《Alchemist’s Raft》


 Reprieving

    ¡°I can eat him now?¡±


    Andrew stirs at the sound of the strange voice. It¡¯s deep and low, almost a growl. He feels it resonating through his bones with its inhuman quality.


    Then the world seems to churn, waving under him, turning his groggy mind into jelly.


    ¡°We don¡¯t know he¡¯s dead yet,¡± says a different voice from the first. This one isfeminine.


    ¡°But he hasn¡¯t moved,¡± growls the first, just as something rough and wet nudges into Andrew¡¯s foot.


    ¡°Stop that!¡±


    The feminine voice is coming clearly now. She sounds familiar. Andrew tries to focus, to let memory unveil the unconscious mystery from his mind. He feels heat, water lapping at his heels. He opens his eyes, then closes them almost immediately against the hot sun.


    ¡°See, he doesn¡¯t move.¡±


    ¡°Wait. I think he did.¡±


    Andrew feels the ground beneath him quiver. Water splashes on his shins, cool and welcoming. A shadow leans over him.


    ¡°More,¡± he tries to say to it, but only managed a raspy wheeze. But whoever is above him seems to understand. Andrew hears the sound of a canister being unscrewed, followed by a stream of water trickling right into his open mouth.


    Cold. Merciful. Andrew gasps it down hungrily.


    ¡°Can¡¯t eat him?¡± the inhuman voice asks. ¡°I waited so long.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll find some shellfish for you,¡± says the female. ¡°Would that make you feel better?¡±


    Andrew feels the world shake under him again as the first voice says, ¡°Oh yes.¡± And the shaking almost makes the stream miss his mouth. He cranes towards it, swallowing it all. He can feel it hitting his stomach in the wrong way but that¡¯s a problem for future him to deal with. Right now, all he cares about is consuming as much of the heavenly liquid washing over his face as he can.


    Too soon, it stops.


    ¡°No,¡± he croaks, searching blindly to the sky like some pathetic baby bird. ¡°More.¡±


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°That is all you get,¡± says the female voice. ¡°If you want more, you¡¯ll have to work for it.¡± Andrew feels her presence near. She¡¯s leaning right over him, whispering in his ear. ¡°Equivalent exchange, remember?¡±


    A spark ignites inside Andrew¡¯s mind, chasing away the dizziness of sleep. He opens his eyes, but the shadow has moved away and he¡¯s left staring into the light once again. He turns his head, tries to roll on his side, but his body will not listen. He collapses back down, his flesh betraying him with its weakness. ¡°Wait,¡± he says, but there is no one to answer him. Behind him, he hears the sigh of water being parted, and then it¡¯s quiet.


    Andrew wakes sometime later with the sun no longer in his face. Still, the damage is done. His eyelids feel like they¡¯ve thinned into parchments and burn when he opens them. The sun is setting. There¡¯s water all around. He¡¯s lying on a wooden raft the size of a double bed, drifting aimlessly in a world unknown to him. But as the realization of the horrors of his situation is still dawning on him, Andrew feels his stomach rolling.


    ¡°Oh, no¡­¡± Struggling to his side, he heaves and vomits out the water he drank earlier. He tries in vain to hold back, even cupping his hands together to catch the liquid, but it dribbles between his fingers and through the cracks in the logs beneath him.


    ¡°Gods¡­ be damned, no!¡±


    Andrew lays back down. He wants to wail, to cry, but even this is too taxing. Through half-opened eyes he watches the sky turning from orange to purple. Over on the horizon, balls of white hang from the heavens like a field of cotton. And all around him, everywhere Andrew looks, is water.


    He remembers the voice. Just like that, he remembers.


    He gets up to his knees, ignoring the splinters piercing into him. Memory floods into his mind, battering reality into shreds. The fire, the siege, the start of all this chaos caused by none other than¡­


    ¡°Victoria!¡±


    Andrew lurches towards the edge of his raft, memory striking him back into hysteria. The water is a rusty orange color from the setting sun, the waves swelling in dizzying circles. Andrew plunges his face into the water. ¡°Victoria!¡± he screams, ejecting bubbles across his face and eyes. ¡°Victoria!¡±


    The water is turquoise, darkening into black below. Andrew waits. Silence answers him from the deep. Finally, eyes and lungs burning, he pulls out for air.


    Panting and shaking, he tries to think. It¡¯s too difficult. Exhaustion takes place of hysteria. His consciousness is stuffed with cotton. Andrew lays back down, closes his eyes, watching the image of Victoria opening like a puss-filled wound.


    That red hair, those sea-blue eyes¡­


    Not that.


    Andrew pushes on, past the painful memories, past the good ones to come to the end, to the last time they saw each other.


    Did she look back when she left him? Did it matter?


    Andrew shakes his head, the log below him grinding into his skull. No, he supposes it doesn¡¯t. One way or another he will die here, because if there¡¯s one irrefutable law that governs the realm of men and gods alike, it¡¯s that there can be no two alchemists living at the same time. Such is the teaching left behind by his former master, and one Andrew has proven to be true himself.


    Lying still on his raft, Andrew falls back into unconscious rest, thinking of how he may kill the love of his life.

 Promised

    ¡°Get me the Life Water, Andrew!¡±


    Scrambling over to the heavy wooden shelf, Andrew trailed over the glass vials with a shaking finger. ¡°Fire breath¡­ Wind song¡­ This one!¡± He pulled out a glass tube and hurried back to the marble table. ¡°Here, Doctor Davis!¡±


    Davis Von Bolstein snatched the tube from Andrew, ripped it open, and poured the green liquid out over the writhing woman. The moment the liquid hit the air, golden flames took it, consuming the woman in a cloud of sickly green smoke. Sparks danced through the laboratory, forcing Andrew away from the experiment table as the woman screamed and thrashed along it. Dark blisters formed along her body, popping and reforming until her flesh began to slough away. Doctor Davis let out a horrified exclamation. He grabbed a bucket and started to gather the falling flesh, but he may as well be collecting rainwater.


    The woman¡¯s screams turned into wailing. She threw herself forward. The chains around her wrangle her back, scalding iron slicing through her exposed muscles. Andrew felt his breakfast come up, and lurched away to retch.


    When he got up again, the laboratory was mercifully silent. The horror had ended, as quickly as it began.


    Doctor Davis stood over a pile of white bone. Smoke rose from the ends of his coat sleeves, wavering as he lifted the half-filled bucket over his head.


    "Zounds, Andrew!"


    He hurled the bucket against the wall, splattering entrails against the stone. "I said Life Water!"


    Andrew scrambled back, slipped on his puke and fell to the floor. Doctor Davis was on him quick for a man of sixty, hauling him up by fistfuls of hair. ¡°Have your eyes fallen out of your head, boy?!¡±


    ¡°I read it right!¡± Andrew said, and gagged from the stench coming off the Doctor''s hands. "I read-"


    ¡°Read it again!¡±


    Andrew coiled away from the cold thing shoved against his nose, thinking it some horrible part from the unfortunate woman. It was a vial.


    "What does it say?"


    Andrew tried to make out the words written along the side of the vial. There was too much smoke, and the vial was too close. ¡°L-life?"


    Pain blotched out Andrew''s vision as Doctor Davis smashed the tube straight into this forehead. Cold liquid streamed down his face, stinging his eyes and lips.


    "Stupid, stupid boy!" Doctor Davis screamed and shoved Andrew to the ground. ¡°Your stupidity just caused us another test subject, you stupid boy!¡± He kicked and shouted, and cursed Andrew some more. "Second time this month! You worthless, inconsequential nitwit!"


    Andrew curled up into a ball stayed like that, a bleeding, sick mess, until he felt the Doctor tire and eventually, the blows stopped. He tried to breathe. There was more noise. He dared to peak through his fingers.


    Doctor Davis was at the alchemy table now. He swept the bones away in one stroke of his arm. "Dead!" he yelled. "Because of an imbecile''s blunder!"


    Andrew swallowed, said in a small voice, ¡°At least the rabbit is alive.¡± He pointed to the end of the rectangular table, where a cotton-tailed bunny sat cowering in its cage.


    The Doctor whirled on the animal. He yanked the latch open, grabbed the rabbit and threw it straight at the windows. Andrew cried out. He reached for it but the rabbit crashed through the opaque glass and disappeared.


    He heard a thump, a scurrying of claws on roof tiles, then silence.


    ¡°Go get a new one,¡± said Doctor Davis, dusting his hands. "You know I only perform on fresh subjects."


    Andrew stared after the rabbit for a long moment. He''d worked hard to get it, setting up trap after trap over an entire week. And now it was gone. The Doctor was waiting for an answer. Andrew stood, choked back the displeasure curdling in his throat, and said a simple, ¡°Yes, Doctor.¡±


    Then he took up the empty cage over by the marble table, and left the castle.


    The town of Minerva was alive that night. Streamers hung glistening in the light rain and every tavern was open. Andrew listened to the chatter as he rode his horse through the bright streets. It seemed they were celebrating the coming of the Autumn harvest, though Andrew didn¡¯t think the people of Minerva did any harvesting. They were bordered by open water on all three sides, so it was never dry nor warm enough to grow anything.


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    He made it into the town square without much trouble. With the rain sprinkling the rim of his leather cap, he stopped and scanned the crowds for a suitable target. He liked festivals enough, though not for the same reasons others usually do. It was on these particular nights, when wine flowed freely and music deafened common ears, that new subjects were easiest to catch. Everyone was either too drunk or jolly to pay any attention to a boy on a horse, riding with or without someone else behind him. And even if they did remember something in the morning, it would never be his face.


    A door burst open by the other side of the street. Light and song spilled onto the wet cobblestones, followed closely by two young girls. They were both wrapped up in plain commoner dresses. One was holding the other up by the arm. Together, they stumbled towards the square, towards Andrew, giggling as they held their hands over their heads.


    Andrew cantered towards them.


    ¡°Good evening,¡± he said in a smooth, practiced voice. "Could you tell me where I could get a drink around here?"


    The girls stopped to look up at him. "Look around you," said one. "Any one of those doors will lead to wine and ale and whores. So don''t bother us."


    Andrew took a second to find his next words. He didn''t expect such a response, but he had a line prepared for such a case.


    "I''m embarrassed," he said with a self-conscious chuckle. "I live on a seaside resort not far from this town, and yet I''ve not set foot here before, or any other populated places. You must think me an uncouth savage, not knowing where the basics are."


    The girls looked at each other. Their faces were that of sisters, though their hair and complexion were not. One was the color of straw while the other was apple-red. Both their cheeks were flushed but the blonde was clearly drunker.


    It was the red-haired girl who answered Andrew first. She spoke again. ¡°No, you just look like a child to me.¡±


    "A boy-o," slurred her sister. "Do yar parents know... where yar?"


    ¡°I was orphaned at a young age,¡± Andrew answered, and was surprised when the girls immediately took to that.


    "What a con...cidence!" said the blonde girl. "Us, too!"


    "Con!" exclaimed the red-haired girl. For one horrifying moment, Andrew thought she''d seen through him, but the red-haired girl actually apologized. "You have to forgive Constantia, stranger. She doesn''t know to keep her tongue to herself."


    Andrew let out a breath. "No offense taken," he said, and extended his hand. "Andrew Bolstein. Pleasure to meet you."


    "Ma name," said Constantia, "is Conshtan...tia!" She lurched for Andrew so violently that his horse actually reeled.


    "He knows your name already," the red-haired girl said as she pulled her sister back. Compared to Constantia, she was much smaller in stature, yet she seemed to have an iron grip that stopped Constantia dead in her tracks. "My name is Victoria," the red-haired girl said with an apologetic smile. "Pleasure."


    "All mine," Andrew said, dipping his hat in what he hoped was a stylish way. ¡°Anyhow, I do believe I''d like to take the both of you for a drink. I¡¯m looking for some good company tonight, and you two give me all the confidence to label as exemplary.¡± He went to extend his hand, but stopped when he saw the smile on Victoria''s face souring.


    ¡°Aren¡¯t you too young for that kind of company?¡± she asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s not for me,¡± Andrew explained quickly. ¡°It¡¯s a long story. I''m hoping you''ll give me a chance to explain properly.¡± He worked hard to keep his tone light and his smile easy, for he knew from experience that the most important thing wasn''t what he said but how.


    All he needed was a little bit of time.


    Victoria was still frowning. "If anyone wants entertainment," she said, "they should look for it themselves instead of getting a child to do it for them. That''s just... icky." She tugged on her sister¡¯s sleeve. ¡°Come on, Con. Let us be off.¡±


    ¡°Waaait,¡± said Constantia. ¡°I want to pet his horsey.¡±


    Andrew nudged his mare forward half a step, all the while pretending like he didn''t just do that. ¡°The tale is not what it seems, I assure you." He kept his eyes on Victoria as he continued delivering his lines. "Please. Just let me tell it and you''ll understand, perhaps even empathize." He''d gotten good at lying. He''d done it for half a decade and spent longer learning from the Doctor. He knew exactly what came next, how to get there and what to do if he couldn''t.


    Victoria wasn''t looking at him, though. Her eyes were glued to Constantia as the girl petted the mare.


    "Horsey!" said Constantia, giggling so loud it sounded manic.


    "You see dozens every day," said Victoria. "Come on now, Con."


    ¡°This mare is special,¡± Andrew said proudly. ¡°My master bred her from the finest stock in all the seven kingdoms.¡± He gave the mare a pat, and the horse shook out its beautifully fine mane.


    When Constantia made an ooing sound, Andrew knew that he had her. Now he just needed her sister. "Her name is Silver," he pressed on. "We have plenty more just like her in the barns. I can show you, if you''re interested.¡±


    ¡°Whoa,¡± Victoria said. ¡°Thank you, but no. We have somewhere else to be." She tugged at Constantia again, this time hard enough to make the blonde-girl stumble.


    "Hey!" said Constantia. "What is your issue, Vic?" She pushed back, shoved really, but Victoria barely moved.


    "That''s it!" said Victoria. "I''m not going to keep standing out here in the rain, Constantia. So if you want to go off on some wild adventure with a stranger on a horse then you be my guest!¡± She let go of Constantia, who wobbled and fell against Silver.


    Andrew dismounted, helped the blonde girl to her feet. "I''m terribly sorry for this," he said to the both of them. "Let me get you both out of the rain first. I know a place we can sit and chat quietly. I''d feel terrible if we left off on such unfriendly terms." He looked at Victoria, then at Constantia. She was pouting, so Andrew asked her softly, "Would you like to ride on Silver?" And he saw an immediate and total change. Her pout turned into a giddy smile. She clapped and squealed. Andrew helped her mound.


    "I''ll hold the reins so she won''t run off," he assured her. "But you still have to promise, no funny business, okay?"


    Constantia giggled into the back of her hand. "Promise."


    Andrew smiled, nodded. Then finally, he turned to Victoria. "Shall we go?"


    Victoria''s eyes narrowed so much Andrew almost couldn''t see the whites in them. She had her arms across and her legs parted like she was ready to face down a charging bull. Except she shouldn''t have been preparing for a bull, but a spider. One with webs honed over many years to ensnare prey exactly like her.


    She shook her head. ¡°If she falls off, I''ll break your horse.¡±

 Believed

    Andrew led the girls down the far side of the street, where thin sycamores offered protection against the rain and eyes. He made sure to keep a slack hold on Silver, so it¡¯d look like the mare was wandering by herself when really he was the one mastering their direction.


    They headed towards the docks.


    ¡°This master of yours,¡± Victoria said. ¡°How rich is he really?¡±


    ¡±His owns the castle in which he lives and the island it is on,¡± Andrew replied. ¡°He has fifteen maids and two butlers, ready to heed to his every beck and call.¡±


    ¡±Oooh,¡± said Constantia.


    ¡°Are you one of the butlers?¡± Victoria asked.


    Andrew found that funny until he thought about it. ¡°I am¡­ more of an assistant,¡± he said.


    ¡±To what?¡±


    ¡°Scientific¡­ work.¡±


    ¡°What kind of scientific work?¡±


    With the way they were walking, Victoria on one side of Silver and Andrew on the other, it was impossible for Andrew to see the girl¡¯s face. But from her voice he could tell that she was smiling, probably taking the piss.


