was going to have a bit more happen in this chapter, and then I thought it would be better not to. All they were going to discuss was the funeral ceremony, but it would be better to show that rather than tell it... and then show it happening the same way they told it.

In other news, I finished the first audiobook of the Earthsea series, A Wizard of Earthsea, and I'm almost done book 2, The Tombs of Artuan, at the time of writing. I'm quite enjoying the books, but I wish book 2 was about Ged, the Wizard from book 1. I prefer stories that stick with the main characters.

It's not as bad as with Book 7 of The Sword of Truth, where the whole book, a thick fantasy tome, followed a new character and the main characters only showed up at the end. Speaking of that series, does anyone else feel that the covers evoke wonder and mystery that the books just don't live up to?

Anyway, happy reading!