The Alchemist's Practice Chapter 14

The next day, when Edric didn’t come out of his room to water his parent’s roses like normal, Wynn chuckled to herself. Serves him right, she thought. He drank so much it’d have killed a dog. Little wonder why he suffers today. She felt he deserved his punishment after letting that awful Maxwell Hensch goad him so.

Then, she remembered he had used magic the other night. Magic that took away the effects of his drinking. So, why did he not leave his room?

The thought concerned her enough that she went up and knocked on his door. He didn’t answer, so she knocked again, and a hoarse voice asked, "Is that you, Wynn?"

"Yes, are you well, Edric?"

There was a brief pause. "No, I'm feeling a bit withered today," he said. "Don't worry about me; I've caused enough trouble for you as it is. I'll be better in a few days."

He most assuredly didn't sound well, and Wynn was doubtful he could recover in a matter of days. But she decided to respect his wishes and didn't enter the room. "I'll bring you something hot to eat," she said.

Another pause, and then Edric's husky, sickly voice replied, "Thank you, Wynn," in a tone that bordered on such finality that it might have been his last words to her.

Wynn went back down the stairs on her inn, and with each step, her worry and concern faded away, melted, and changed back to irritation. Men, she thought. Always whinging with the slightest illness as though it were the end of the world.

Wynn managed to keep up that irritation as she cooked and cleaned up after Edric without seeing hide nor hair of him for three whole days. She kept it up when she let Rorick know that he was acting like a baby and couldn't tend the roses and waved away Garrick and Kennard's concerns.

Then, it turned to anger after it lasted a week. When she tried to pry out how Edric was feeling, he was polite but short and barely talked to her. Her anger sustained her lack of concern and stubbornness to not worry about him. She was busy enough preparing for the summer festival and taking care of the inn and ever-increasing patrons.

But after almost two full weeks without her or any one of the village seeing Edric out, Wynn became concerned. It was such a sudden shift from irritated anger to a pang of concern that pulled and tightened her chest and made it hard to breathe at times.

On the morning of the day that Wynn's concern grew too great to bear and burst through her stubbornness, she gathered Garrick and Kennard for support. Garrick and Kennard were concerned, too, so they set aside their work, and the three of them went up to Edric's room on the second floor of the inn.

Wynn held her hand out, and her chest tightened again enough for her to recoil. She thought of Edric's talk of magic and how dangerous it could be for the user if they weren't careful. What if, in his drunkenness, he used too much magic, and he indeed was on death's door? Though it was foolish to think so, what if it were true? Would he, too, be taken from her? Would Fillith claim another person she cared for? Were there more roses she would have to tend to?

Garrick's warm hand on her shoulder startled her out of her anxiety. His smile was as warm and joyful as the summer sun, as it always was. She felt Kennard's arm on her other shoulder, and she turned to look at him. His eyes, as strong and unwavering as stone, were focusing on the door.

Wynn took in a deep breath, let it out, and knocked on the door. "Edric, it's Wynn. Garrick and Kennard are here too," she said, glancing back at them again. "We're all concerned about you. Are you still sick? Is there anything we can get you to help with? Anything?"

Silence. After a few moments, Wynn knocked again. "Edric?" She reached for the door handle.

This time, there was a response. "I just need a moment or two, and I'll meet you three downstairs."

His voice sounded normal again, not sickly or husky or hoarse at all. At least with that, Wynn felt relieved. He wasn't dying. But why did he stay stuck in his room, and what was this ominous feeling she still had?

Wynn, Garrick, and Kennard all went down to the great hall and sat at a table. She was thankful that the morning business was done, and she didn't have to serve anyone. The only person she was waiting on was Edric.

Garrick and Kennard both flashed her looks here and there, concerned, knowing looks. Looks that brought her back to the spring that she buried Jia with Allao by her side, and then the summer when she buried Allao with Garrick and Kennard at her side. The summer where the sun couldn't part the clouds no matter how bright it was, and it constantly rained indoors.

After a few moments, footsteps at the stairs drew their eyes, and they saw Edric walking down. He looked healthy, but his smile was melancholic. Then, she noticed a pack slung over his shoulder.

Edric took a seat at the table and set his pack down. "Sorry for worrying you," he said, and then he looked straight at Wynn, "and sorry for causing trouble for you. I was acting the fool."

It's your fault. She couldn't breathe. The words were taken from her. Off in the distance, she heard words, Garrick and Kennard asking about Edric, how he was feeling, and eventually why he was leaving. She heard him saying how he thought it was time he went back and finished his studies, but the words became ether in the sinking ocean of her mind. He's leaving because of you.

Wynn told the voice in her head to sod off. She swam back to the surface of her mind and clawed her way back to shore. He was always going to leave, and she had nothing to do with it. It would hurt, to be sure, but she would save her tears for later. She needed to do one thing before he left, one thing that she needed him to do for his own sake.

"Garrick, Kennard, could you get the girls and watch the inn for me? I'm going to need some time," she said as she rose from her seat.