    ¡°Master Davis is a reality-bending scientist,¡± he said, deciding to exaggerate just a little for effect. ¡°He is also of dizzying age and cannot walk due to a problem with his knees.¡±


    Victoria made a sound that was half a laugh and a snort. ¡°And a man like that wants company to do what exactly, talk?¡±


    ¡°Why, yes,¡± Andrew said. ¡°He¡¯d prefer saving his strength to continue his miraculous studies.¡±


    Victoria didn¡¯t respond. They walked further down the streets, the only sound coming from Silver¡¯s hooves clopping against the cobblestone. Then, Constantia said quietly, ¡°I want to puke.¡±


    Rain continued to fall. As Andrew helped Constantia back up onto Silver, he tried to sell the fairytale some more, just in case any second thoughts were being had.


    ¡°The Bolsteins hold a great tradition. At the end of a lord¡¯s passing, he must give away as much as his wealth as he can, to any persons that had brought joy into his life, no matter how great or brief the happiness was.¡±


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of that house name,¡± said Victoria. She wasn¡¯t walking on the other side of Silver now, but is instead strolling right beside Andrew. ¡°Where did you originate from?¡±


    ¡±From the east,¡± Andrew answered. ¡°We came from across the Great Ocean.¡±


    Constantia gasped. ¡°I can see the Great Ocean from here!¡±


    ¡±That¡¯s the docks, Con,¡± Victoria said. ¡°Your ancestors were sailors?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Andrew said. ¡°That is why Doct- Master Davis wishes to live in a castle surrounded by ocean.¡± Slowly, he eased Silver to a stop. They were now at the edge of the town, where the stone path seeped into rows of wooden planks built above a rising tide. ¡°If you look there,¡± he said, pointing to the distance. ¡°You can even see my sailboat.¡±


    Victoria gave a little nod. She reached upward and gave Constantia¡¯s leg a little tug. ¡°Seen enough yet, Con? I¡¯m getting cold. And hungry.¡±


    ¡±Me too,¡± said Constantia, rubbing her belly. ¡°But I am also poor, Vic. And I know that you are too.¡±


    ¡°The island is only a few hours out of this coast,¡± Andrew said quickly but not forcefully. He was so close now. He could drag them both there if he needed to. ¡°I could take you both for a visit if you¡¯d like. We¡¯d be back before sunrise.¡±


    Neither girl answered. Andrew waited, fighting the urge to reach into his coat for the black box he kept in a hidden pocket. No, he wouldn¡¯t need to use force with these girls. He was sure of it.


    He was right. Victoria let go of her sister¡¯s leg. ¡°I¡¯m in the mind to leave you right here, Con,¡± she said after a long sigh. ¡°You know this is how we die, right?¡± She turned to Andrew. ¡°If you¡¯re going to eat us, eat her first, okay?¡±


    Andrew had to remind himself to laugh. ¡°I promise,¡± he said. ¡°But judging by the looks of both of you, you could do with a few warm meals first.¡±


    ¡±I agree!¡± said Constantia. ¡°Come now, sister. Follow me and we shall dine!¡± She swayed on top of Silver, almost toppling over. Andrew gave the mare the slightest tug, and the horse began to move towards the direction of the sailboat. He gave Victoria a passing glance as if to say, ¡°What do you have to lose?¡± And then his shoes were hitting the wooden platform of the docks.


    He listened, his breath held.


    A second pair of footsteps soon echoed behind him.


    Andrew let out the breath. He slowed, just enough for Victoria to catch up.


    The girl¡¯s eyes were sharp and blue as they looked ahead. She seemed to be sizing up the sailboat from the distance, calculating its speed and in effect, the truth of Andrew¡¯s words.


    ¡°We have to get back before dawn,¡± she said, her voice carrying on the breeze coming off the sea. ¡°Do you promise you¡¯ll get us back before then? We have people waiting for us.¡±


    Constantia barked out an uncharacteristic laugh. ¡°I doubt they lack bodies to fill the cots in an orphanage, Vic.¡±


    Victoria kept walking, staring silently ahead.


    Even drunk, her sister seemed to know she¡¯d crossed a line. ¡°Remember what you told me over the wine tonight, Vic?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m surprised you can.¡±


    ¡°You wanted to see the world.¡±


    ¡°I also wanted my very own horse.¡±


    ¡°You can,¡± Andrew said. ¡°I will personally make sure you are rewarded with all that you deserve.¡±


    Finally, the smile was back on Victoria¡¯s face, the one that Andrew saw when she was being chased out of the tavern. ¡°I want an armored stallion,¡± she said. ¡°One I can ride into battle with.¡±


    Andrew found himself smiling, infected by her genuine excitement. ¡°I¡¯ll throw in a battle axe.¡±


    ¡°And you promise to take us back?¡±


    Andrew stopped Silver. They¡¯d reached the ramp now. The sailboat was right besides them. Board it, and lives would change forever. His and the two sister¡¯s next to him. He turned to face Constantia, then at Victoria.


    ¡°Before sunrise,¡± he said, and offered his hand.

 Caught

    Andrew''s sailboat slid across the moonlit waves, easy as a scalpel parting flesh. He stood at the stern, one hand guiding the sail and the other on the tiller. Gently, he steered the boat silently into deeper currents.


    The night was cold. The sisters sat in the hull, chatting to each other about mundane things. Both of them had their backs to him, but Andrew didn''t dare go near yet. They were still too close to the shore. He listened in to their chitchat for a while, learning of life in the little seaside town of Minerva.


    It soon became clear to Andrew that it was mostly Constantia who did the talking. Victoria would give the occasional acknowledgment, but the silence between her words was long. Andrew had no doubt she was keeping quiet because of his presence, but he didn''t mind. He could listen to their tales after their transmutations, if they still remembered anything then.


    And, obviously, if neither of them died from it.


    Andrew''s fingers grew stiff around the tiller. The thought of the sisters dying was a chilling one. And it surprised him. Ever since he could talk, he''d been helping the Doctor get experimental subjects and perform on those subjects. He''d seen all sorts of people laid out on that marble slab, not all of them breathing in the end. Like that woman.


    The wind picked up. Waves lapped against the sides of the boat. Constantia''s worried voice rang out. "How much further do we have to go?"


    "We''ve passed the halfway point," Andrew answered. "The waters will calm as we get closer to the island.¡±


    Victoria spoke up after a long period of silence. "What is your island called?"


    "It has no name," Andrew said.


    "Is that why it isn''t on any maps?"


    "Correct."


    Victoria turned around, the moon glowing in her doubtful eyes. "Didn''t you say it was a few hours away? If it''s really that close and large enough to house a castle, shouldn''t it be logged?"


    Andrew kept his gaze on the dark horizon. "That is a short answer requiring a long explanation," he said, pulling out the preplanned speech he''d relied on for so many years. "Nearing the end years of the War, the Mad King wanted a seaside fortress to ward off against invaders in the north. Minerva was a series of hills then. So, the King gathered his best engineers in the land to come up with a way to move-"


    Something crashed against the side of the ship, startling Andrew out of his speech.


    Constantia screamed. "What in the heavens is that!"


    Andrew turned the boat to let whatever it was float past, doing it on instinct more than anything else. He immediately knew his mistake. They were close to the island now. And the thing that had hit the boat was a ball of human remains thrown off that same island.


    "It''s just a fish," Andrew said quickly, yanking on the tiller to turn the sailboat further away. But he was too late. The ball was simply too big. It bounced and bobbed and caught the moonlight on its hairless surface.


    "It has a face!"


    Constantia lurched from her seat and crashed against the edge of the boat. "Vic! There''s a face! Oh, gods, it has a face!"


    "It''s trash from the castle!" Andrew shouted over the noise. He was wrestling with the wind now. It was pushing him back the other way, towards the passing horror. "We throw our waste off a cliff and sometimes it gets smashed together." He tried desperately to explain but he knew his words rang on deaf ears. Victoria had raced to her sister''s side and now both girls were shouting. The shift in weight caused the sailboat to rock, forcing all of them even closer to the ball.


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    Andrew knew he was running out of time then. He reached into his coat pocket. The drugs might not last if he used them now. But he had no other choice.


    "I want to go back," Constantia wept as she clung to her sister''s arm. "I''m scared, Victoria."


    Andrew let go of the tiller.


    "We''re going back," Victoria said, facing Andrew as he stepped into the boat''s hull. "Turn us around. Now."


    Andrew said nothing. He took out the leather case from his pocket and held it in both hands.


    "What do you think you''re doing?" Victoria demanded. She stepped up to meet him and Andrew took the opportunity. He clicked open the case. A silver syringe fell into his waiting hand.


    "Watch out, Vic!"


    At the last moment, Constantia threw herself in front of her sister. It was too late for Andrew to pull back. He felt the needle jab into the blonde girl''s chest, the syringe pressurizing as the chemical inside released into her.


    "What..." Constantia stepped back. Her mouth fell open as she looked down at the needle. She turned to Victoria, making it only halfway before collapsing.


    Victoria screamed so loud Andrew''s ears rang. "What did you do?!"


    Andrew expected the girl to run or leap out into the water, as many tried to do over the years. But she did the opposite. She came at him with furry unlike he''d ever seen. Nails racked across Andrew''s face, drawing bloody lines through his vision. He reeled, arms over his head, the syringe case slipping from his fingers. He heard it clatter, felt fists connecting against his flesh. Each blow reminded him of the Doctor''s punishments whenever he failed to bring people back.


    "You evil thing! You scoundrel!"


    Victoria kept screaming and kicking and punching, her attacks so erratic that the boat began to swing as if they were in a storm. Chained near the bow of the sailboat, Andrew heard his mare begin to scream. He dropped to a crouch and tried to roll away, but Victoria wasn''t letting him breathe. With a resounding war cry, she tackled him and sent him sprawling. Andrew''s head crashed into wood. He tasted blood and strangely enough, metal.


    "You''ll regret this, I swear it!"


    In the chaos, something pressed up against Andrew''s arm. It was the box. He twisted away from razor-sharp nails, feeling along the deck with one hand while still trying to protect his face. Victoria was strong with furry but her body wasn''t nearly as heavy as his. Andrew''s fingers closed in on the box. He swung it in an arc above him, knocking Victoria off.


    The girl crashed against the side of the boat and was up immediately.


    Andrew fumbled at the box, trying to get the second syringe out. This time, He felt the force of all of Victoria''s weight as she threw herself at him. Boy and girl went down once more, but this time Andrew was ready. He yanked the syringe and pushed it upwards, straight into Victoria''s belly as she fell on top of him.


    There was a single moment where no one moved.


    Andrew felt Victoria stiffen above him. Her hands were around his throat but there was no pressure. He looked into her eyes. They were large, and scared. Her mouth was opening and closing as if she was talking, but no sound was coming out of her. Then she got off him and stumbled over to the mast of the boat. She leaned on it and grasped at the syringe. She pulled it out of her midriff, let it fall, and stared back at Andrew.


    "You..." she said, her voice already weak. "You''re a monster." Tears fell down her cheeks, dropping onto her blood-stained dress. She was smaller than Andrew first noticed, maybe even younger. Her blue eyes held not the fire that was first in them, but a helplessness that reminds Andrew of the rabbit he''d caught for the Doctor''s previous experiment. The one he''d intentionally botched.


    Andrew found himself reaching out for Victoria, but he doesn''t know if it''s to comfort her or help her or hold her down.


    "It''ll be quick," was all he managed to say before a gust of wind whipped past them. The sail, no longer controlled by anyone, swept sideways across the boat. Andrew saw it coming in time and threw himself down onto the deck. He heard the whoosh of the boom as it flew past, followed by a crash and then a watery splash.


    "Oh no."


    Andrew got up and looked around. He couldn''t see Victoria. She wasn''t there. Or anywhere. But one side of the boat was wetter than the other. Andrew scrambled over there, leaning over the side just in time to see the last wisps of red hair vanishing beneath the waves.


    Twin thoughts crossed through Andrew''s mind. One red, the other green. On the red path, he could see the castle coming towards him. He would be safe, dry, and fed within the hour. And if he didn''t say anything, Doctor Davis would never know that there were three people who got on this boat, only two.


    But then, down the other path, Andrew saw Victoria. Her sharp blue eyes seemed to be watching him, daring him to approach. One corner of her pink lips twitched into a smile, no, a smirk. It''s as if she knew.


    She always knew.


    As he stood there, Andrew could feel all the lies, the made-up stories, fall away with the realization that Victoria never trusted him in the beginning.


    And yet, she got on your sailboat. She took your hand. She wanted to trust you.


    Andrew turned in the direction of the castle, then back down at the water.


    "I guess we''re all fools here," he said, and started taking off his coat.

 Waking

    Thunderous rain lashes across Andrew¡¯s face. He wakes with his mouth gasping towards the heavens. Delicious coldness washes over him, into him. But it doesn¡¯t take long before it starts to choke him. Andrew curls onto his side to get away from the relief he so desperately wants just a moment ago. Rain hammers his ears until they start to bleed. Tempest winds whip his clothing away, stealing the breath from his skin. Andrew gasps as a wall of cold smashes into his back. He''s pulled towards the edge of the raft, towards the cold of the ocean.


    Andrew digs his fingers into the wood. Finding a grasp in the ropes, he clings on with all his strength, the ocean swelling under him like a heaving beast.


    He clamps his eyes shut.


    By morning, the storm is over. Andrew reemerges from unconsciousness to glistening reflections on turquoise waves. The ocean is perfect and still, the sun once again hot on his face. A rainbow streaks across the cloudless sky. It¡¯s as if last night has been all a dream. Except Andrew has the injuries to prove it. Shaking off last night''s battering, he takes off his soaked leather coat and wrings it over his mouth until every drop is collected.


    He contemplates going back to sleep after that. He barely rested throughout the entire night for fear he''ll fall off the raft. But even as he settles down again his stomach will not. It twists and rumbles and commands Andrew to look around for food.


    Of course, there is nothing. Andrew notes this with little satisfaction. He''s grateful, however, that his humble craft has survived nature¡¯s onslaught in more or less one piece. Other than one of the logs on the outside missing a piece from it, there really is nothing else wrong with the raft.


    Except, something isn''t quite right with the missing piece. Andrew edges over to get a better look, moving slowly to not upset the precarious balance of the raft. True enough, when he gets there he sees that a chunk of the wood is splintered off in a crescent shape. It doesn''t look at all natural, something that can be done by waves or rain.


    Andrew tries to convince himself that the storm may have cracked the raft against something. But he knows that out here in the vast emptiness, there¡¯s nothing for him to hit upon.


    Unless that something is to approach him.


    Andrew feels his stomach twisting. There¡¯s only one other explanation for the missing piece.


    He chooses not to dwell on it. There''s isn''t much point scaring himself half to death on the possibility of a foreign enemy, some predator of the seas.


    After all, he¡¯s got more important problems to deal with. Food.


    Andrew gets up from the raft''s edge, but just before he leaves something catches his attention. A tiny white triangle is poking out from among the splinters in the wood. Andrew gets back down and crawls over, prying it out with his fingernails.


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    Examining it under the light, he sees that it''s a tooth, with jagged edges and a spear-like tip.


    It''s the monster''s tooth.


    Swallowing the fear that has leaped into his throat, Andrew inches back from the water¡¯s edge. It¡¯s crystal clear and alluringly blue, but to him, it may as well be the doorway to hell. He stands there staring into the water, trying to catch his runaway breath.


    He needs to occupy his mind with something. Anything. Anything but the possibilities of what may lurk beneath that blue.


    Andrew strips down to his underwear. His clothes are wet. He¡¯d been drenched through, and after finally having the sun on his skin, he almost forgets about the fear. He lays his shirt, pants, and socks down the middle of the raft where it¡¯s the driest. Then he finds a comfortable spot and sits down to study the tooth some more.


    He gets an idea.


    Pinching it between his fingers, Andrew drags the tooth''s sharp point along the seam of one sleeve. It is difficult at first, but soon Andrew manages to pick the threading loose. He works meticulously, picking apart both sleeves and all along the bottom of the coat until eventually, he has a fistful of cotton string. Then, wounding a bunch of the strings together, he makes a stronger section of string. Winding these together, he ends up with a short rope.


    Lastly, Andrew removes one of the button hooks of his coat and fastens it to one end of the rope. He has a fishing line.


    Andrew leans back and lets out a whoop of accomplishment. He pulls the line between his hands to test its strength. It''s not sturdy or big enough to catch anything substantial, but surely it¡¯ll be enough to catch him a bite.


