Chương 1: Prologue ~ A Letter of Pardon

A soft knock came from the other side of Gysel Neekhilst's bedroom door, startling her out of her reading.

"Yes?" she said; peace was never allowed in this house, nor was quiet, nor were any adherences to any sort of schedules: the sixteenth hour, until dinner around the twentieth, was reading time, and not 'knock-on-your-daughter's-door-while-she-is-reading-time,' however, neither Mother nor Father seemed to know this, despite being told—constantly.

"There is no reason to yell." It was Father.

"You have a letter. I think it is from the same person who paid the legal fees and the cost of rebuilding the school. Your mother and I would like to read it with you, so come to my study." Gysel listened to him walk away, the soles of his indoor loafers clicking against the hardwood flooring of the fourth-floor landing, then down the stairs. Why did the letter need to be read in the presence of others: could it not be read in private, by the person it was addressed to—is nothing, not even privacy, sacred?

Marking the page of her book with her brown feather bookmark (it was found on a walk recently, and judging by its size, it was likely one of the rectrices of one of the local waterfowl, but it was hard to tell which one, as most had brown rectrices), she shut the book and stood. Kawvel was seated on the desk, and the look in his button eyes said that he wanted to be brought with—he should be brought with, should he not?

no, he should not; if he were, Mother and Father would go on about how eighteen-year-olds do not still have their childhood stuffed bear—but clearly some still do—so, Gysel left Kawvel in the relative safety of the bedroom and headed to the door and down the stairs to the study. Father sat in his high-backed chair behind his wooden desk, stained to the color of the walnut he could not afford.

The bookshelves that lined the walls were stained that same brown, and they housed the books that Father said were the keys to success: 'Knowledge of politics and economics is all one needs to succeed in the Kingdom of Man, as they are purely rational, purely material, leaving nothing up to chance, nor the caprice of Deities!' but the wood was still just stained maple.

Mother was seated on the left corner of the desk; Mother always sat on the left corner, as it was across the room from the seated skeleton that Father insisted on keeping and Mother insisted on selling, but Father would always defend the skeleton, saying: 'It is a fundamental piece of the history of man, reminding us of how far we have come: we have gone from the wretched, violent creatures of the far North to the civilized men of the South; we no longer need to worship any of the Gods, Goddesses, and Deities, just the achievements of science and Man'; he would say this about once a month, and something similar whenever alchemy was brought up—did it never occur to Father that the alchemy he ridiculed is the basis for all the sciences and achievements of the Man he so loved?

"Here," said Father, holding out the letter as soon as Gysel entered. She took it and looked it over: the envelope was made of a thick paper, and felt expensive; it had a wax seal bearing the coat of arms of the Thoranyn Academy of Alchemy and Magick—it was a bird, likely a raven, eating its own wings; this image, or one's like it, were common in books related to alchemy, though; it always meant something different, so what could it mean—"Are you going to stare at it, or are you going to open it?" asked Mother.

Gysel sniffed—not even a thought could be finished in this house, always the there and then, never the here and now—and ripped the envelope open with the nail of her thumb and removed the letter, unfolding it. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

"You do not need to be so aggressive. I didn't raise—" Gysel began to read: Gysel Neekhilst, There is nothing I hate to see more than wasted talent, and you have proven yourself to be quite talented in Operative Alchemy (I hope you have improved further since the events that made us aware of you in the last two years or so!). But, with talent like yours, which from past events is clearly unguided and lacking the environment to properly flourish, it will certainly go to waste.

When I was younger, I was in a similar situation, so I know full well that a desire to learn any aspect of the Royal Arts, without proper guidance and/or access to equipment or information can lead to damage of property and even damage of the self. Therefore, after much deliberation between the Headmaster of the Thoranyn Academy of Alchemy and Magick and I, we have decided that your talent would be best nourished at our establishment.

We are offering you a complete scholarship for your entire first year at our establishment. And if you decide to stay and hone your skills with the Royal Arts for a second and third year, we will be more than willing to extend that scholarship as well. If you choose to accept our offer, please respond as soon as possible so we can get all the dates in order and arrange for your safe passage to Thoranyn. I hope to see you at the start of the year!

Myrdrihn Hleenska, Head of the Operative Alchemy Department at Thoranyn Academy of Alchemy and Magick. Once finished, Gysel folded the letter up and stated: "I am accepting the offer." There was not a second to be spared between reading the last word of the letter and stating the acceptance of the offer, for if Mother and Father started talking, the decision to accept the offer could not be stated, nor would there another opportunity to state it—the decision would be made by them.

"Gysel, you have to give it more thought than that," said Mother.

"I have given it thought and made up my mind. I am going." Father began to rock his head.

"I do not like the idea of you getting involved in all that spiritual stuff," he said, starting on his usual spiel.

"Gods and Goddesses won't make you money. You need a practical job. The only way you can turn lead into gold is by selling it."

"I agree with your father," said Mother.

"Why don't you go into something like chemistry or become a pharmacist? You should apprentice somewhere. You spend all your time alone. You need to help people. You should try to be an apprentice; there has to be a school closer than Thoranyn. That is a quarter-maiden trip. I won't know if you're safe or not."

"No other school is going to accept her, let alone offer a completely paid scholarship. Her interest in Alchemy makes her a liability to any establishment that wants to be taken seriously. And apprenticing under somebody is completely impossible; practically everyone knows who she is, and no one is going to let her into their shops." Was this point valid? yes; was it called for? no. Mother stood from the corner of the desk and stepped between Gysel and Father.

"I'm sure we know someone who can get her a job."

"They don't want to get dragged into this mess."

"Have you spoken to the Fyrwiks recently? Are you still in talks of an arranged marriage?"

"Excuse me?" Gysel gasped; nothing had been said about this before.

"Silence, we are talking about your future; we need to focus," said Mother, as she waved her hand behind her back.

"No," said Father.

"They called that off nearly three years ago, after 'the Incident,' saying their son can't marry a woman who is more known than he is."

"Have you spoken to anyone else? She would have a cushy future if we could get an arranged marriage."

"Can you imagine her as a wife?" Father said.

"Sorry, honey, I burnt the house down. It's out of the question; even if there was some sort of marriage that would be beneficial to the company, I would have to pay the father of the groom." Gysel the doll again, Gysel the doll to be bought and sold, Gysel the doll to be dressed up and brought to gatherings, displayed with sophistic coos of 'my daughter is going to be a famous chemist' or 'she is so quiet and demure, wouldn't she be a great wife'—Gysel the doll who belongs to everyone but the owner inside.

"I'm going to go write the acceptance letter," Gysel muttered. Father waved his hand at her in an unclear nature—leave, be quiet, or yes: which is it—and continued: "I would be the laughingstock of every merchant guild in the Empire; then how would that reflect on the King? We certainly wouldn't get invited to anything else." Quietly, Gysel backed out of the study and hurried back to her bedroom. Once at her desk, she set up stationery and started on her response—the acceptance of the offer.