Edric looked up at her, confused and worried. He'd never looked like that before, not when they were younger. He was always happy and adventurous and intelligent and full of energy and ready to take her by the hand and run off into the woods chasing their imaginary fae. She knew why and knew what needed to be done, and by the Goddess, if it was the last thing they ever did together, she was damn well going to make sure they did it.

She reached out her hand to Edric. "Come with me for a walk."

…

As soon as they passed the guard post on the road to Tishani, Edric knew where Wynn was taking him. He wanted to turn around, wanted to shout in anger, wanted to run away. He almost did, but the conflict and the weight on his chest and the numbness of his mind made him freeze up. His legs kept moving of their own accord, his voice was caught in his throat, and he felt weak. All he could do was follow behind Wynn, watching her gentle and purposeful stride as she took him to his family's farm.

Wynn turned, and Edric finally looked up to see the long road that led up to their farmhouse. On either side of the road were a few scattered trees and large untended fields filled with fresh spring crops. Of course, there were some rotting crops, patches of dry, dusty earth, and other areas that had been taken over by weeds, but it was surprisingly lush for not being tended to for most of the spring.

At the end of the road, near the edge of the forest on a small hill overlooking Mayel, were the remains of his family home. The thatched roof was gone along with most of the second floor where all the bedrooms used to be. The whole right half of it was burned away, exposing the remains. Edric could tell that the inside was nearly all charred remains with only some of the frame remaining. The only piece that seemed intact was the kitchen that had been added to the main house.

Edric remembered the front porch, now just burnt baseboards, full of flowers and chairs and tables where his father would rest after a day's hard word in the field. All the furniture was dust, and there was no brightness to be found.

Wynn led Edric to the side kitchen and pushed the door open with a huff. She coughed and waved her hand in front of her face as she entered and beckoned Edric to follow.

Inside, the kitchen was just as it looked outside and mostly untouched by the fire. A patch in the corner looked like the fire had almost broken through, and smoke got into everything, but otherwise, it was pristine.

Edric covered his mouth so he didn't inhale any ash, and Wynn opened the back door to let a cross breeze in. After a moment, most of the lingering ash was taken away.

On Edric's left was the well-used hearth with a tall chimney and a baking oven beside it. The cast iron lug pole crane had a few spots of rust on the ends from a few month's disuse, and pots and other implements were laying off to the side. Ash from a hearth fire sat in a pile at the back, swept clean and ready for the next day's cooking.

He could see his mother there, sweeping and cleaning at the end of a hard day to make ready for the next—no notion of what was going to happen to them.

And further proof that the fire wasn't an accident. If it were, it would have started here. It was a warm spring, and they wouldn't have had a fire going inside the house.

Around him, he could see the cabinets for dishes and cutlery. On the wall next to it was a washbasin and drying table and several barrels full of vegetables and sand to keep them fresh scattered about. Depending on how much they had already been through over the winter, they could have been empty. Other oddments were placed in and around all the open shelves, showing how this was one of the more used rooms in the house.

The long table where they had most of their meals was covered in soot. Edric ran a finger down one end, looked at the black stuff blankly, and then rubbed it between his fingers. He walked over to the cabinet and saw a notebook on top of an ashy doily.

"My mum's cookbook," he mumbled with a glance to Wynn, who was leaning on the drying table.

He gently flipped through the dry, crumbly pages. On each page was a recipe that reminded him of home. Milk soup, pork pie, corn chowder, maple cookies, apple crumble. Each one was written in her hand, his mother's hand. Each one had notes and amendments, with a few even saying whether he or his father liked it or not.

Edric's hands shook, and he had to stop. He immediately went to the double doors separating the kitchen from the main house and opened them.

The first door was easy to open, but the other had debris in front of it that he needed to push aside. Finally, after a few braced shoves, the door was swung open, showing the secondary hearth. Edric waited a moment to see if his forcing the door open would cause a collapse. Then, with a few tepid steps, he entered the second kitchen.

The second kitchen, used in winter when they closed up the main one, was just next to the dining room and had a similar but smaller hearth that could heat most of the house. It also served as storage for odds and ends like blankets, and it was where his mother did most of her sowing and weaving. In the corner of the room, her spinning wheel was there with some wool still on it. It alone had been spared. The rest of the room was a charred mess, and what was left of the second floor looked like it could collapse on them at any moment.

Looking to his left, into the dining room, Edric could see that it was in the same state. The cabinets and other furniture were burned away aside from a great oak dining table. Some of the cutlery survived, and some had melted together into a lump.

Beyond the kitchen, the entrance, library, and living room were now all one large open area with only seared sticks outlining the walls and doorframes that once were. All the books were dust, taken away with the wind freely blowing, and all the furniture turned to ashes that had long since scattered. The stairs to the second floor went up about ten steps before terminating in a husk.

Edric walked around, looking at the remains of his life ten years back. The remains of his family's lives. The remains of their legacy, the Foster's legacy.