    Unless he has more. Andrew goes back to his coat with excited glee. There are three more button hooks on the coat which he yanks off one after the other. With a ragged snap, they tear right off the fabric. Holding the brass hooks in his hands, Andrew feels a momentary sense of loss at having destroyed his most expensive piece of clothing. But in the face of oncoming starvation, such sacrifices are necessary. As Andrew thinks this, the words of Doctor Davis echo across the water, as if on cue.


    Progress requires sacrifice.


    Andrew shakes his head. With his back to the now setting sun, he repeats the earlier processes for the remaining button hooks on his coat. And by the time the sun lowers behind the hazy horizon, he finishes with four fishing lines, each more well-made than the last. He looks around quickly for something to use as bait, before the light is gone for the day, but sees nothing he can readily use.


    Andrew has no choice but to try his luck. He inches back to the stern of his raft and casts all four lines straight into the water as they are. Then as the brass hooks sink beneath the wavy waters, Andrew offers up a silent prayer to gods he does not believe in to save him.


    The waves churn. Whenever Andrew¡¯s mind begins to drift, a shift under him will cause his body to suddenly jerk awake. It¡¯s made all the worse by the gnawing hunger that has begun to grip his every thought. During the day, he¡¯d considered the possibility of eating his leather boots. But he does not want to destroy his resources for temporary gain. There is also the possibility he''ll find land. And if - when - that happens, Andrew wants to have his shoes ready.


    He turns onto his stomach and vows to make better use of daylight tomorrow. And when he finally does drift off, Andrew¡¯s dreams are filled with grotesque creatures and sweltering heat. Faces of the past emerge. Andrew tries not to listen.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t know!¡± he tries to explain to these people, judging him from their seats aloft. ¡°I wasn¡¯t aware of the evils of alchemy until it was too late! For all of us!¡±


    But no one is listening. They point, and cast him into the firey depths of the dark ocean.

 Fishing

    Andrew opens his eyes to soft, purple seas. The sun hasn''t risen yet. He gets up, feeling his skin crackle like dried leaves. He looks down to see a fine layer of salt has caked over him. When he goes to put on his clothes, they are crusty too.


    It¡¯s the salt of the sea, he realizes. The ocean is prepping me for breakfast.


    He hears splashing coming from behind him, and freezes. Can it be some creature climbing out from the depths to take him? No. That''s silly. Andrew turns around. There''s nothing there, but a few feet behind his raft the water is breaking. Something is struggling.


    It takes Andrew a second longer to remember what he did the previous day.


    The lines!


    He shoots up from his bed of rumpled clothes and races over to the back of his raft to check, all aches and discomforts forgotten. True enough, when he gets there Andrew finds one of the lines taut. He scrambles to grab hold of it, picking at it with his nails, trying to wriggle a finger under it, but the line is too flush against the wood. All the soaking has thinned it into wire. And it seems ready to snap at any moment.


    Andrew gives up on plucking and plunges his arms straight into the water, grabbing a free section of the line further down. He pulls, coloring the water with his cut fingers.


    There is a crisp splash as from the blue surface, a glistening fish emerges. With a cry of triumph and disbelief, Andrew hauls the creature onto the deck. The fish hits the wood and starts to dance, silver light flashing across its triangular scales.


    Andrew sits back and stares. It really is a fish. A real, living thing. No bigger than the palm of his right hand, it seems to take up his world until he can see nothing else but this floundering, gasping animal.


    The creature stops moving. Now lying on its side, one of its black eyes roll towards Andrew. It stares back at him.


    Andrew turns away, suddenly nauseous. He knows it''s stupid, but he can''t help feeling like the fish is accusing him. It¡¯s as if he hadn''t pulled only the fish out of the water, but all the terrible secrets he''d been hiding from the world.


    Andrew tries to laugh it off.


    You''re being stupid. It''s just a fish. It doesn''t even have a soul.


    Andrew turns back to the dying creature. It''s still looking at him with its single unblinking eye. He steps closer. He imagines what it may feel like to crush the creature''s skull under his foot, to end a life for his own satiation.


    Fish have no souls, he assures himself as he hovers his foot over the creature''s head. Not even the Doctor will experiment on them.


    The sea is still. Silent. Watching.


    Andrew steps away, falls to his knees. He can''t do it. He''s already done too much already. He can''t harm another creature. He reaches out to the fish, scooping it up in his hands and holding it to the light.


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    "I''m sorry," he says to it. "I''ll get you home."


    He moves towards the ocean. As he does, sunrays color the side of the fish and it makes him pause.


    For something with no soul, Andrew sees within its sleek form an utter perfection that steals his breath away. From its pointed mouth to its sail-like fins, the fish is a living silvery arrow, a creature whose sole purpose is to move effortlessly in its domain.


    Andrew''s eyes well with tears. He steps to the raft¡¯s edge and holds out his hands, ready to drop the fish back into its realm.


    But he doesn''t. Something inside his gut starts to twist. Deep. Painful. Saliva floods into his cheeks as a sour weakness vibrates from the innermost pits of Andrew''s stomach, shuddering through his body with a single, primal fact:


    Hungry.


    Andrew brings his hands back from the raft''s edge. He looks down at the fish, and bites into it.


    The fish starts to thrash. Andrew feels sharp fins slapping against his cheek. He sinks harder into rubbery flesh, ripping into wet sinew and finally, flesh.


    Sweet, cold, flesh.


    Andrew tears out a stringy chunk with a violent jerk of his head. He swallows without chewing. Fire trails down his throat from the fish¡¯s scales and he vows to chew the next bite. He doesn''t. He rips, swallows. The fish has stopped moving. Andrew''s teeth close around its head. He bites, crunching bone. Hot goo sprays against the walls of his mouth. He wants to stop. He wants to vomit. But hunger demands. And he is its slave. Andrew gnashes his teeth, hearing the crunch and popping of bones vibrating into his own head.


    He swallows hard, tasting blood.


    When the ordeal is at last over, Andrew tosses the fish''s intestines aside and crawls over to the edge of the raft. He washes the gore on his face and hands, keeping his gaze averted from his reflection. He doesn¡¯t want to look at what he¡¯s done, the aftermath of his horrific crime.


    But then he decides, no. He must look. He must face the consequences or else he will never get to land. The truth is clear. If he''s going to live long enough to get back home or find a new one, he''s going to have to eat, and kill. So the sooner he comes to terms with it, the less torture it will be.


    So he looks. And to his surprise, he sees that the water is already clear. The ocean has washed away the blood from his hands and left no traces behind.


    Staring at his reflection, Andrew watches as his own face contorts in pain. The sun is finally rising, bleaching the sea in red and yellow. He leaves the water''s edge, and swallowing the bile bubbling at the back of his throat, goes to find the fish''s remains.


    Andrew expects to feel revolted at the sight of the pile of purple and black guts, but looking at them in the light he just feels sorrow.


    ¡°Are you satisfied?¡± He asks out loud to the silent waves. "Is this the result you wanted?"


    The silence angers Andrew. He feels all the sadness inside him dry up. He scoops up the guts and throws the remains high into the air. They scatter, plopping into the sea in clumps.


    ¡°Are you not satisfied? Look at all this death and blood! Are you not satisfied with what you made me do?¡±


    Andrew hears his own voice echoing back to him. It sounds broken, helpless. His throat burns from where the fish must¡¯ve scratched him. But his anger is so present, so fresh, just like the fish was.


    Shame colors Andrew''s vision. It drowns out everything else until all he wants to do is scream or break something or both.


    His eyes land on the button hook.


    There it is, the cause of his misery. Such a tiny thing, capable of bringing death.


    He slams his foot onto it.


    The hook presses into the sole of his boots but doesn¡¯t puncture through. Even if it did, Andrew will not have stopped. He jumps onto it with both feet, feeling the hook snap. He kicks at the pieces, sending them all into the ocean.


    Breathing heavily, he sits, and whispers at the dark waves lapping at his feet, ¡°Are you satisfied now?¡±


    But no one answers him.


    Andrew lies down. He closes his eyes.


    No, whatever gods are keeping him alive will not be satisfied with just this. There will be more, he knows, for he deserves nothing less than to suffer for the horrors he inflicted on the world.


    He only wishes that the Doctor is suffering the same fate as he is.


    As he thinks this, Andrew feels his skin bringing to burn. His throat stings too much for him to ignore any longer. So he gets up and looks around for something to drink, a drop of water in the wasteland of blue that surrounds him.

 Stolen

    Slap!


    Andrew''s head snapped back from the Doctor¡¯s palm.


    ¡°You shot her twice?!¡±


    Eyes welling from tears, Andrew nodded. ¡°She was being uncooperative. When the first injection didn¡¯t work, I used another.¡±


    The slap came again, pivoting Andrew the other way.


    ¡°Do you know that could¡¯ve killed her?!¡±


    ¡°I-I knew the risks, Doctor Davis.¡±


    The hand raised again. Andrew cringed from it. But it didn''t come. He heard a sigh. ¡°Get out of the way,¡± the Doctor said, shoving him away to study the girl chained against the wall.


    They were all in the underground basement, Doctor Davis, Andrew, and Constantia.


    Andrew tried hard not to look away. Constantia was gagged and bound, but the leather piece in her mouth could not block out the sounds of her sobbing. Under the greasy light of the oil-powered lanterns, her golden hair was a dull shade of brown. Her eyes, when they widened with the Doctor¡¯s approach, were bloodshot.


    ¡°Monsters,¡± she muttered against her gag. She twisted away from Doctor Davis¡¯s touch, her chains rattling. "You''re both monsters!"


    The Doctor was unfazed. He took the girl''s chin and tilted her face this way and that. ¡°You are lucky,¡± he mused, though Andrew suspected the Doctor wasn''t talking to Constantia. "Most people do not live this long after taking two shots." From his pocket, he took out a lighter and flicked it near Constantia¡¯s eyes. She sucked in a breath and tried to turn away, but the Doctor held her tightly. ¡°Perhaps you have an affinity for alchemy.¡±


    Andrew shuffled his feet. He hated being down here, where the light of day is lost behind onyx stone walls, and each step was a battle for balance. Blood had long ago drenched into every inch of the cracked ground, making it forever wet.


    He couldn''t, didn''t, want to imagine what thoughts were going on inside Constantia''s head.


    Doctor Davis deposited his lighter back under his lab coat. He pivoted towards the door, commanding Andrew to, "Get the Table ready," before disappearing out the heavy iron door. ¡°I don¡¯t want to waste any more time and risk her health getting worse, you hear?¡±


    "Yes Doctor," Andrew said. ¡°But what about breakfast?¡±


    Doctor Davis had one foot out the door when he whirled back around. He only had to give a look, and Andrew knew that breakfast would not be served today. Then with a whip of his white coat, the Doctor strode up the stairs, taking them two at a time.


    The sun was just beginning to rise when Andrew entered the laboratory with a bucket and pail. He set his tools down and glanced up with a hand over his eyes, watching the golden light grace the lab¡¯s crystal dome roof. Bright rainbows washed across the walls and floors, illuminating the fresh bloodstains.


    As he always did, Andrew started with the Table. It wasn¡¯t just because it was in the middle of the room, but it was his favorite thing here, perhaps even in the whole castle. Made entirely out of white quartz, the milky surface of the experiment table glowed even while covered in human remains. Andrew lugged his bucket and rags over to it, and began the long process of scrubbing it clean. The stench of the decaying flesh was all-consuming, but he was used to it by now. Whenever they moved onto a new type of transmutation, a great many creatures suffered for it.


    Science requires sacrifice, was the mantra that always got Andrew through it all. He grabbed a fresh rag and started scrubbing the floors.


    Sacrifice. Science requires it from all of us.


    It was not a novel concept to alchemy. Things must be broken down to be reconstructed again. It was law. It was universal.


    And yet, were the sacrifices really equal?


    Andrew thought about Constantia, about Victoria. Their bodies would be taken apart on the Table and combined with another into something new, something astounding. It was what he and the Doctor did to many more before them, and many more will follow.


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    But such a thing¡­ did they ever ask if the people they worked on wanted it? Andrew couldn''t remember if anyone ever did. There was a reason he brought syringes filled with the sleeping liquid on each outing, a reason why the Doctor spent years training him to lie.


    Andrew tossed a bloody rag into the pail. It crashed into the side of the bucket, sending water over onto the floor. The noise brought him back to last night, to the sound of Victoria hitting the water.


    He stood. A wave of heat traveled to his head. It made him dizzy. He held out a hand for balance and felt sharp grooves under his fingertips. He froze as if he¡¯d touched a venomous snake. He inched his hand off the Table, off the alchemy circles etched into the milk-white surface.


    Andrew stared at the markings. They were seeped red from old blood and covered the entire surface of the Table like a network of roads, a map into hell.


    Andrew went back to cleaning. He didn¡¯t know or understand why, but at that moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to get away from that slab of stone.


    By the time Andrew had finished, lunch was being served downstairs. He could hear chairs moving and cutlery clinking, and the sounds awakened hunger inside him. He wrung his mops and hung his buckets, changed out of his dirty clothing and hurried down the stairs, pushing his way through the right hallways until he was inside the dining hall.


    The Doctor was being seated. Standing behind him, Ignar was helping him out of his coat. The wolf homunculus grinned when he saw Andrew entering the ornate double doors.


    ¡°He is almost man-grown and yet walks like a rabbit. Is Master sure he wishes not to create a stronger assistant?¡±


    ¡°Silence, Ignar,¡± said Doctor Davis. He sat down, Ignar pushing the chair in behind him. With a wave of his hand, the Doctor gave permission for Andrew to sit. ¡°I trust the lab is spotless?¡±


    ¡°Good enough to eat in,¡± Andrew answered. There were four other homunculi servants standing around in the hall, but none of them helped him with his chair. Andrew tried not to dwell on the difference in treatment. At least the food on his plate wasn''t the same as theirs. He scooted himself in, tucked his napkin in his collar, and picked up his fork and knife.


    Soup was beets with diced carrots, grown from the garden. Andrew dipped his spoon into the broth and sipped. It was delightful.


    No, sir. He would not be eating raw shavings today.


    The door to the kitchen swung open and three sheep homunculi tottered in, balancing silver plates and silver domes. Andrew pretended to be busy with his soup. He never could look at any of them. He told himself it was because of their too-big eyes or stick-thin legs, but really what he didn''t want to look at was the traces of human still left in them.


    He didn''t want to be reminded of what they looked like before.


    ¡°The main course isss served.¡±


    Andrew looked up to see Bartholomeu sliding out from behind the row of sheep. He was wearing his usual cook''s hat and white apron, but there was something different about the cook today. It was difficult to tell through all the scales, but Andrew thought he could see tightness in the snake homunculus''s narrow eyes.


    That was another thing. No matter what animal served as their base, the homunculi always had these wet yellow eyes that made it seem they were always on the verge of tears.


    Maybe they were.


    Bartholomeu moved with the fluidity of his base. Before the first sheep reached the table, he was already there.


    ¡°I have made it asss you have instructed, Master,¡± he said, his leathery lips barely moving with his words. ¡°The pelt I have sent to Ignar¡¯s chambersss.¡±


    The Doctor nodded to the wolf. ¡°You know what to do?¡±


    ¡°Certainly,¡± Ignar answered, grinning his mouthful of fangs. ¡°I¡¯ve not stuffed a rabbit but I know the ways.¡±


    The sheep had reached the table now, and were placing the plates down in front of Doctor Davis and Andrew.


    From the Doctor¡¯s words, Andrew knew what was under the domes, but the sight of half a poached rabbit still sent his heart sinking.


    ¡°Eat,¡± Doctor Davis commanded. ¡°We¡¯ve a long night ahead of us, Andrew.¡±


    Andrew picked up his fork. ¡°Are¡­ are we not combining Con- that girl with a rabbit, Doctor?¡±


    Doctor Davis snapped his fingers at his half of the rabbit. Ignar leaned over, stabbed into it with a fork, and started cutting. ¡°I believe it is time we look elsewhere for inspiration,¡± said the Doctor. A smile hinted at his words as he talked, almost like he was excited for what was going to come next. ¡°Namely, the sea.¡±


    ¡°What''s in the sea?" Andrew asked.


    "Is that a real question?"


    "No, I mean, why?¡±


    Ignar finished carving the rabbit and stood back. Doctor Davis picked up his own cutlery and started eating.


    ¡°I¡¯ve thought about it for some time,¡± the Doctor said between bites. ¡°If we are to advance the science of alchemy, we must work in not just one element but many.¡±


    Andrew swallowed some water to make his voice work. ¡°So¡­ really fish?¡±


    ¡°And birds, but yes. Fish first.¡±


    Andrew put down his fork. He didn''t really care what critter the Doctor wanted to combine. But fish and birds were new territories, and that would mean almost-guaranteed failure on the first try, even if Andrew did everything right. He felt sick.


