“I want you to meet someone, Theo.”
The young squire’s mood had lifted since their meal. After they had refilled their plates, Castimir had gone over memories of their childhood, many of which Theodore had forgotten. They had brought the smile back to his face, and as they left the room he had gripped his old friend’s hand, in gratitude for making him remember what he had forgotten in the pursuit of duty.
Castimir spoke as they made their way toward the wizard’s lodging.
“This man has been in Taverley for several weeks, after returning from Catherby. He is eccentric-and possibly mad, I haven’t decided yet-but he is certainly worth meeting. I call him the alchemist because he has all sorts of strange theories about the world.”
“Nothing too blasphemous, I hope?” Theodore said smiling, seeing if Castimir would rise to the bait-for he had always been more open-minded than the squire.
“Well, he’s not a worshipper of Saradomin, Theo. I do not think he worships any of the gods as we know them. He believes them all to be one being, that each element of the traditional gods- such as order and wisdom from Saradomin, and chaos and death for Zamorak-are parts of a single entity. He believes that such differences are akin to different fingers on the same hand.”
“But surely he favours one aspect over the others? The wisdom of Saradomin, the balance of Guthix, or the chaos of Zamorak? How can you believe in all three when they run so contrary to one another?”
“That is what I said,” Castimir agreed. “And he remarked that the differences I had mentioned, just as you have done, are created by mortals to serve their own political ends.”
Theodore’s expression hardened.
“If he speaks too loudly, then, he will be declared a heretic,” he muttered.
“Maybe,” the wizard agreed. “But what kind of world would it be if it were true? Would your ideals change? Would you still pursue the followers of Zamorak with your sword in hand on your white charger?”
“You sound as if you almost believe him, Castimir.”
“I do not, Theo. The old gods aren’t so weak as to be knocked off their pedestals by the words of old men. But we wizards must be open to new ideas.”
They stopped outside a white-walled house with a thatched roof. Castimir entered without knocking.
The bitter smell was the first thing Theodore noted as he ducked his head under the low lintel. A large table stood in the centre of the room, behind which stood an old white-haired man. His thick-rimmed glasses glistened in the afternoon sunlight, which struggled to make its way through the fug in the room. Theodore’s hand instinctively covered his mouth as the smell began to choke him, and the man looked up.
“Ah! Leave the door open, Castimir,” he said. “Your friend is unfamiliar with chemistry!” The alchemist beamed with pride at the word, and said it with an exaggerated flair. “Chemistry!” he hollered. “Surely there can be no more noble an art.” He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the strange implements that lay scattered throughout the laboratory. Theodore noted test tubes suspended over the open fire or arranged upon the table, contentedly boiling away the suspicious liquids they contained, in some cases until there was nothing left.
“I had understood you to be interested in science, Ebenezer,” Castimir reminded him gently, and the old man’s eyes gleamed at the mention of the word. “What is this newfound enthusiasm you have embraced?”
“Science, yes, that’s right my young friend,” the man replied. “It’s one and the same. My chemistry is a study of science, Castimir-one of the many facets of knowledge that may reveal the workings of the universe.” A suspicious furrow wrinkled his brow, and he peered at Theodore. “But Castimir is a wizard, and wizards already think they know all there is to know.” He scowled darkly at the young man.
“Sir, Castimir told me that you don’t believe in the gods,” Theodore said cautiously. “Is this true?” He had met men like this before, men who preyed upon the discontent of the masses, preaching impossible solutions to the hardships of life. Liars, heretics, and con men, he thought.
But the alchemist didn’t respond as he expected. He shook his head.
“That’s not entirely true, squire.” The man gazed darkly once more at Castimir, pushing his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose. “The evidence supports their existence, despite the fact that the prayers of the faithful still seem to go mostly unanswered. Yet in my travels I have seen miraculous demonstrations of faith, attributable to any member of the pantheon of gods who are currently worshipped.”
“Currently worshipped?” Theodore countered. “It is not for mortal-kind to pick and choose the gods.”
The notion was absurd to the aspiring knight, whose ideology was built around serving justice in Saradomin’s name.
“Isn’t it?” the alchemist parried. “I have seen terrible things done in the name of religion, by people who were good in all other respects. Isn’t the pantheon like a noble house, wherein each member is fighting for dominance?”
Theodore felt the blood rush to his face.
“It is not for men to pass on their own folly to the gods-they are above that!”
“A god above jealousy?” The old man seemed amused by the idea. “And yet legends tell of the God Wars, when the continents were devastated by their quest for dominance over one another.” But then he turned away, adding, “Perhaps you are right though. Who can know the will of higher beings?”