Gone was the chair where his father sat to read after a long day's work. Gone were the tools his father taught him to use. Gone was the table where his mother taught him day in and day out. Gone were the books that they had read to him before he could do it himself.

But what wasn't gone were the memory behind them. He still held within him the knowledge of the forest, farming, and being a proper man that his father gave him. He still remembered his mother teaching him how to cook and clean for himself, mend clothes, and the beginnings of lessons he would continue in Sybold. And he recalled amendments on how to be a proper man that his mother made his father learn as well.

As he walked gingerly through each room, he felt a tightening of his chest. It was hard to breathe, and it wasn't because of the remnants of any smoke.

When he entered the living room, he saw tiny bits of burned fabric. He knelt to pick it up. They felt like clothes from what he could tell, but this room used to be his. His parents' room was above the winter kitchen. The clothes were too small for him though, he could tell by the width of a sleeve.

Sel, Edric thought. This was his.

The pain in his chest grew, and he felt anger and frustration at not being here for them all. If only he were here, he could have done something. But, now, it was all gone, they were gone, and he was useless.

"Why did you bring me here," Edric said without looking at Wynn.

There was a long pause, and the only sound between them was a rustling of leaves and the creaks and groans of a half-burnt house.

"You needed to see this."

Edric had no words. He didn't know how to respond to her ambiguous comment. Why did he need to see this? Why did he need to relive a time when his parents were still in the world? Why did he need to be reminded of their time together? Why did he need to be reminded of his failure to not be there for them?

"Where did they find the remains?" He asked, rising to his feet.

Wynn took him back to the entrance and pointed to two dark spots on the floorboards. "There, it was just Allaine and Dina. Near as anyone can tell, Sel escaped to the forest. His body wasn't found."

Why? Edric knelt down again to examine the charred floorboards. Unless… If it was bandits, they could have told Sel to run, he thought as he glanced at the back door, then to the front, and then faced the bandits before they were killed. Then they burned the house down, maybe?

No. there was no maybe. Edric was sure that was what happened. They sent Sel away to save him, then bought him time with their lives. His brother was still alive. He was sure of it. If his father taught Sel the same as he taught Edric, Sel was alive and simply lost in the woods.

His parents sacrificed themselves to save Sel. Right to the end, they were paragons of bravery.

The pain in Edric's chest became unbearable, and he fell to his knees. Their bright and smiling and proud faces flashed before his eyes, then faded away in a terrible eruption of flames and turned to ashes on the floor in front of him.

Tears fell from his eyes for the first time since he had heard of their passing. They fell to the floor and made spots against the black ash in front of his knees. Like a dam bursting, he couldn't stop them once they started.

"I miss them, Wynn," he said through sobs.

Wynn rushed over, knelt down beside him, and wrapped her arms around him as he wept.

It felt as though for each moment that he had held everything in, another second was added to his time letting it out. He couldn't stop the tears coming, and at this point, he felt he shouldn't try. He knew why Wynn wanted to bring him here, and it was for the same reason he had been avoiding coming here. He needed to face his parent's death to move forward. The weight of pain ignored only grows heavier, and shackles have a way of breaking one if they aren't broken first.

Edric didn't know how much time had passed when the tears finally stopped. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his eyes and face, and Wynn let go of him. She wiped her eyes with her hands and helped him to his feet.

Edric hugged Wynn this time, a proper hug, and he almost felt as though his tears could start anew, though for a different reason. "Thank you, Wynn," he said.

Wynn still didn't say anything but held him tight for a few moments before letting him go again. "Let's get back to the inn and find you a wagon to Sybold." She smiled, but it looked filled with melancholy. "You need to finish your studies and become a proper Alchemist." Wynn walked back towards the summer kitchen but stopped when Edric didn't follow.

"My brother is alive," he said. He gazed at the open field beyond the charred remains of the house and then turned to look at the forest behind it. "Before, I think I was just saying it because I wanted it to be true, but now I know. My parents helped him escape, and he's in the woods somewhere. I can feel it."

Wynn walked back over to him. "The villagers thought so too," she said. "They searched the woods but couldn't find him."

"I'm going to stay, and I'm going to find my brother," Edric said, still staring at the forest. "And, I can't keep relying on your hospitality, nor on my dwindling funds from Sybold."

When Edric paused to collect his thoughts, Wynn asked. "What do you mean?"

Edric looked at Wynn. "I'm going to open an Alchemist Shop."

…

Elsewhere, behind the House of Yynndal, roses began to sprout up from beneath the earth on a particular family's plot of the graveyard.

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I hope you enjoyed this chapter of The Alchemist's Practice! Please be sure to heart it and share it with friends and family. If you want to read more of my writing, check out www.mcleansnovels.com to see my other works.

This is it, the true beginning of The Alchemist's Practice. I hope it's not slow in a bad way for you all, and you're enjoying the pace of everything. There's more interesting things going to happen in the future, so keep reading on!