    "Could I please be excused, Doctor?"


    Doctor Davis gave a half-hearted wave. Andrew rose. His eyes caught the breadbasket on the table. ¡°Could I take some bread up to my chambers, Doctor?¡±


    The Doctor scoffed. ¡°Am I not feeding you enough?¡±


    ¡°I might have gotten ill,¡± Andrew lied. ¡°The wind was harsh last night.¡±


    ¡°Sacrifices must be made in the pursuit of science,¡± said the Doctor. ¡°Very well. Get some rest.¡± He went back to his rabbit. ¡°I expect you at the laboratory in an hour.¡±


    Andrew picked up two loaves, put them in his pocket, and hurried away.

 Changed

    The bread sat like lumps of coal in Andrew¡¯s pocket. He had one in each, and plucked crumbs from the right pocket as he paced within his chambers. He didn¡¯t touch the bread in his left pocket at all.


    The sky gradually darkened. Andrew went to the door, then pulled away from it. Time ticked along. Fifteen minutes had passed since he left Doctor Davis in the dining hall. He¡¯d planned to go straight to the beach from there, but the thought of moving while there was still light felt too dangerous, too obvious. So he waited, paced, and waited.


    Twenty minutes passed. Half an hour.


    Andrew turned to the window. Should he climb down? The moon was out now. But, no. He was too late. He allowed too much time to pass, and now he didn''t have enough left for a return trip. Sighing, he sat on the bed and pulled his hands out of his pockets.


    He felt both frustrated and relieved.


    I guess I didn¡¯t really want to go, even though I''ll need to eventually.


    Andrew''s right hand went back in. The bread was full of holes now, and felt like his fingers were exploring the surface of a lump of hard cheese. He pinched a tiny bit, brought it to his mouth, and as he let the crumb moisten on his tongue, he toyed with the idea of not leaving the castle at all. Could he somehow let reality slip away until it was too late to look for it again?


    The sun went down completely, giving the moon free reign of the sky''s light. The hour was up. Andrew rose from his bed and started towards the laboratory.


    Passing through dark hallways, Andrew kept his head low. The sheep homunculi were out and about, some busy lighting the torches on the walls, others cleaning up the residues of day. He didn''t want to look at any of them. His hand went to his left pocket, patted the intact piece of bread, and kept walking.


    He was early. No lights were on inside the laboratory, and nothing was moving. Andrew took a match from a desk by the wall and struck the lanterns. Light flooded the room, glancing off the sleek marble slab. It made the alchemy circles dance.


    A smaller wooden table was flush against the slab, a dark cube protruding from its middle. Andrew went over and saw that the cube was a sheet of black cloth covering something underneath. He gently pinched a corner and lifted.


    "Naw!"


    A brightly-feathered bird battered its wings against the steel cage. Andrew dropped the cloth and lept back in surprise. His fingers drifted towards the bread in his pocket.


    "Gawd!" the bird cried once more, muffled slightly by the cloth covering its cage. "Oh Naw!"


    The door flew open, making Andrew jump again.


    ¡°Is everything prepared?¡± asked Doctor Davis as he strode into the room, the ends of his white coat trailing behind him.


    Andrew took a second to find his voice. ¡°N-not yet, Doctor.¡±


    ¡°Then get to it!¡±


    Andrew scurried around the Doctor, pulling out trays of equipment from their perspective drawers. He wheeled a trolley of potions and stones over by the Table, placing four fist-sized gems in each corner of the marble slab.


    ¡°Have you reminded yourself of the difference between Life and Vitality Water?¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t make the same mistake, Doctor.¡±


    ¡°You will not make any new ones, either.¡±


    The Doctor stretched his hands into a pair of rubber gloves, then stepped over to examine his workbench. It was aligned with all sorts of steel tempered tools, all of which Andrew had seen him use before in various ways. As the Doctor flicked a few scalpels into place, he looked excited, happy even.


    ¡°Send for Ignar.¡±


    Andrew¡¯s hand went to his left pocket. ¡°I¡¯ve actually been thinking about something, Doctor.¡±


    ¡°Do it later. Ring the bell.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s about our future experiments," Andrew insisted. "I was thinking if there might be people who would willingly become test subjects.¡±


    The Doctor wasn¡¯t listening. He went over to the cage and yanked off the cloth with a flourish. The bird slapped its wings and crowed.


    "Oh, Naw! Oh, Gawd!"


    Feathers floated to the ground. They were so red it seemed like the bird was bleeding. "Gawd! Naw!"


    ¡°Much prettier than a rabbit, isn¡¯t it?¡± Doctor Davis said as he leaned in to look at the bird. ¡°Ignar caught it. Impressive, how he did it.¡± He shot a wry smile at Andrew. ¡°I¡¯m thinking I should give your position to him. What do you think about that?¡±


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    Andrew said nothing. He went over to the opened door and rang the bell that was hanging off the wall.


    They heard Constantia¡¯s screams long before she was brought into the room. Dragged behind Ignar, she was still bound by her hands but her feet were free. She trailed grime and blood behind her as she stumbled up the stairs. The leather bit in her mouth had slipped and her cries rang through the lab.


    ¡°You monsters... You''re beasts, worst than monsters!¡±


    ¡°A strong voice,¡± said Doctor Davis. ¡°It would be interesting to see if this one can talk after.¡± He waited until Ignar hauled her to him before asking, ¡°What is your name, child?¡±


    Constantia¡¯s expression froze as she took in the laboratory. Her eyes darted from the Doctor to Andrew.


    ¡°Don¡¯t look at him,¡± Doctor Davis said. ¡°He will not help you. I¡¯ll ask again. What is your name?¡±


    She had been fighting, Andrew could tell. There were faint blue patches on her cheeks and arms, no doubt from where Ignar might''ve hit her. Those will bruise. But it won''t come to that.


    ¡°Constantia,¡± she said in a small voice. "Summers."


    ¡°Do you have family, Constantia?¡±


    Again, Constantia''s eyes darted towards Andrew. He looked away. ¡°N-no. I was¡­ I live in an orphanage.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± said Doctor Davis, though Andrew wasn''t sure who this news was good for. ¡°Put her in place, Ignar.¡±


    Grinning, the wolf-man jerked Constantia along by her collar. Tears streamed down the girl''s swollen cheeks as she stumbled on drunken feed. As she passed Andrew, she whispered in a choking voice only loud enough for him to hear, "She better be safe."


    Andrew stepped aside. Then, as Ignar took Constantia to the table, he spent the last few moments of preparation fiddling with the potion bottles.


    ¡°Up you go,¡± said the wolf-man. With a thick paw of a hand, he grasped Constantia by the neck and threw her over. She let out a pained sob, and before she could recover, her hands and feet were chained to the stone, one limb pointing to each corner. She kept on sobbing.


    Ignar bowed his head towards the Doctor. ¡°We are ready, Master.¡±


    Doctor Davis stepped up to the Table. The joy on his face was gone. His face was an emotionless mask, one carved with the look of great concentration.


    ¡°Let us begin,¡± he said, then frowned. ¡°Ignar, could you silence that churlish ruckus first?¡±


    Ignar raised a fist and cracked it across Constantia¡¯s mouth. Blood splattered across the stone. Andrew stared at the bird in the cage. It was looking back at him, its little black eyes unblinking. Andrew had the uncomfortable feeling that it knew what he was hiding. He felt for the bread in his left pocket. It was there.


    Ignar raised his fist again.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Ignar,¡± said the Doctor. ¡°You did well. Now leave.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Master,¡± Ignar said. His thin lips pulled back into a yellow grin. ¡°I will await your call.¡±


    Doctor Davis waited until the door to the laboratory was shut before saying, ¡°The bird, Andrew.¡±


    Andrew obeyed. He set the cage down between Constantia¡¯s legs. It sat snugly against her inner thighs, as if it always belonged there, as if Constantia Summers had grown up to fulfill this exact purpose.


    Doctor Davis brushed Andrew aside and held out a bottle of yellowish liquid.


    "Wind Song," he announced, then began to pour. The liquid dribbled down the black bars. The bird shrieked as drops landed on its feathers, seeping through the red.


    "Oh Gawd, Naw!"


    When the bottle was half empty, the Doctor brought it towards Constantia, drizzling the rest onto her legs, then up towards her belly and chest.


    ¡°It¡¯s cold,¡± Constantia whined. ¡°Gods, it¡¯s so cold.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll be over soon,¡± Doctor Davis promised. ¡°Are the stones in the correct places, Andrew?¡±


    Andrew didn¡¯t answer. He was staring at Constantia¡¯s body. Where the liquid seeped over, the skin had started to turn grey.


    The air turned sour. Andrew was snapped out of his daze as the alchemy circles on the slab began to glow. Brilliant red light seeped through Constantia¡¯s body, illuminating her insides like a powerful torch. She started to wriggle, then thrash against the chains holding her down. But it was useless. Fear bleached the color from her face. Her eyes bulged. She opened her mouth to scream something, but Andrew couldn¡¯t hear the words over the roaring in his own ears. He felt electricity build along his own skin, coursing along the nerves and roots of his very being as standing on the other side of the Table, Doctor Davis began to chant.


    ¡°Illud non moritur, quod polleat usque morari.¡±


    Andrew had heard the chant the Doctor used for his transmutations. But each time the words felt new, too alive to be familiar.


    ¡°Temporibus miris, Mors, potes ipsa mori!¡±


    The Doctor spoke faster. Words tumbled out of him in a stream. Andrew felt them manifest in the air, kissing his skin like cold butterflies. He closed his eyes, feeling the power behind them, the evil to their promises. His fingers hovered over the Table, picking up the vibrations coming off it. He pictured the jagged red diagrams peeling off the marble, reaching out to him, wrapping around his mind with their powerful tendrils¡­


    A foul stench blew through the room.


    Doctor Davis bellowed, ¡°Life Water!¡±


    Andrew¡¯s eyes snapped open. Constantia had gone still. Dark flames wrapped around her body, bubbling into her skin like she was a wax figure. Andrew threw himself over to the trolley, his hands fumbling for the right potion. He froze. There is was, the green vial next to the light green one, the one that would botch this experiment and kill the subject. The two vials were so similar that anyone could¡¯ve mixed them up.


    But Andrew never did. He¡¯d meant to give the Doctor the wrong one yesterday. He hadn¡¯t wanted another empty-eyed abomination stalking the halls of this dark castle.


    ¡°Quickly! Now!¡±


    Andrew¡¯s fist closed around the glass beaker. He hadn¡¯t wanted that woman to suffer, so he botched the transmutation so she would die.


    But was death really an escape?


    Flames erupted along the edge of the alchemy table. Doctor Davis howled as his sleeves burst into orange tongues of fire.


    ¡°What the devil are you waiting for?!¡± he cried, his voice breaking with fear Andrew had never known the man to possess. "Help me, gods be damned! Ignar!"


    Andrew whirled. The beaker flew through the air, crashing into the spinning inferno. With a whoosh of broken glass, the beaker¡¯s contents went up in a purple cloud, taking the fire along with it.


    The Doctor''s fearful cries turned into triumphant ones. ¡°It is work-¡±


    But before the words could even finish leaving the Doctor''s lips, Andrew heard the sound of stone cracking. He looked over to the head of the table, just in time to see the large sapphire, placed in the direction of North, shattering into dust.


    And then he was flying to the ground. His head smashed into something hard and his eyes failed him. Andrew tried to scream or to breathe, but all the sound and oxygen had left his lungs. It felt, in that instance, like the world was a balloon and they¡¯d just been caught playing with needles.

 Concealed

    Andrew¡¯s ears sang. Purple lights flickered in his eyes. He tried to get up but something was on top of him and he couldn¡¯t move. He couldn¡¯t breathe. He tried yelling, but his lungs weren¡¯t getting enough air to make sound. He opened his eyes, pried them open. He was in the lab, if the lab was transformed into Hell. Tongues of orange fire licked along the walls, chewing through the drapes and carpets. The windows and glass ceiling had shattered, their broken tips glinting in the smoke.


    Andrew was on his back, being crushed to death by the smoldering bookshelf on top of him.


    ¡°Help me,¡± he wheezed, trying to wriggle out from under the burning wood. ¡°Doctor Davis, Ignar!¡±


    Only the crackling fire answered him. Andrew couldn¡¯t see anything through all the haze and lightning. Hysteria clawed inside him. He tried to think but his mind was numb with panic.


    What had happened? He remembered faintly that one of the anchor stones had broken. But how? The transmutation shouldn¡¯t have had such a toll. And the potion Andrew threw was Life Water, not something else. He was sure of this fact because, through all the chaos, he remembered most clearly his wish for Constantia to not die.


    The bookshelf sank deeper into Andrew''s ribs. He gasped and groaned as the edges of his world became red, then black.


    Terror surged, drowning out logic.


    I¡¯m on my own, he thinks. I''m going to die alone.


    Andrew fought against the nihilistic thoughts swirling inside his head. He pushed and pulled against the bookshelf, managing to yank his right arm free. Fire was creeping. Somewhere close by, there was a crash. Andrew brought his hand to his mouth and bit hard on the pad of his index finger. Blood flowed across his tongue. Metallic, hot. He drew the bleeding finger across one side of the bookshelf. He traced a circle, then inside that, the characters needed to make a transmutation circle. He had only practiced the basic circles in secret a few times. He didn''t know if he was doing it right. Didn''t matter. He''d rather die trying. Up above, more of the ceiling had begun to collapse. Daggers of glass rained down on Andrew, cutting his face open. Andrew''s body twisted away on reflex, and he screamed in pain and dismay. The circle he drew was ruined. He knew without looking at it that his blood had spattered through it. He needed to start again. But there was no time. Thick smoke had enveloped around the bookshelf, reaching under it to him.


    Andrew¡¯s eyes watered. When he tried to breathe he could only feel acid going into his lungs. His chest spasmed and his hands made claws.


    Just when he could struggle no longer, Ignar was standing over him. The wolfman appeared so suddenly that Andrew almost convinced himself it was an illusion. But the wolfman¡¯s eyes glowed hot with life and his grin was too wide to be made up. With a heave of his massive arms, the wolfman lifted the bookshelf off Andrew and sent it flying. Then, as he gathered Andrew into his furry arms, he whispered,


    ¡°If you just used the wrong potion again, this would not have happened."


    Andrew¡¯s breath stopped even as his lungs kept demanding air. What did he just hear Ignar say? He wanted to ask - no, demand - that the wolfman clarify, but the fire was reaching the exit. Andrew''s whole body was numb. He knew that Ignar had picked him up, was carrying him out of the wrecked room at speeds no human could ever hope to match, but he couldn¡¯t feel anything other than pain and dizziness. And as they raced through the fire and Andrew''s eyes closed, even those feelings were gone.


    ¡°This is your fault.¡±


    That was the first thing Doctor Davis said when Andrew visited the infirmary that evening. They were both taken there in the beginning, though Andrew was well enough to leave already.


    ¡°I used the right potion this time,¡± Andrew said. ¡°It should have worked.¡±


    ¡°You messed something else up then,¡± Doctor Davis said. His face was wrapped almost entirely in thick bandages, so Andrew couldn¡¯t even tell what expression the Doctor was wearing. ¡°I do not remember exactly what happened, so you must tell me. What did you mess up?¡±


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    Andrew tried not to let his annoyance show. The smell in the room was pungent, a mixture of alcohol and puss. ¡°I didn''t,¡± he started to say, but the Doctor lashed out suddenly. A bandaged arm swung out and slammed into Andrew¡¯s chest. Andrew reeled back, shocked, then horrified as he got a good look at what exactly had hit him.


    Where the arm ended, a rounded stump marked the place where the Doctor¡¯s hand was.


    ¡°This,¡± Doctor Davis snarled, ¡°is your work, Andrew.¡± He lifted his other arm. It too, was bound in the same way. "Your work."


    Andrew felt his legs weaken. ¡°Oh, by the gods.¡±


    ¡°If they really exist then we would not need science,¡± Doctor Davis spat as he struggled to sit up on the bed. ¡°Now tell me what happened, Andrew. How did it come to this?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Andrew stepped back from the bed, shaking his head. ¡°I do not remember. I-I¡¯m sorry, Doctor!¡± He turned and, with the Doctor yelling for him to stop, fled the room.