Theodore cursed himself inwardly. Was his faith in Saradomin so weak that it could be upset by a remark from an eccentric traveller? The Knights of Falador believed that Saradomin was the most powerful god, and their education was not accepting of all other religions. Some faiths could be tolerated, certainly, but those such as the followers of chaos, of Zamorak, were to be opposed wherever they were found.
He breathed deeply to calm himself before speaking again.
“I am sorry, alchemist, if my words seemed harsh. You have seen much more of the world than I, but surely you must acknowledge that Saradomin’s way is best? If all followed it, there would be no war, no dishonesty. Would we not have a perfect world?”
The alchemist raised his head.
“People boast too many differences for us to have a perfect world. What is perfect for you might not be perfection for anyone else.” He saw Theodore open his mouth to respond, and held up his hand to prevent him. “As for only worshipping Saradomin, that would make the world a boring place, wouldn’t it?
“But if the pantheon were incorporated as one god, that god would possess aspects of your Saradomin to reflect justice and order, and Zamorak to reflect the need for chaos. After all, even chaos exists in the natural order of things. The fox takes a rabbit where it can, following its nature-its attack chaotic, unplanned, the strong against the weak. That is how the natural world goes,” he said firmly.
“And what aspect of order does the natural world possess?” Theodore asked, his tone sarcastic. “Any at all?”
“Order is in nature every bit as much as chaos,” the old man replied, seemingly unperturbed. “If the fox eats too many rabbits there will be no more and it will starve. Thus there will then be fewer foxes the next year to hunt the fewer rabbits. In time, however, the rabbits will breed and once their numbers are back up then they will be able to sustain a greater population of foxes. There is order there, and chaos as well, but at a level that is hard for us to see. The natural world is something that is still largely hidden from us.”
Before the argument could continue, a door slammed, and a youth with dark hair and astonishingly black eyes appeared behind Ebenezer. He stood uneasily, looking at Theodore with what the squire could only think of as fear, hiding himself partly behind the alchemist as a shy child might hide behind its mother.
He looked about a year younger than Theodore, an adolescent slightly taller than the squire. His teeth were very white, and his dark hair was thickly matted and unkempt, growing long to his shoulders. When he moved he did so with the natural grace of an animal, his thin body sinewy and tough. He noted Theodore’s gaze on him and stepped back farther still behind the old man, his white teeth showing in a feral snarl of distrust that startled the squire.
There was something about the lad that made him feel distinctly unsafe, as if he were in the company of a wild creature.
At the sound of the low growl, Ebenezer turned to reassure the lad, his hand resting on the youth’s shoulder in a gesture of reconciliation.
“You must excuse Gar’rth, young squire,” he began as the newcomer calmed. “He has had a hard life, and does not speak the common tongue. Plus he is hostile to armed men, even if they be of your righteous order.”
“He has nothing to fear from me, sir-unless he has broken the laws of the land.” As he spoke, Theodore was surprised to see Castimir glance knowingly at Ebenezer.
The old man shook his head.
“I found him on the road a few weeks ago,” the alchemist explained, “starving outside the walls of Taverley, a stranger to human kindness. Is a man guilty if he steals to prevent himself from starving?”
Theodore did not answer. In his mind theft was a crime, and crime-no matter what the cause-was inexcusable. His expression darkened, and Castimir moved closer to him, speaking quickly.
“You must excuse Ebenezer, Theodore,” he said. “He found the man that Gar’rth stole from and made full reparation. The farmer was entirely satisfied.”
“But has Gar’rth been punished?” the squire responded. “Simple reparations are not enough. He must be made to understand that what he did was unacceptable.” His hand had instinctively travelled to the hilt of his sword, caressing it unconsciously.
Before Castimir could reply, the alchemist spoke, anger colouring his voice.
“Did I not explain? He does not speak our language!” he said, his eyes flashing. “How can he be made to understand?” Ebenezer’s eyes darted between him and Castimir, and with a clear effort he calmed himself. “But I am teaching him. We are learning, aren’t we, Gar’rth?” He smiled at the youth as a teacher might smile to encourage a pupil.
After a moment of struggling, a broken phrase passed between Gar’rth’s lips.
“Thank you…”
“That is one of the few phrases he has mastered,” whispered Castimir. “The lad is a strange one, Theo, savage and astoundingly strong. To any other save Ebenezer, he is decidedly hostile. Even toward me.” He grinned broadly as he finished speaking, and Theodore decided again that there was little in life his friend took seriously. As always he found it inexplicable, yet it caused him to appreciate the friendship all the more.
Ebenezer returned to his chemistry. Carefully he took a glass vial from the tabletop. It contained a clear, still liquid. With exaggerated care he mixed the calm fluid with a cup of water.
