The Alchemist

Were it not for the spirit that urged her forward, she would have thought Astor was already dead. So far out in time and place from the reign of the Knights that no one could have found him through mortal means. Ichta still tried as a way of stalling. 

She truly wished she hadn’t.

Through her search questioning all who would stand any chance of recognizing the name, she came to know Astor Tallas. To call him the last of the Knights of Orin would be foolish—because he was the first to leave. In a cruel cosmic irony, it was the razing of Ichta’s village that turned him against them.

While she was training to prepare for the task she had sworn, he was sowing discontent among the Knights. While she was forging weapons for her fight, he was aiding settlements in rebelling against their control. While she was hunting the first targets on her list, he was helping to rebuild what was ruined in their wake.

By all accounts, he was a hero redeemed of his sin. Yet she had to kill him all the same.

Over a year had passed since she killed Yaret when at last she arrived at Astor’s doorstep. The pain in her arm became too much to bear and she could stall no longer, letting the spirit guide her to a lone homestead out in the wilds. There were no settlements of any kind near it, quiet and isolated. 

Ichta watched from a hidden perch in the nearby woods as her target stepped outside. She readied her knife…then watched as three more people emerged from the house. A woman and two children. A family.

They were watching the moonset together. They looked happy. Ichta stayed frozen, staring. An hour passed and they had long gone inside, and she was still staring, vacant. She couldn’t do it.

She fled into the woods, images swirling in her thoughts: Astor’s daughter, herself as a child surrounded by ash, the demon from her dreams. Falling to her knees, she pounded her fist against the dirt.

“Olim-Vir! Show yourself!” she shouted. The sounds of the forest fell silent at once. “I won’t do it!”

She doubled over in pain, arm igniting and needles scraping her skin, heart beating fast and erratic. A horrible cry cut through the air alongside the sound of wings unfurling. The Spirit of Vengeance crashed down in front of her, taking its full form as a monstrous vulture.

“Foolish. Nothing to gain from refusal. Gone on far too long,” the spirit spoke.”Oath was sworn. Fulfill it.”

“Astor is not the man I swore vengeance on anymore..!” Ichta grunted. “He left the Knights long ago. They were my target, he isn’t one! He’s changed, spare him!”

“Oath remains. Vengeance sworn. Vengeance must be had.”

“Please! He has a family, you…” Ichta hesitated. “You serve Amero-Lan, surely they would not want such love to be torn apart!”

“Insolent!” The spirit batted her to the side with one of its wings, hard enough to knock the air from her lungs. “Do not dare invoke the swan! Countless families destroyed by Knights. One more in vengeance breaks no oath. It is justice. It is punishment. It is owed.”

The spirit loomed over her. She could do little more than tremble on the ground before it.

“Take vengeance. Prey is near. Finish this and be free.”

He vanished, and Ichta gasped, taking deep breaths as the weight of Olim-Vir’s aura finally faded. She rose to her feet, eyes empty, resigned. She had no choice.

Following her intuition, she found the spirit was right. Astor was in a field not far from where their confrontation took place. The ground was blanketed in gloam lilies, petals glowing with soft purple light. She found Astor kneeling down, trimming some from the ground to put in a small basket he carried with him.

Ichta marched into the field with no heed for stealth. Astor heard the careless crunching of flowers beneath her feet and the clanking of the chain at her side, jumping to his feet with a fearful expression.

“Who goes there? Who are you?” he said, holding out his small pruning knife in some manner of defense. His hand was steady. “What brings you all the way out here, stranger? Are you lost?”

“Astor Tallas,” Ichta said, gritting her teeth. “The sage of the Knights of Orin. You consorted with monsters. Your elixirs were used to burn my village!” She was trying to work herself up more than she was talking to her foe. “You must pay for what you’ve done!”

Astor lowered his knife, face falling. “I’m so sorry. I did all that I could to try and make up for the fact I ever stood by their side.” He sheathed his knife onto his belt, holding up empty palms as a show of peace. “Please, can we perhaps talk about this? I can make us some tea.”

“No!” Ichta snapped. She clenched her dagger so tight that her hand was trembling. “You took everything from me! I was just a child! I have to end this, here and now..!”

“I’m so sorry, truly. I swear to you, they used me, I didn’t know. I believed in what they claimed they were doing, I fought back the moment I learned the truth,” he said. “I’m out here alone, so far away, to hide from Elkoron.”

“Elkoron is dead! They’re all dead!” Ichta shouted. She took a step closer. “You’re the only one left! I swore vengeance, it must be done.”

“Please, there must be—”

“Take out your knife,” she said, harsh and commanding. “I have to kill you, I have no choice.”

“I don’t want to—”

“Draw your weapon! Fight me!” she shouted. 

She took another step forward, lowering her own blade. Her grip was unsteady; she left herself wide open. Her left arm flared with pain, so intense that the markings began to shine red.

“No.” Astor gave her a look of pity, taking notice of the change. “No I won’t fight you!”

“Do it, face me! Take out your knife!” 

Astor said nothing, staring her down. Ichta walked closer.

“Please, fight back!” she pleaded.

He refused. Another step and she was upon him. She made it quick, a clean cut across his throat. His body slumped to the ground behind her.

She took a few more steps, a few deep breaths. She watched as one last symbol etched itself right into the palm of her hand, a familiar tingling warmth… then nothing. She felt hollow. The weight of Olim-Vir’s presence lifted away—her oath was fulfilled, and he left her now with only the scars. The marks would never fade.

The Red Death fell to her knees. The field was quiet, only a gentle rustle of wind through the glowing lilies around her. After everything, she was still just a girl alone in the dark.

PREV | FIRST