    The fire had been put out, but the laboratory was already ruined. When Andrew pushed his way back into the destroyed room, he found his eyes watering from the smoke and ash. The walls were peeled, and the animal rugs were smoldering smudges across the floor. The bookshelf, the chairs and surgery tables, none of it remained.


    Yet, despite it all, the marble slab remained. It sat in the center of the room, its milky white surface a stark contrast with the blackened room.


    Next to it, Ignar was scraping up pailfuls of rubbery residue. He spoke without looking up, ¡°Sinners do not often come back to the scene of their misdeed.¡±


    Andrew stepped over a pile of debris so burnt it was impossible to tell what they were. "Wise words to live by," he said to the wolfman. "But coming from you, it sounds hypocritical."


    Ignar snorted through his long nostrils. ¡°Is the Young Master suggesting his humble servant was a part of this?¡± He gestured around with a heavy hand. "I cannot even light a cigarette with these claws of mine."


    Evening wind blew through the empty window frames, brushing dying embers into Andrew¡¯s face. As he stepped around the marble slab, he saw that it was empty.


    ¡°What happened to Constantia?¡± he asked Ignar.


    ¡°You remember her name,¡± the wolfman remarked, turning his head to look up at Andrew.


    ¡°I remember all their names," Andrew said.


    ¡°But this one was different,¡± Ignar said. "She looked at you many times. More than the ones before her."


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about," Andrew said. He took a step away, heard stone crunching under his shoes. He stopped and lifted one foot. It was the northern sapphire, meant to safeguard the alchemy circle from taking what it shouldn¡¯t. ¡°They all felt that way,¡± he said quietly, shaking the blue flakes to the floor. ¡°I betrayed their trust. They hate me for it. That¡¯s how this whole thing works.¡±


    Ignar stood to his full height. Now, it was Andrew who was looking up. The wolfman''s stare was pitless, his yellow eyes shielded in the way only a predator''s could be. He grinned. "That is right," he said. "You did. I could hear the betrayal in her screams."


    Andrew felt sweat drag down the back of his neck. "So, is she..."


    ¡°Dead? No.¡±


    Andrew¡¯s throat felt tight. ¡°Is she... alive?¡±


    "Not quite."


    "Say it clearly, Ignar!" Andrew knew that the wolf was toying with him. But he was in no mood for games. The memory of the flesh ball surfaced in his mind, bobbing in the water against the side of his sailboat. "Say it clearly or I will tell the Doctor I suspect you had something to do with what happened here!"


    "The Young Master would not do that," Ignar said, showing no hints of being intimidated. Andrew couldn''t remember if the wolfman ever showed any other emotion on his grinning face. "Does Young Master want to know why?"


    The room started to spin. Andrew shook his head. He reminded himself to breathe.


    Still grinning, Ignar reached under the Table and dragged out a piece of wood. He tossed it by Andrew''s feet.


    Andrew immediately recognized it as a piece taken from the bookshelf that was crushing him. But it wasn''t just any ordinary piece. It was from the side that was directly on top of him.


    The side that he drew on with his blood.


    Andrew froze, realization and memory smashing into him.


    ¡°I... I was just...¡±


    "Passing by," Ignar finished, "checking on your servant''s progress."


    Andrew slowly turned his gaze up at Ignar. He heard his own voice speaking, but didn''t know what he was saying.


    But Ignar did. He nodded, and picked up the piece of wood. Then, shooting Andrew a sly wink, he went over to the garbage pile in the corner of the room and stuffed the plank deep into it.


    Andrew stood there dumbly, and it was only when he saw the sun setting on the horizon that he noticed what time it was, and why he was going through this part of the castle in the first place.


    ¡°Is Bartholomeu still in the kitchen?¡± he asked. "I lost my loaf of bread in the accident."


    Ignar turned from the pile of garbage. ¡°The Young Master should not push his luck,¡± he said, eyes twinkling like cut glass. "Snakes have a taste for secrets. Especially ones stained with blood."


    Andrew didn''t answer. He left the room without another word, leaving the wolf homunculus to clean up the mess that neither of them had anything to do with.


    He thought he heard the wolf humming.

 Kept

    The kitchen¡¯s dull iron door stood ajar when Andrew approached. Through the gap, he could hear Bartholomeu¡¯s hissing coming from instead. Andrew paused by the door to listen. The hissing was sharp, displeased. He hadn¡¯t heard the lizard homunculus in such a foul mood before. Usually, whatever happened in their castle, the cook is the least affected of them all. But now, it didn''t seem that was the case.


    Andrew didn''t have time to speculate about the cause. The sun was already going down. So he nudged open the door and peaked in.


    Bartholomeu was hunched over the stove. He whipped around at the sound of the door, ladle still in hand. ¡°Who iss that?¡±


    Andrew opened the door wider. ¡°Me,¡± he said. ¡°Just me.¡±


    Anger ran away from Bartholomeu¡¯s face. ¡°Ah,¡± he said with a smile that¡¯s more of a grimace. ¡°Jussst our little massster.¡± Moving deliberately, as if to not frighten Andrew, Bartholomeu slunk off the chair he was sitting on. He still had the ladle in hand, which dripped porridge across the floor as the lizard man came close. ¡°What does the little massster want with his humble cook?¡±


    Andrew swallowed the discomfort crawling down his back. The lizard man was stooped low, his back arched like a cat¡¯s. But there was power in the homunculus''s thin limbs, strength to his sharp jawline. And hidden beneath those green scales, rows of rippling muscles. Andrew had seen them work before. He knew the lizard man was more than capable to tear apart a dead pig with nothing but his claws.


    He turned to the table. ¡°I¡¯m looking for food,¡± he said, trying not to look at Bartholomeu. ¡°Nothing hefty. A loaf of bread or a bit of cheese will do. And a bottle of fresh water, too.¡±


    Bartholomeu stayed still. Only his tongue gave away the life inside him. It flicked out between the lizard man¡¯s lips before disappearing just as quickly. Finally, he said, ¡°If I may be so bold to ssspeak, why does the little master wish to procure these goods?¡±


    ¡°To make an offering,¡± Andrew replied with the lie he¡¯d already come up with. ¡°No doubt you¡¯re aware of the series of failures the Doctor had been experiencing with his work?¡±


    ¡°And you wish to procure from the godsss favor for his next one?¡±


    ¡°Not from the gods,¡± Andrew said. ¡°From the girl who died.¡±


    That clearly wasn¡¯t the response Bartholomeu anticipated. The lizard man¡¯s tongue darted out and in again. Out and in.


    ¡°The dead do not eat.¡±


    ¡°But their spirits might want to pretend.¡± Andrew¡¯s gaze was on the ladle in Bartholomeu''s claws. It went round and round between those curved talons. He wondered if the cook ever had trouble holding knives.


    ¡°Anyway, I think the reason we¡¯ve been failing is that the spirits of our past failures are corrupting the transmutations somehow.¡± Andrew shrugged, and moved his head up so he was now looking at Bartholomeu''s scaly shoulder. ¡°It¡¯s worth a try, don''t you think so?¡±


    He needed to make eye contact to sell the lie, he knew, but the image of those reptilian orbs was enough to make his legs waver.


    A high-pitched hissing came through the kitchen. Andrew nearly lost his wits then, before realizing with relief that the sound wasn¡¯t coming from Bartholomeu but the pot he was watching. Bartholomeu stooped away to tend to the hissing pot. Andrew watched, sweat tickling down his armpits as the lizard man lifted the lid off the pot and started stirring.


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    Andrew finally felt like he could breathe. He relaxed and let his eyes wander over the tables and counters. He soon spotted the breadbasket sitting against the far wall, a thin cloth the only thing hiding its bulbous contents.


    He didn¡¯t want to take and run, but Andrew geared himself up for it. He''d do it if needed. He had to get food and water today. Any longer and he''d be taking a great risk.


    I could get away with taking just one, he thinks as he tries to discern where the loaves of bread were underneath the cloth. But what about water?


    Andrew inched towards the sink. He could just get an empty bottle and fill it later somehow. Yes, that seemed like a plan. He inched closer.


    The delicious smell hit him. His mind blanked. He stopped whatever he was doing and just stood there, breathing in the scent of Bartholomeu''s mushroom and onion stew.


    ¡°I have a quessstion.¡±


    Andrew swallowed the water inside his own mouth and said, ¡°Yes?¡±


    From the stove, Bartholomeu swiveled around. The lizard man''s eyes churned like the stew he was cooking.


    ¡°Does the little massster believe we have soulsss?¡±


    "We?" Andrew feigned innocence. ¡°Who are you talking about?¡± He didn¡¯t want to try and answer this question. Not now. Not with a homunculus.


    Bartholomeu grimaced-smiled. ¡°Do you think homunculusss have soulsss?" he asked. "Do you think I might have one?¡±


    ¡°All living beings have souls,¡± Andrew said, deciding on a neutral statement. ¡°That was what the Doctor told me.¡±


    Bartholomeu didn''t acknowledge what Andrew said. He kept staring, as if waiting for a better answer.


    Andrew swallowed. "Y-you know what? I think I''m not hungry after all." He turned for the door. The table with the breadbasket was to his right. If he just walked in a straight line he''d pass it. And when he does...


    "Wait."


    Andrew stood up straight. His heart leaped into his mouth.


    He forced himself to turn around.


    Bartholomeu was standing over him, a steaming bowl of soup held out in one claw. ¡°The Doctor is right,¡± he said, the tip of his forked tongue flicking out at Andrew. ¡°But I do not think that isss what you think.¡±


    Andrew stared at the bowl, lost for words. He reached out and closed his hands around the bowl. It was warm, its contents smelling delectable. Then, finding his voice finally, he looked up at Bartholomeu and said, ¡°I¡¯m going to need a bottle of water too, please.¡±


    The sky was dark when Andrew left the castle. Using the moonlight as guidance, he trekked south, down the forest paths towards the beach. It was the same path he used to get off the island so he knew it well, but he walked slowly so the soup didn''t spill. He couldn''t waste a single drop, because this was all he had.


    He felt the coastal breeze long before the woods gave way to sand. Cool fingers played at his hair and graced along his bare arms and legs. He breathed in and out, tasting the sea salt as it mingled with the aroma of the soup.


    His stomach growled.


    The ocean was a ribbon of twinkling stars. It ran along the edge of the beach, bringing soothing noises into Andrew¡¯s ears as he walked along it. His shoes made squeaking noises and for a long while, that was the only sound he could hear. Andrew counted them silently. When he reached fifty, he stopped and turned suddenly, fast enough to jostle the soup in his hands.


    No one was behind him. And no footsteps trailed after his.


    Andrew transferred the bowl to one hand. With the other, he set down the lantern that had been hanging in the nook of his elbow. Using his freed hand, he lit the lantern.


    Orange light spilled across the sand. Andrew stood, holding both soup and lantern, and carried on until he reached the end of the beach. Here, sand was devoured by black stone that didn¡¯t seem to take the light. Andrew tread even more carefully, balancing on the ground as it steadily became more treacherous. Small rocks gave way to larger ones, which grew spikes and edges. Then, just when Andrew¡¯s legs could not keep him erect without the use of extra support, the stones leveled into the entrance of a cave.


    He stood at the cavern mouth. It was blocked by a row of wooden planks, and these he pried loose and set aside, making as little noise as possible. He then lifted his lantern up to the cave and peered inward.


    Light played shadows along the wet walls, but deeper inside the cave there was only darkness. Andrew glanced behind him, waiting long enough to hear the wind howl, then stepped out from the cold and into the freezing depths of the cave.


    ¡°Sorry I was so late,¡± he said, his voice too loud in the silence. ¡°I brought you food, Victoria.¡±

 Shaking

    Ever since he knew how to read, Andrew imagined himself living the tales of great adventurers.


    First, there was Danton the Mage, who dominated Andrew¡¯s youth with daring escapes and treasures of distant lands. Later, as Andrew¡¯s vocabulary grew along with his height, he delved into more scholarly texts. By the time he was 15, he had read every issue of the Anatomy of Survival, penned by the brilliant Aragon Dragonia.


    Renowned for both his adventurers and recollections on how to get through near impossible situations, Aragon Dragonia''s legends dominated Andrew''s life and imagination. Even to this day.


    As he sits on his raft with his back to the wind, Andrew recalls fondly of long nights in the castle, dozing in the dusty library with nothing but one of Aragon¡¯s texts for company. He remembers in particular vividness the Labyrinth of Red Sand, a tale about how Aragon wandered lost in the harshness of the western desert for thirty days, before coming up with an ingenious way of escaping that involved a wristband made of scorpion tails, and no small amount of digging.


    Andrew has questioned the legitimacy of Aragon''s books before, but it doesn''t seem useful to do that now. After all, he''s counting on his memory of these stories to get through his own Labyrinth. One made of water instead of sand.


    Andrew grips the hood of his jacket in both hands. As he rips through the crusty fabric, he finds himself wishing that Aragon can be here with him.


    I could really use that clever mind of his, regardless of how honest he really is.


    With a sharp tug, he pulls the hood clean off his coat, and sets it down in the middle of the raft next to both his boots. He makes sure the hood is open and facing the grey clouds like a bowl, before sitting back and waiting.


    Not to mention it''d be nice just to have someone to talk to.


    The last rainfall happened two days ago. It almost drowned Andrew at that time, so it hadn¡¯t occurred to him then to collect some. Now, as thirst drives away all thoughts of moving, he curses his lack of foresight.


    He doesn¡¯t like lying down on the wooden floor of the raft, but he has no other choice. His face and chest are both raw from the sun and splinters in the wood have made him into a human hedgehog. Turning on his sides doesn''t work though, so he tries lying on his stomach, only to give up almost immediately. It isn''t even because of how the splinters dig into his ribs and he has nowhere to set his chin. Being in that position forces Andrew to be closer to the water surface, staring out at the vastness beyond and hitting home how hopelessly lost he is.


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    Andrew gets up. He¡¯s tried to navigate by the stars at night, but without oars or sail, even if he knows where he is the knowledge is useless.


    The edges of his vision start to swim. Andrew blames poor sleep and thirst. He catches sight of something moving in the water to his right, and it takes him a moment to discern it from the waving mirages.


    Something grey and thin has come out of the water. Sharp like a blade, Andrew thinks at first that a piece of the raft may have gotten loose and drifted off, but it''s moving all wrong. Not carried on the waves, but cutting through it.


    Andrew opens his mouth, feeling his lips crack. ¡°Hey!¡±


    His voice comes out rusty. The blade keeps coming, parting the waves.


    ¡°Hey!¡± Andrew yells again, as loud as he can. ¡°What is that!¡±


    Three yards from the raft, the blade dips low. It sinks into the water, disappears.


    Andrew stares after it. The water is still again. Holding his breath, Andrew counts to three.


    One. Two. Nothing.


    Andrew lets out his breath. At the same time, the ground explodes from beneath him. Andrew is tossed into the air. His stomach rises to his throat. As he falls back down, his chin cracks against the raft. Electricity shocks through his jaw, locking his teeth together. The waves lurch overboard as the raft tilts. Andrew feels his body rolling towards the ocean but is too dazed to stop. His eyes fix on the waves, where an oval shape has just materialized from the waves.


    Andrew''s eyes bulge as his mind understands what he is seeing. The shape sharpens into a creature''s head. Pointy and grey, with leathery skin stretched over black eyes and a gaping jaw, it''s something Andrew has never seen before. But he knows immediately what it is.


    Fear tears out of his lungs as primal instinct takes hold. Andrew lashes out, finding a section of rope between two logs. He jams his fingers under it and pulls to a stop. The raft crashes back onto the ocean surface, flinging Andrew back from the monster''s maw.


    Teeth snap as the shark''s bite misses. But it locks onto the edge of the raft instead, pointed snout inches from Andrew¡¯s scrambling feet.


    Andrew kicks out, feeling rough, cold flesh. His foot comes away stinging.


    The creature starts to swing its head from side to side. Andrew catches sight of its eyes. Twin jet black orbs, so dark they do not reflect the sunlight, bore at him with a hatred that seems almost human.


    The monster gives a snap of its massive body. Splinters fly as a chunk of the raft tears away. Andrew skips across the ocean surface, clinging for dear life to not fall off. Please, gods, he prays and shuts his eyes, let it be quick.


    But the cold embrace of the ocean does not come. The raft¡¯s shaking slows, stops. Andrew can¡¯t hear the creature''s noises anymore. Opening his eyes, he looks around at the quiet sea.