Immediately, the compound began to froth, spitting droplets onto the tabletop and beyond.
“Oil of Vitriol! Who would have thought that adding cool water could cause such a reaction?” He laughed manically.
Castimir’s curiosity was sparked by the experiment, and he moved closer, reaching out.
“Water did this? I would not have thought it possible.”
“Do not touch it!” the alchemist shouted. “The reaction heats the liquid, and it’s still quite hot,” the old man added. “It would have burned you.”
“Heat without flame?” Theodore muttered to his friend. “Surely that is magic.”
“I told you he was worth meeting, Theo,” the young wizard responded, as a knock at the door drew their attention.
A druid stood in the entrance, the sunlight illuminating his white robes, his green cloak shining as if it were made of living plants. He had an old face that spoke of many days and nights spent outdoors and in the company of nature. His grey eyes possessed wisdom that could not be learned save by an honest journey into old age.
He focused his gaze on Gar’rth, and the youth hung his head to avoid the attention of the new arrival. When the druid spoke, his voice was deep.
“How is Gar’rth today, Ebenezer?”
“He is well, Kaqemeex,” the alchemist replied. Upon hearing the name, Theodore straightened with curiosity. “The affliction seems to have quieted since your intervention. We are all thankful for that.”
The old druid noticed Theodore’s interest, and nodded to him.
“You are the young squire from Falador, who wishes to know about a particular white flower,” he said. “The birds have told me of your coming.”
Theodore bowed his head in respect to the old man. He opened his mouth to answer the druid’s query when a high-pitched chirping sounded from nearby. A blackbird perched upon the lintel, her black eyes flicking warily from one person to the next, taking in the entire group with a flurry of motion.
“I know already, my small feathered friend,” Kaqemeex said gently, and her chirping ceased. “Go and take your fill in the cool waters of the fountains.” The small bird fluttered away, leaving Theodore to stare at the druid with undisguised scepticism.
“The birds are the most useful spies of all,” the elder man said as if giving a lecture. He seemed not the least bit daunted by the squire’s overt disbelief. “There are very few of us who can still converse with wild creatures, and of those I am possibly the most adept at doing so.” He smiled sorrowfully, as if his memory dwelt on better times.
Yet Theodore remained unconvinced.
Surely he cannot expect me to believe…
“What did she tell you?” Castimir asked in all earnestness.
“What I have known for some weeks now. There is an evil abroad in Asgarnia, that has entered the lands recently. A creature that seeks something, or someone.” He bowed his face and a cloud hid the sun, deepening the shadows.
The killer, Theodore realized with a start, and he spoke up, all thoughts of blackbirds driven from his mind.
“Sanfew told me to ask you about the monster,” he said quickly, eager to learn anything that might help him in the quest for justice. “He told me you might have some useful information?”
“I do not know what the beast is, if that is what you ask,” Kaqemeex answered. “I know only that it pursues something. It heads north, hiding by day and moving toward its goal each night. I suspect that what it is searching for is here, in Taverley. The birds seldom sight it, for it is a canny creature.”
His eyes moved swiftly to each of them in turn, much as the bird’s had done. Castimir looked uncertainly away, and Theodore held his grey stare without moving. He turned his attention to Ebenezer, who cast a knowing look in return. Finally they came to rest on Gar’rth.
“How are his lessons, Ebenezer?” Kaqemeex asked, turning back to the alchemist.
“Slow,” Ebenezer replied ruefully. “Gar’rth is not a linguist, I fear. Teaching him the common tongue will take time. Castimir has helped, however.”
The druid nodded in Castimir’s direction and then he turned his eyes back on Theodore.
“I understand you have a query about a white plant, as well,” he said.
At that, Theodore reached into his pack and drew the specimen out reverently.
Kaqemeex stared at the flower in Theodore’s upturned palm. He did not touch it at first, and after a minute he bent low to smell what fragrance remained with the flower. As far as the squire could tell, there was none.
“Do you recognise it, sir?” Theodore asked with ill-disguised anticipation.
“Yes, it is a White Pearl, so called because of the fruit it produces,” the druid replied, and at his words a shiver passed through the squire. “They are found up on White Wolf Mountain.” He nodded his head northward to where the range of icy peaks marched into the distance as far as the eye could see. “They do not grow exclusively on that mountain range. Ice Mountain also harbours its own population of White Pearl.”
At last, a clue!
Theodore’s excitement caused him to smile broadly. He extended his hand in gratitude to the old man.
“May the blessing of Saradomin be upon you! This is excellent news indeed.” He turned to his friend. “I will return to Falador at first light tomorrow.”