    The monster is gone.


    Andrew¡¯s legs are shaking too badly for him to stand. So he sits, then collapses. His chin is bleeding, so is his forehead. He doesn¡¯t have the strength left to treat these minor wounds. Adrenaline has seeped out of him all at once, leaving him quivering and hollow.


    The shark is gone. But just like before, another chunk of the raft has been taken away. Andrew forces his arms to move, to crawl. He brings himself over to the edge of the water.


    This hole is a lot bigger than the one before, the one on the opposite end of the raft. But like the first one, the monster has left behind a souvenir.


    With buzzing fingers, Andrew reaches out among the splinters and pries out the pearly tooth lodged in the wood. Then, holding it close, he falls back to the safer portion of his shrinking raft. And just before unconsciousness takes him, Andrew lets himself wish once more that someone can be here with him.

 Breathing

    Three days after the shark attack, it rains.


    As he lies flat on his raft, Andrew thinks at first that the wetness on his cheeks is from his tears. But there isn''t enough moisture left inside him to even wet his tongue. The only other explanation his groggy mind can come up then is that the gods, perhaps finally taking pity on him, are shedding tears on his behalf.


    It''s then that he hears the growl of thunder, and his eyes open just in time to see rain.


    He''s stupid.


    Andrew scrambles up, craning his head as high as it will go. His body vibrates as a million needles pierces into his flesh, puncturing him with invigorating iciness. Andrew gasps as his sunbaked skin crackles, a mixture of pain and euphoria. He doesn¡¯t shy away from it. Instead, he lifts his arms up high as if to catch the bounteous droplets as they fall. After drinking his fill, he remembers his containers. He clambers over to the raft¡¯s center. He places both his boots upright. Then, grabbing the hood he has severed from his coat, he lifts it up over his head with both hands like an upside-down cap.


    Now he even looks stupid. But he doesn''t have anything else.


    To Andrew''s growing dread, the rain begins to weaken. Through the fabric of the hood, he can feel the drumbeats slowing down, stopping altogether a few minutes later. Fiercely disappointed, he brings the hood back down to check how much rain he has caught.


    It''s barely even wet.


    Andrew gives the fabric a few licks before tossing it down. He goes to check on his shoes, only to discover something even worse.


    Genuine leather absorbs water, Andrew knows that. He also knows that the shoes he wears are synthetic leather, which doesn¡¯t. So it makes sense that, as long as he removes the cotton soles, his footwear can be repurposed into water-holders instead of water-absorbers.


    As Andrew lifts one of the shoes up to his mouth, a single droplet falls onto his waiting tongue. He gives the shoe a shake. Nothing. He almost screams.


    Andrew throws the shoes down in disgust, then immediately races after them as they bounce towards the sea. Sitting down, he turns the shoes around in his hands and examines them carefully. Although he is sure he''s right about the synthetic part, it seems he hasn''t taken into consideration the shoe¡¯s stitching.


    Cheap shoes don¡¯t have very tight seams, it turns out. And water, as it turns out, has a tricky habit of escaping.


    Andrew places the shoes back down. He cannot believe his lack of foresight. How can he not have taken seams into consideration? How can he have allowed the gods¡¯ gift to go to waste like this?


    And as a result, he will suffer for it.


    Instead of feeling sorry for himself, Andrew gets angry. He glares at his discarded shoes, at the ocean, at the sky that is once again brightening like it never rained. Heat once again encompasses the world, and when Andrew draws his hands across his face, he can already feel grains of salt clinging to his skin.


    Sea salt.


    Poison.


    Andrew gazes out at the vast oceans that surround him. An endless supply, all lost to him because of such simple particles of...


    Andrew lifts his hands up to the sky and watches as sunlight causes the tiny crystals to glisten. And as he stares at them, an idea starts to form inside his head.


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    What if he can remove the salt from the water? After all, the main reason why ocean water is deadly to him is that the human kidney cannot get rid of the salt within it. But supposed he can somehow extract that salt before it enters his body? Will that not work?


    Andrew looks around his raft. He needs components. But in his haste to escape the island, he¡¯d packed nothing and left with only what he had on his back.


    It''ll have to be enough.


    Andrew goes over to the pile of his clothing he''d taken off previously. Picking through it, he takes stock of what he has. A cotton shirt, moleskin trousers, and a pair of socks and shoes are the materials he has to use. Of course, he has his underwear, but he doesn¡¯t want to be fully nude. The reason is simple, though foolish. While he wants to think it''s because he isn¡¯t some kind of savage, the truth is that Andrew still finds himself wondering if Victoria Summers is watching him from somewhere. Maybe from the water, maybe from behind a cloud in the sky. He knows it''s a stupid fear, but he fears nonetheless.


    By the time Andrew gets to work, the sun has reemerged and beats down with its full, relentless energy. Andrew twists his shirt into a length of rope, soaks it wet and ties it around his head. It helps to cool him down. Then, placing his trousers down next to his shoes and socks, Andrew thinks through his next steps carefully. The theory is straightforward enough. He just has to transmute the fake leather shoes into a proper bowl. He knows by heart the circle and characters he must use, and he will offer the cotton in the moleskin trousers as fuel for the reaction.


    The practice is another story, though. It always is.


    Andrew crouches down and gets ready. Reaching over the edge of the raft, he dips a finger in the water and draws a circle on the wood. Inside the circle, he writes the character he knows that means change, and places the trousers, socks, and shoes beside the character. But then he changes his mind and takes out the socks.


    I may need them to keep warm.


    Andrew has to move quickly. The water is already evaporating. Any change in the circle¡¯s structure or the words inside it can be disastrous. He places both hands down onto the wood and, after a quick prayer to the gods above, begins the process of playing god.


    The sky rumbles with the sound of rippling waves. The circle begins to glow. Streaks of lightning erupt from the characters inside it, engulfing the materials in blooming roses of fire. Andrew¡¯s hands grow hot, scalding. He keeps them pressed against the raft, feeling splinters dig into his fingers. Light encompasses sight so he closes his eyes. In his mind, vision is clear. Andrew sees the shoes in front of him lose shape, becoming amorphic. He wills into being the change he wishes to see.


    It''s working. Andrew feels it working. He opens his eyes a sliver, watching as the lightning disintegrates his trousers into fine dust. Next to it, something takes shape in the light. From within the fiery reaction, a round leather bowl is spit out onto the raft''s deck. Andrew is overjoyed. He shifts focus onto the other one that''s still lost within the amorphous chunk. But he notices with alarm that the trousers have all been consumed. And then a gust of wind blows past, carrying the rest of their ashes to the sea.


    Realization hits a split second too late. Pain pierces into Andrew¡¯s fingers as lightning crawls up his wrists. He yanks them away from the circle. Sparks fly as the transmutation is broken, blinding him as a vicious wind slashes across the ocean''s surface. Andrew staggers back, clutching his burning hand to his chest as he tries to keep himself from tripping off the shaking raft.


    He crashes onto the raft''s solid surface, rolling so his back is to the sparks.


    Eventually, the wind dies down and it''s quiet again.


    Andrew is lucky. That''s the first thought that runs into his head the moment his senses return. A few seconds later, his sight comes back too. And though he is still in pain, Andrew is able to see that both shoes are gone. In their place are round, leather bowls. One is double the size of the other, likely due to the unstable reaction at the end, but they both look seamless and Andrew isn¡¯t dead or missing a limb, which is more of a success than he honestly expected.


    Andrew turns to the sky and closes his eyes, murmuring,


    ¡°All this, for a drop of water.¡±


    Going to the water Andrew checks his hands. The left one is missing a chunk of skin, exposing the oozing flesh underneath. One nail on his right ring finger is gone too. Andrew plunges his hands into the ocean, almost losing himself from the sharp agony. But he knows he is lucky. Beyond lucky. The lightning could have taken more. It could have ruined him as it did to Doctor Davis and everyone who has ever used the devil''s tools.


    Andrew lifts his hands from the sea. Blood mixes with the saltwater, dripping onto the wood like the tears of the goddess, promising Andrew with each drop that soon, the lightning will ruin him.


    It will.

 Hidden

    Andrew ducked as soup sloshed over his head. He heard the bowl smash apart against the cavern walls, but chose not to turn around to look.


    Doesn¡¯t matter, he thought. I¡¯ll just make another one. From her bones.


    ¡°You¡¯re a madman!¡±


    Andrew lifted his lantern back up. Light sprawled across the small enclosure, highlighting the girl chained to the wall. Dishealved and filthy, Victoria looked like a creature of the woods. Her hair was in clumps and her clothes were soiled from 3 days worth of grime and sweat. When Andrew approached her again, she even hissed like an animal.


    "Release me this instant, you horrible boy!"


    Andrew felt guilty. The inside of his stomach churned like a fist was pushing his intestines through his abdomen. He stopped just out of Victoria''s reach.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± was what he had planned on saying, but what came out inside was, ¡°That was the only food I brought. And you just wasted it.¡±


    Victoria snarled. ¡°You can choke on your food, madman.¡±


    Despite himself, Andrew snapped back, "And how am I to do that when it''s all over the walls?"


    Instead of answering him, Victoria lurched for his throat. But an inch away, the chain around her neck yanked her to a stop and she was forced to retreat.


    Andrew stood his ground, watching as Victoria gagged. Outside, the ocean winds whistled. He thought he heard a wolf howl, but reminded himself that Ignar never went out to the beach. There was no one else here other than him and Victoria.


    Andrew¡¯s eyes fell from the girl¡¯s face to her feet. They were small, with short round nails that were stained from the sand. As he stared, Andrew saw them shuffle back, like they were shy. But when he looked up, the color of Victoria''s glare was red.


    It reminded Andrew of the hate he¡¯d seen in Constantia''s eyes just before the Table took her. His gut wrenched again. Not knowing what he wanted to do, he reached out to Victoria but stopped when she cringed away.


    ¡°Get away from me, you mad ape! Don''t touch me!"


    ¡°I¡¯m not a mad ape,¡± Andrew said but his voice lacked any assertion even to his ears. He didn¡¯t know what to do. He felt trapped. He¡¯d saved Victoria from drowning, but thinking back he was simply acting on instinct. He knew he didn¡¯t want her to die, but now? He hadn''t the slightest clue why he thought that, or what he should do now.


    Did I know that the transmutation with her sister would fail? Was I simply saving her from that fate?


    The thought of Victoria on that Table disgusted Andrew, much to his relief. No, he didn''t want that.


    Then, what?


    The jingling of chains snapped Andrew out of his daze. Victoria had her arms wrapped around her body. She was shivering. It made the links around her neck dance.


    ¡°Why are you looking at me like that?¡± she demanded in a voice too brittle to hold any command.


    ¡°Like what?¡± Andrew asked, and was surprised to see Victoria faltering.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know!¡± Victoria leaned against the wall and turned away. ¡°It''s impossible to know what you¡¯re really thinking and it¡¯s just horrible.¡±


    Andrew let out a long breath. He placed the lantern on the ground and turned towards the cavern¡¯s entrance. He walked to the scene of the soup accident. The bowl was lying sideways among a patch of sand, so it didn¡¯t break. What was more surprising was that not all the soup had been lost. Picking up the bowl, Andrew noticed that a sip was still left clinging to the bottom. He looked around and found a few of the mushroom and carrot chunks scattered nearby. Carefully, he picked a few of the biggest pieces up and deposited them into what was left of the soup. Then he went back to Victoria.


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    ¡°You need to eat,¡± he told her. But this time, he didn¡¯t hand her the bowl and instead put it down a few feet outside her reach.


    Victoria¡¯s eyes twitched between the soup and Andrew. They narrowed.


    ¡°You''re torturing me.¡±


    "I''m teaching you a lesson," Andrew said. "You¡¯ll need to work for your food. That is the law of equivalency which governs the universe."


    "That''s a load of mouse droppings."


    "That is the absolute truth."


    Victoria crouched down and reached. Her fingers barely brushed the side of the bowl. She snarled. ¡°I¡¯m working for a drop of nothing. There¡¯s sand in it too.¡±


    Andrew shrugged. "It''s not that far away. You will only receive that which you give."


    "You are a monster," Victoria said. She changed tactics, this time leaning back and stretching out a leg. She had to cling onto the chain behind her for balance, but it didn''t take her long until her toes were curling around the lip of the bowl. As she retracted her leg, bowl in tow, a huge smile lit up across her face.


    Andrew was watching everything with the keen eye of a scientist. That was what he was telling himself anyway, so when his heart skipped at seeing Victoria''s smile, he told himself it was the pride of a man witnessing his hypothesis being proven, and nothing else.


    "There you go," he said. "Doesn''t it feel better when you''ve put in effort -" He cried out as soup crashed into his face. "You manic!"


    ¡°I hate you!¡± Victoria screeched, flinging sand and rocks and whatever else she''d managed to grab hold of. ¡°I hope you burn in hell! Die! Just die!¡±


    That did it. With one hand, Andrew swiped cold mushroom from his eyes while with the other, he dug into his pocket.


    ¡°I won¡¯t burn because I have this!¡±


    Shouting, he pulled out the bottle of water he''d brought, and shattered it against the cavern wall. The sound of broken glass echoed through the cave.


    Victoria fell silent.


    Somewhere behind him, Andrew heard the sound of thunder rolling in the distance. Or it could''ve just been his heart. He couldn''t really tell. He pointed the broken bottleneck at Victoria. Orange firelight sprinkled across its jagged edges. Through it, Andrew could see a hundred tinier versions of the girl chained to the wall, their eyes burning with the same hate and fear.


    It would be so easy. A couple steps forward, a sharp jab and all of Andrew''s problems would be solved.


    He tossed the bottleneck aside. Then, before he could fully comprehend what he¡¯d done, Andrew picked up the lantern and strode out of the cave.


    He came back early the next day, before the sun had appeared on the horizon. Andrew couldn¡¯t sleep at all last night, and it wasn''t just because Doctor Davis kept screaming in the infirmary. He couldn¡¯t sleep because he couldn¡¯t stop thinking if he¡¯d just killed Victoria with his outburst.


    I meant to feed her, but ended up destroying her water and tormenting her.


    The sky was brightening but not enough to see without a lantern. As Andrew climbed the last few steps up to the hidden cave, he saw in the dim light that the entrance wasn''t blocked. It was then he realized that in his hot-headed furry last night, he hadn¡¯t put back the wooden board he used to act as a door.


    Which meant someone could have found Victoria in the night, or worse, she might''ve frozen to death.


    Andrew hurried in.


    The cave smelled like feces and mildew. Andrew hadn''t noticed it yesterday, or he was just trying his best not to. Now, however, it was impossible to ignore. He needed to clean this place up, but he reminded himself that he had more pressing matters at hand. Lifting his lantern higher, he cast its glow across the sandy floors, from one side of the cavern to the other.


    He almost missed her, if she hadn''t moved. Tucked away in the corner, Victoria was half-crouched, half-clinging to the wall. Her hair ran loose down her back and her fingers were bloody. There were lines on the stone where she''d been clawing.


    "Oh, gods." Andrew threw aside his lantern and rushed over. He grabbed Victoria''s hands and pulled her away from the wall. She didn''t fight him. She wasn''t doing much of anything. Her eyes were closed and her mouth was slightly open. Andrew couldn''t tell if she was breathing. Heart racing, he lunged over to a nearby rock and dug out the key hidden beneath it. He came back over, jammed it into Victoria''s collar and twisted it until the lock clicked.


    The collar snapped open, falling to the floor with a dull thud.


    Andrew almost fell back as Victoria slumped into him. He hauled her towards the entrance of the cave, where there was light. He laid her down, careful not to drop her. Victoria gave a little moan. Her eyes fluttered open. She looked up, then to her side where Andrew was. He froze, expecting another attack, but Victoria¡¯s gaze passed over him like she couldn¡¯t see him. Then her head rolled and she was out properly.


    Or she was dead.


    Andrew reached over and shakily slipped a finger under Victoria''s nose. Sunlight was beginning to seep into the cave now, and her hair took on the color of fire.


    She was breathing. Yes. Her chest was moving too.


    Andrew sat back. He exhaled one long breath, feeling like he just lived three lifetimes in the span of three minutes. He lay down next to Victoria and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of daylight as it found its way through the opened entrance.


    After a moment of silence, he heard the sound of Victoria''s breathing growing stronger, and then her voice, crackly but whole, saying,


    ¡°Did you really... hide the godsdamned key right next to me?¡±

 Covered

    Andrew sat with his back against the cavern wall. It was cold and wet, the sun not having risen long enough to heat the land yet.


    An empty bottle entered into his vision. Next to him, Victoria had finished guzzling the water he brought and held it out to him by the neck, like a bat.


    He asked, "Was that enough?" before taking it from her.


    "I don''t see why you would care either way," she answered, then proceeded to tear into the loaf of bread Andrew snuck out from the kitchen earlier. He almost couldn''t believe he''d done it, steal food from the castle, and tried not to smile as he sat back and listened to the sound of Victoria''s vicious eating.


    "What is so amusing to you?"


    Andrew turned his face to the warming sky. "Nothing."


    Victoria snarled, but her cheeks were too full of bread to make her words sound menacing. "I know what you''re thinking," she said. "Oh, how funny it is to see a lady fall to such depths, munching on dried bread like some starving pig."


    Andrew shook his head. "No, I was just thinking how quiet it usually is when we eat in the castle." He looked at her then, studying the light as it played on the blue of her eyes, heightening the resentment locked deep within them, and he felt sad. What he wouldn''t give to be seen as a normal person, someone who has nothing to do with Doctor Davis and his demonic science.


    He turned his attention to the outside. "I was also thinking how we could have the freshest kills placed on our table, and yet the meat will never taste as delicious as you make that loaf of bread seem."


    Victoria scoffed. "I''d like some more of that delicious bread, please."


    Andrew said, "That was all I could find, sorry."


    Victoria wiped her hands on her filthy clothing, and stood. She stretched, yawned, and strolled in the other direction towards the back of the cave.


    Andrew kept staring at the ocean. The sun had risen fully, casting the breach in gold. Crystalline waves lapped at its edges, stretching out in every direction to meet the sky. Andrew breathed in deep, filling his lungs with the salty air, and then he turned around.


    Victoria was standing behind him, holding a rock above her head that was the size of a watermelon.


    "That is a big rock," was all that came to Andrew''s mind then.


    Victoria stood frozen on the spot, her eyes wide as they met Andrew''s. She had one foot raised, hovering like she wasn''t sure to walk forwards or take a step back. She opened her mouth to say something, but lost her balance and stumbled. The rock slipped from her grasp, tumbling down the front of her body as it came to a crashing halt on top of her right foot.


    "Argh!" Victoria let out a scream as she fell back. "Blasted rat''s arses!"


    Andrew got up and went to her, struggling to decide whether to laugh or be worried. "Let me see."


    "Get lost!" Victoria turned away, rolled, more like. "I''m fine. I don''t need your help." She tried to get up, but howled in agony as soon as her foot moved an inch.


    Andrew crouched next to her and gently grasped her ankle. It was thin enough so his fingers could close all the way around. "You shouldn''t try to move it," he said, making another grab for Victoria''s foot. "It might be broken."


    This time, Victoria didn''t fight him. "Fine," she said. "You can look if you promise not to do anything."


    "Of course," Andrew said.


    Victoria stared at him for a beat, then seemingly having decided that he could be trusted for this at least, sat up and propped her leg against a rock while Andrew examined her.


    "Is it bad?" she asked, biting her lip as she looked away.


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    "Considering the rock was bigger than your head, I''d say you got off easy." Andrew ran a thumb over the bloody skin to feel for bumps, which made Victoria yelp.


    "What do you think you''re doing?" she asked, pulling her foot back again. "I only gave you permission to look."


    Andrew stood up, not bothering with any explanation. "In any case, I''ll need some bandages, and a splint."


    "For my foot?"


    "Toes, specifically." Andrew took a step towards the cavern mouth and stopped. "No, that won''t work. The sheep homunculi might see me this time in the morning."


    Victoria looked at him like he was spouting nonsense. "What sheep?"


    "You don¡¯t want to know," Andrew answered, pacing around the small enclosure as he thought. He couldn''t risk going into the infirmary because Doctor Davis would definitely be awake by now, and he couldn''t go to Ignar or any of the servants for a medical kit because what would he even say? And faking an injury wouldn''t work because he''d have to use the bandages on himself to keep the lie going.


    "Is something the matter?" Victoria asked. "I thought it was your castle."


    "When I told you and your sister it belonged to my master," Andrew said. "I wasn''t lying. I''m just one of the souls taking refuge inside its walls. Nothing inside it belongs to me."


    Victoria nodded along but didn''t answer. She tried to shift her weight to a more comfortable position, wincing as her foot dragged across the ground.


    "Don''t move so much," Andrew started to say, only to suck in his words when he saw that Victoria was crying.


    "I''m definitely going to be killed now, aren''t I?"


    "Of course not." Andrew hurried over. "Why would you think that?"


    "Because," sobbed Victoria. "I''m crippled."


    "Okay, first, you''re not." Andrew went to lay his hand on Victoria''s shoulder but stopped. He wanted to touch her, but he couldn''t be sure she wanted him to. "Second," he continued. "That was never the reason for getting you on that boat. And it obviously wasn''t the reason why I saved you."


    More silence answered him. Andrew heard the sound of gentle waves, of winds too far away to be a storm. He heard Victoria''s voice, asking quietly, "Don''t you mean tricking me?"


    Andrew stood, went over to the exit, and picked up the glass water bottle from off the ground where he left it. "I''ll be right back," he said without turning around, and then walked out into the sunlight.


    He returned an hour later, carrying an armful of kelp and a bottle of seawater hung on his belt. He stepped into the dimness of the cave, but Victoria wasn¡¯t there. Andrew tried not to panic. He dropped the kelp on a nearby flat rock and set the flask of seawater next to it, then went further in to look for her, but she wasn¡¯t in any nook in the walls or behind one of the few boulders. She was gone.


    Andrew started to back out. He wanted to slap himself for such careless oversight. What did he think would happen? That she¡¯d wait here for him to lock her up again? Andrew reached the cavern entrance, at the same moment, Victoria limped around the corner.


    ¡°You¡¯re back,¡± she said, surprised then sheepish. ¡°I was just¡­¡± She held onto the wall, her bad foot lifted an inch above the ground. She wasn''t looking at him. "I didn''t think you''d actually come back."


    ¡°You didn¡¯t run away,¡± Andrew said in return.


    Victoria shrugged. "What''s that for?" She pointed to the pile of kelp.


    "That?" Andrew smiled. "Is for you."


    Victoria limped into the cave, wrinkling her nose at the smell. ¡°I think you''ve mistaken me for a fish.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not food,¡± Andrew said. ¡°Well it can be, but that isn¡¯t what you''ll be using them for.¡± He helped Victoria sit down, before going over to her with the kelp and seawater. ¡°Give me your foot.¡±


    Victoria recoiled. "This again?"


    Andrew sat down on the sand. ¡°Come on.¡±


    Victoria kept staring between Andrew and the green plants in his hands, like she was locked in an internal debate over something. Andrew couldn''t guess what it was. In fact, he didn¡¯t have the slightest clue what was going on inside the girl¡¯s head. In all his fifteen years alive, he''d never been with a girl for longer than it was necessary to get her onto his boat.


    But he didn''t have time to think about that. Someone at the castle would be starting to question where he''d been. He missed breakfast, and now he was about to skip out of lunch, too. He said, ¡°It¡¯s easy to get an infection out here. Any wound has to be treated as soon as possible.¡±


    Victoria sighed. She pushed her leg towards Andrew. "You are a strange boy, doing all this without reason."


    "I have reasons," Andrew said. "I just don''t know what they are yet." He picked up Victoria¡¯s foot. It nestled in his palm like a small creature, begging for him to be careful. He reached for the bottle of seawater and pulled off the top.


    "This will help kill the infection," he explained when Victoria started hissing. Working quickly, he cleaned off the dried blood and wrapped the foot in a layer of kelp. ¡°The kelp excretes a gel that keeps the tissue moist. It speeds up healing and reduces pain.¡±


    ¡°How useful,¡± Victoria said. ¡°I was wrong. If anyone is a fish here, it¡¯s you.¡±


    Andrew couldn¡¯t help smiling. He set Victoria¡¯s feet back on his leg, and took out the length of wood he prepared earlier.


    "I wondered why you didn''t set the door back," Victoria said.


    Andrew positioned the wood along each side of Victoria''s foot, sandwiching her toes before wrapping it all up in another layer of kelp. He worked without looking at Victoria or saying anything, not because he didn''t have anything to say, but because he was worried about what he might let slip if he did.


    No, he didn''t put the door back. But it wasn''t because the chunk he took out from it made it too thin to wedge back into the rock. And it wasn''t because he knew she wasn''t well enough to run away. And most of all, it was definitely not because he wanted her to escape by herself, so that it''ll save him the trouble of coming up with a way for her.

 Engineering

    The shark is back.


    Andrew can tell from the way his raft is shaking, like a leaf riding the surface of a rippling pond.


    ¡°Leave me be!¡± he cries out as he clings to his shrinking vessel. He''s managed to tuck his legs under him and his head between his arms, so that no part of his body will be exposed to the edges of the raft. But he knows he will not be able to hide like this much longer. With each visit, the shark has taken off more wood until there is barely enough raft for Andrew to float on.


    Andrew lifts his head up just as the shark slides its shiny grey head out of the water.


    "Stop this torture already!" he screams as the creature''s maw locks onto a corner. "I don¡¯t even have any meat on me!"


    The shark fixes its dead gaze onto Andrew, and time seems to go still as Andrew starts to recognize that look.


    Hateful. Vengeful. Familiar.


    With a shuddering twist, the shark tears off another chunk of Andrew''s raft, then slips below the waves without another sound.


    Andrew lowers his head back between his arms, shivering under the sunlight. After a long while, he gets up and goes to fixing what he can, trying his best to put the monster''s dark eyes out of his mind.


    It is noon before Andrew manages to stabilize his raft with what little he has. With the breeze in his hair, he stands and surveys the waves. There is no sign of the shark, though Andrew must admit that even if there are he doesn''t have any way to stop it. The monster has been terrorizing him for days now, but doesn''t seem to want to kill him yet.


    Instead, it''s tormenting me. Taking apart my haven bit by bit.


    A gentle breeze picks up in the afternoon. In the corner broken by the shark, Andrew finds another tooth. It''s much smaller compared to the others he''s collected off the shark so far, but it has the same cruel edges, and is coated in a yellowish sheen that makes the tooth look like it''s always wet.


    Andrew runs the small tooth through his fingers. It''s roughly the same size as his fingernails. He examines his hands. The wounds he received from making his bowls have started to heal, though the nail on his right ring finger is still missing. More for fun than anything else, Andrew presses the tooth to the gap where his fingernail is missing. He finds that it''s almost a perfect fit, if he doesn''t mind the grotesque look.


    He gets an idea. If he can somehow attach the tooth to his thumbnail, he can use it as a cutting tool or a weapon. It will be like having a dagger always in reach.


    To test it, Andrew reaches for one of the bigger teeth around his neck. He keeps all of them wrapped up on a thick string, for fear of losing the only sharp objects he has access to. The biggest tooth runs the length of his thumb, and bites into the wood easily when Andrew drags it along one side of the raft.


    Andrew is impressed, but with that feeling comes dread. What will it feel like when a row of these teeth sinks into his flesh?


    Finding himself sick at the thought, Andrew ties both the big and small teeth onto the string and hangs it back around his neck. He doesn''t want to see them anymore. Not yet.


    The shark does not come tomorrow morning, but another beast makes itself known to Andrew.


    Hunger. Deep inside Andrew''s bones, he feels it gnawing at him, demanding food he does not have.


    Crawling over to the stern as slowly as he can, as to not upset the delicate balance keeping him afloat, Andrew checks on his surviving fishing lines. Two are left from the shark''s constant attacks, and Andrew slides his fingers along each to feel for any vibrations that may give away a fish¡¯s struggles, or some sort of heaviness that hints at something being dragged in the current. But he feels no change. The lines float on the waves with ease.


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    Anger builds. Andrew yanks one of the lines hard. The button hook jumps out onto the deck, murky-green and empty as the day it is made. Andrew curses, though he doesn''t know what else he expects to see. He drops the hook and pulls at the other one. He¡¯s just glimpsed the top of that hook when he hears a splash behind him, followed by a sudden shaking of his raft. He cries out in alarm as his body pitches forward from the shift, the water rushing up to swallow him whole.


    If I fall in, I die.


    Truth is sometimes so simple it takes you by surprise. With sheer force of will, Andrew manages to right his balance before he topples into the ocean, but he finds he isn''t afraid of falling in. Not really. Not anymore. It''s as if all the fear inside him has been spent already, leaving nothing but acceptance and a strange, growing sense of defiance.


    Standing, Andrew faces his attacker with a calmness he doesn''t know he is capable of.


    But the shark isn¡¯t there. No one is here to eat him. All around, the sea is quiet. Waves lap at the dipping edges of the raft, where a small pile of debris is scattered across the logs.


    Andrew blinks, thinking the sun is playing tricks. He dares not go closer, but he does. The debris takes shape. A length of worn rope, a sliver of faded red plastic, and what seems to be a rusty nail, are stacked near the very edge of the water.


    Andrew doesn¡¯t believe it. He picks up the nail and holds it to the sunlight. Every inch of the iron is coated in rust, but the weight of the material remains consistent with what he knows a nail to be.


    It''s real. But how can it be?


    Andrew grips the nail in his fist, as if by affirming its solidity he can convince his mind of this strange reality. Something, or someone, has brought the nail from the bottom of the ocean. Not only that, it has also managed to put it on Andrew''s raft without him seeing it.


    Andrew turns to scrutinize the crystal clear surface of the ocean.


    Human or god... or neither?


    It doesn''t take him long for Andrew to decide that he must be going crazy. But it doesn''t matter, because the nail and plastic are exactly what Andrew needs, he thinks.


    Going back over to the edge, Andrew picks up the piece of plastic. It''s thin and semi-translucent, making everything look red when Andrew looks through it. He can''t tell where it is from originally, and he guesses it may have once belonged to a child''s kite that the wind must have carried off long ago. He throws the materials beside the leather bowls he''s made, and starts to comb through his memories of Aragon Dragonia''s adventures. Surely, the Great Adventurer has mentioned how to create a Water Maker in one of his many, many books. Andrew just has to remember every detail about it.


    By the time the sun is going down, Andrew has come up with his own version of the Water Maker. First, he fills the large leather bowl with seawater, then sets the smaller one drifting on its surface. Using a tooth, he carves a flat nook into the center of the raft to make a stable place to set these bowls. Then, making sure to not break it, Andrew stretches the piece of plastic over the top of the larger bowl. Like everything, the plastic has been baking under direct sunlight all afternoon, but it still isn''t soft enough to mold. After working at it for a bit, Andrew realizes that the plastic actually has another layer of thinner plastic stuck to its bottom side, and using a smaller shark tooth he manages to work the thin sheet off the plastic.


    This sheet is perfect. It''s almost entirely transparent, which means sunlight is easier to travel through. And it''s also wildly more flexible. Andrew wraps it across the top of his big bowl, then sits back and admires his setup. He isn''t sure this is how Aragon Dragnoia wrote about it, but he''s damn pleased with what he''s managed to do with the scrap he has. There¡¯s something missing, though. Andrew knows that sunlight is supposed to draw the drinkable portion of the seawater up as steam, where the plastic will catch it in the forms of condensation, hopefully turning it back into drinkable water that will then drop down into the little bowl floating in the big bowl.


    The problem soon becomes obvious. With the way the Water Maker is now, the condensation will simply fall back down into the big bowl with no incentive to gather, gravity being one law not even alchemy can alter. But the solution, after Andrew looks around for a bit, is also obvious. He needs the plastic sheet to dip above the smaller bowl, so the droplets will travel downwards and gather there, eventually falling under their own collective weight.


    It doesn''t matter how he does it, but Andrew doesn''t want to use the nail as it will most definitely end up puncturing the plastic film.


    So that leaves him with no other choice than to use one of the teeth on his necklace.


    Carefully unraveling one of the medium-sized ones, Andrew sets it down in the middle of the plastic sheet, and watches in satisfaction as it causes that dip he so needs.


    And then, like that, he is done.


    Andrew sits back and lets out an exhausted breath. He stares at the little bowl bobbing in its own little piece of the ocean, and tries to find comfort in the hope that if all goes well, he¡¯ll have drinkable water tomorrow when the sun comes back up.


    But when the sun is back, so will the shark.


    The anger returns. Andrew sets his jaw and gets back up. No, he will not cower anymore. He''s already taken the first steps in mastering his own fate. He''s come too far to let nature destroy him now, not when he¡¯s already set his mind on living.


    So with renewed courage and vigor, Andrew reaches down and finds the rusty nail he''s been keeping tucked away under the bundle of rope.


    If the shark is adamant it wants to eat him, then Andrew is going to make it work for its food.

 Sinking

    The WaterMaker MKI works. Barely.


    As the sun of a new day drops below the horizon, Andrew lifts the plastic sheet off the leather bowl and checks inside. The level of seawater has fallen significantly, and inside the smaller bowl is a puddle of clear liquid. He dips a finger in then brings it to his tongue.


    Lukewarm, but not salty.


    In other words, drinkable!


    Andrew grabs the small bowl and drains it in one go, tasting the first drops of water in two days. It''s so delicious enough to make him sob. But there isn¡¯t nearly enough. He''s thirsty even before he puts the bowl back down. The sip has only moistened his appetite for more. Andrew licks at the sides of the leather bowl, still warm from the day¡¯s heat. He licks the plastic sheet, going so far to suck on the tooth placed in the middle in case some condensation has gathered on it.


    Not enough. Andrew puts everything back, refilling the bowl of seawater and covering it once more. He¡¯ll need more watermakers. Many more. At this rate, he¡¯ll only die of thirst a little slower than before. He looks around the raft. There aren''t enough materials to make more right now, so he''ll need to come up with another method of quenching his thirst.


    What if he boils the seawater?


    Andrew contemplates the idea. He has never read about boiling seawater, but as long as he¡¯s out here he may as well try. And he¡¯s getting sick of eating raw fish. For days now, his stomach has been constantly cramping and his gums are sore from tearing through flesh.


    There is good news though, and it''s that Andrew actually knows the method of making fire. A block of wood, a handful of kindling, and a long stick are all Aragon Dragnoia needs in his stories. So Andrew has all the confidence he can recreate the scene on his own raft. But he''ll have to gather those ingredients first thing in the morning, because the moon is out now.


    Andrew stares out at the shimmering waves, their blade-like waves slicing the moon into pieces. Except...


    He looks closer. One of the blades is heading closer. Andrew''s eyes pick up movement but logic dictates that the shark does not attack at night.


    The blade glides closer.


    It isn''t possible. The shark doesn''t attack at night.


    Andrew turns away from the raft. His eyes are playing tricks on him. He''s read about hallucinations caused by thirst and exposure. This must be what it is.


    He lies down and closes his eyes. Yes, that must be why.


    Turns out, it isn''t.


    Andrew feels a bump, and when he opens his eyes again he is flying. At first, nothing makes sense. He can feel the wind whistling past his ears. But it''s impossible. Logic and pattern dictate...


    He doesn''t get a chance to finish that thought as logic and pattern crash into his back.


    Andrew¡¯s breath leaves him in a whoosh. Stars explode above him, mixing with the real ones in the sky. He tries to get up, only to be thrown again. For an entire heartbeat, he is weightless. Then below him, he hears the shark¡¯s massive body slapping the water. Another heartbeat, Andrew follows.


    Water hits him on all sides. Dark. Cold. Numbness envelops his senses. Andrew can''t figure out which way is up.


    Kick!


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    His body trashes on its own. Panic takes hold of his mind.


    Move!


    His legs spasm, finding footholds in the water¡¯s resistance.


    Find the surface!


    Andrew reaches over his head, around his body, trying to feel for solidarity. His fingers hit soft wood. His raft! Andrew orientates himself in the direction he prays is the surface, then pushes his legs in the opposite direction. The water sticks to him like sludge. He¡¯s beneath the raft now, both hands pressing against the ceiling of wood. All he needs to do is find the edge and pull himself up.


    When he kicks again, Andrew feels his toes brushing against something rubbery. Rough. Alive.


    Move. Move. Don''t think. Move.


    Andrew¡¯s heart surges against his ribs and he cries out. Bubbles burst into his eyes. The pain forces him to suck in a breath. Big mistake. Liquid fire races into him, filling him. He starts to thrash, desperately wanting to breathe and trying not to at the same time.


    Luckily, he is still below the raft all this time, and his twisting has pushed it away enough for light to spill through. Moonlight. Coming down on the surface. Reason reaches out. Andrew follows with his own hands. He grasps onto the raft¡¯s edge. There, wood. He pulls, claws the raft aside, his head bursting through in an explosion of water and air.


    Gasping and crying, Andrew drags the rest of himself onto the raft. He collapses onto his back, then immediately gets back up to vomit out saltwater. As he reaches into the water, he spots through the murky depths a set of black eyes, followed closely by the huge shape of the shark.


    Andrew springs back from the edge just as the shark erupts into the sky, its monolithic body blocking out the night sky. It seems to hang there for a moment, before cracking back down against the side of the raft. Andrew flies forward from the force, arms and legs flailing as he heads straight towards the shark¡¯s opened mouth.


    It is a void of death and darkness.


    It¡¯s over. The phrase repeats itself over and over inside Andrew¡¯s head as his feet fumble uselessly from out under him.


    It¡¯s over. I¡¯m dead.


    His hand winds against his neck. The teeth are still there, hanging on their string. There''s something else too. The nail.


    With one final surge of desperate strength, Andrew yanks the necklace off his neck and grips it in his fist, nail poking out from between two fingers.


    ¡°You want to eat me?¡± he screams at the monster coming closer. ¡°Then you have to pay for it!¡±


    At the last moment, Andrew''s feet find hold. But he doesn''t try to scramble away. He instead leaps towards the monster, bringing his spiked fist down across its horrendous face.


    A burst of blood. A bellowing howl. Andrew feels flesh parting. He is thrown sideways but he holds on. Gripping the nail tighter he raises his fist. He can''t see. The world is a blur. But there, glinting from moonlight, a black orb. A primal scream tears from Andrew''s gut and he plunges his hand down, bringing all his strength into this one blow.


    Steaming blood jets into the sky, painting the stars black. The sound coming out of the shark this time is a wail.


    Andrew hits the deck, his necklace flying from his grip as he fights to grab onto the raft. Splinters dig into his skin but he manages to keep from falling into the water again. He gets up into a crouch. Pain rings in his ears, making his vision blurry. He wipes the blood from his eyes and whips his head from side to side, looking for the shark. There''s so much blood, tinting even the moon''s reflection. Andrew doesn''t think all the blood is from him, but he can''t be sure.


    The necklace!


    He scrambles around looking for it, but it¡¯s too dark. He pictures the shark coming for him, its jaws locking around his head, those dark eyes peeling back his soul with its hateful glare.


    But the shark doesn¡¯t come. It¡¯s gone quiet. Andrew¡¯s mind registers the stillness even as his heart continues urging him to move. Eventually, Andrew''s logic regains its control over his reality and he stops.


    The waters are red, wavering but not broken. The shark is gone. For now, at least.


    Andrew''s legs give out and he collapses, sprawled across the deck of his broken raft. A sob starts from deep within his gut, works its way up his throat and flutters behind his clenched teeth. Andrew curls up on his side and shuts his eyes. He can feel the slow approach of water as inch by inch, his raft begins to sink from the damage it has sustained.


    "Are you not satisfied?" he whispers, and then it is too much. Tears gather behind Andrew''s eyelids as his lungs spasm. He opens his mouth to breathe, only to expel a gasping cry.


    He needs to fix his raft, but who is there to fix him? Who will be there for him?


    As the moon drifts above him, Andrew''s consciousness fades. His crying soon dulls into silent grief, and his heart returns to its normal pace.


    "Are you... not satisfied?" he whispers once more, just before sleep takes him.


    Then, in the veil between respite and death, Andrew hears a soft splashing somewhere by his head. The shark has come back to finish the job, he thinks as he prepares himself to feel the sting of a hundred sharp teeth.


    But what comes instead is a whisper, coming gently into his ear.


    ¡°No. Not yet.¡±

 Hurting

    The night is long and morning brings misery. It feels like hours have gone past before Andrew is well enough to even sit up. Not a moment too soon, either, because his raft is just about sunk.


    Getting up, Andrew studies the damage. The shark has done a number on the wood, and half of the entire raft is now completely submerged in the water. The rest is breaking apart, pieces slowly being carried away on the waves.


    Andrew races against the elements, clawing back bits of wood and rope before they can drift too far. He manages to latch the biggest logs together, and using this as a platform he rebuilds the rest of his raft. He works tirelessly until the sun is above his head before allowing himself to stop for a drink of water.


    Although he''s lost all his shark teeth and even the nail, the Water Maker MKI has been left mostly intact. One of the fishing lines is still there as well, and after reeling it in Andrew is pleasantly surprised to find a dead fish hanging off the hook. He doesn''t eat it, even though he is next to starving. The fish may still seem fresh, but Andrew doesn''t know how it died. He doesn''t want to chance getting sick, not when he''s made it this far already.


    So, he is going to need a fire. Andrew comes to this decision at the same time acknowledging how preposterous it is to have an open flame in the middle of an ocean. He isn¡¯t going to burn any part of his still-sinking ship, obviously, but he doesn''t have many other choices out here.


    Andrew stashes the fish into a crevice and tries to come up with a plan. But his foot has started to hurt suddenly, so he checks on it. All this time, the lower half of his body has been in the water. The raft simply isn''t big enough to support his entire weight anymore. Pulling himself up as far as he dares, Andrew lifts his right leg out of the water, revealing a dark, disk-like object clinging to his ankle.


    Andrew freezes, not knowing what he''s seeing or what to do. Then the disk moves a little, unfurls to its true dimensions. Two claws stretch out from a tangle of spindly legs.


    Pain and understanding zap through Andrew''s nerves. He yells, swinging his leg back and forth to dislodge the crab. It only makes it worse. The creature clamps down harder. Reaching down, Andrew grabs a fistful of crab and hauls hard, tearing it from his skin. The pain is enough to make Andrew''s head spin, but he doesn''t dare pass out. He feels the crab''s legs trying to latch onto his fingers. He brings his arm down onto the surface of the raft, once, twice, again and again, feeling the creature''s shell split apart.


    He stops, panting, and rests with his chin pressed up against the cold wood.


    Now he really needs a fire.


    The wound may infect. This is the first thing Andrew thinks about when he examines the gash running across the back of his ankle. The cut isn''t wide but it is deep, and even as Andrew watches, blood oozes freely into the surrounding waters.


    After tying the rest of his shirt around his foot to stop the bleeding, Andrew tries to find some seaweed. Thankfully, it is one of the resources he has plenty of. The stuff clings to the sides of his raft like broken skin, and Andrew is able to quickly gather a fresh bunch. He strips them down and binds the slimiest section straight over the wound, and vows to enjoy every part of the crab once he cooks it.


    The Water Maker stops working in the afternoon. Andrew originally used a few splinters to weigh the plastic down, but they are not heavy enough. The dewdrops have been running along the transparent surface every way except where Andrew needs them, which is into the small bowl. But like the seaweed, the solution also comes from the sea. When Andrew runs a hand along the bottom of the raft, he realizes barnacles have been forming on the underside of the wood.


    Trying not to think about how long he''s been in the sea, Andrew pries loose the largest one he can find. The barnacle¡¯s bumpy shell gleams as Andrew feels its weight on his palm. It''s almost enough. Andrew finds two more, makes them stick to each other, then sets the cluster onto the plastic sheet.


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    It works surprisingly well.


    Andrew whispers a prayer of thanks. But he isn''t overly optimistic, because his most pressing issue isn''t dealt with yet. He has no fire to cook his dead food, and also to keep his injury dry. Being soaked in the water for days on end will almost certainly lose him his foot, and probably his life.


    Andrew fights a groan. In the end, it still comes down to the last thing he wants to do, which is also the most dangerous thing he can do. He looks around for options. He has some ropes that are too short to be of any use. He can unwind these to use as kindling. There are splinters and broken bits of wood he can pull off to burn. They won¡¯t be much help keeping him afloat anyway. He also has his coat. It¡¯s hood-less and button-less, but he doesn¡¯t want to destroy it unless he absolutely has to. And he''s pretty sure he isn¡¯t at that point. Yet.


    Then there are his socks. Andrew doesn''t want to burn these either, and decides to wear both over his injured foot like a cast. Underneath the elastic, he can feel the seaweed bandage pressing right up against his wound, making it teeth-tightening sore.


    That leaves not much else. Andrew doesn''t even have any tools left. The necklace of shark teeth is gone. But, he realizes he still has the fishing line with the button hook.


    He''ll need to be careful.


    As the sun starts to go down, Andrew cuts open a length of his rope with the pointy end of the button hook. Then he picks loose the threads and gathers them into a ball, placing them under the waning sun to dry. Next, he sets up a drill station, again using his memory of Aragon Dragonia''s stories as a guide. He yanks out the largest piece of wood from within one of the broken logs, praying all the while the missing chunk will not upset the raft¡¯s balance, and peels back layers of wet bark to reveal the dry inside. He does this again for the drill, this time going for the logs at the back of the raft where they are already half-sunk. Finally, after a lot of peeling, he has all he needs. But by now the sun has gone down and Andrew is too exhausted to move, so he waits until tomorrow to make the fire.


    Big mistake. Andrew wakes up at dawn to the smell of bad fish. He is forced to throw it away, cursing everything above and below while he does so. The crab is still good, though admittedly it''s hard to tell with the way everything is constantly oozing from it. Andrew decides he will take this chance, but not without cooking it thoroughly first.


    That brings him to the fire. After placing it on the deck to dry, both the drill bit and drill station are dried enough to use. The ¡°drill¡± is more like a scoop though, but that will have to do. Andrew will simply apply a forward motion instead of purely downward, which should compensate. He hopes.


    Andrew sits down and positions the slab between his feet with the kindling on the far end, and rests the scoop at an angle. He takes a deep breath. No more preparation. No more waiting. He starts to rub the scoop back and forth across the slab, starting slow before building up speed and power. He works at it with a steady rhythm, pushing and pulling, push and pull, all the while applying as much pressure as he can.


    The two pieces of wood squeak like mice. Then they start to smoke. By the time Andrew spots the first whiffs of faint white drifting upwards, a breeze has picked up across the raft. He stops just long enough to get his coat and make a wall around the slab. He can feel the wind prickling the sweat on his forehead, and leans away so that his sweat doesn¡¯t drop onto the kindling.


    The smoke grows thicker. Andrew can see black marks along the groove in the wooden slab. His arms are aching but he pushes on. He¡¯s almost there. He presses down even harder.


    And then the scoop snaps.


    Andrew pitches forward onto his belly, the slab digging into his chest. He cries out, first in pain and then frustration as the reality of what he¡¯d done comes crashing down.


    "I pushed too hard! Damn it!"


    Getting up, Andrew peels the broken handle of the drill off his chest. The wood is still hot, but it''s well and truly destroyed. Andrew picks up the rest. Rage bubbles from the sore pit inside him. He''d done so much. All for nothing. He had a fish, a crab, and now he will enjoy neither.


    Cursing, Andrew raises the wooden scoop over his head to throw. But he stops. It¡¯ll be so easy to cast the broken pieces away. He¡¯ll feel good afterward, too. But he¡¯ll also be wasting precious resources.


    He puts the pieces down.


    The sun has set now. Andrew has used nearly an entire day with the stupid fire. He leans over the edge and washes his face, and spends a minute there watching the dark lines appear below the murky water. Are those reefs, or some other sea monster come to take his life? Andrew lies down. Doesn''t matter. Let them come. He¡¯s exhausted and sore and his hands hurt and his foot feels like it¡¯s already gone.


    He gets up. Reaching down he peels off his socks and the seaweed bandages, letting the wound get some air. He then drinks the sliver of water in his bowls, and grabs another chunk of wood from the back of his raft.


    Then, with the stinging breeze at his back and the sound of breathing waves lulling him into a gentle rhythm, Andrew starts again.

 Profiled

    Cold rain needled from a bruised sky. All along the cobblestone streets, people hid under heavy umbrellas and cloaks that blended into the dim evening light, making it near impossible for Andrew to scout out potential targets. He stopped by a bench outside a tavern to rest. He wasn¡¯t on his horse this time and his feet ached from the walking. He wanted to take Silver, but the mare must¡¯ve been spooked by their last outing because she fought before Andrew could even try to saddle her.


    He didn''t force her, thinking it might even be a good thing to go back to Minerva on foot. A plain boy was harder to remember than a horsed one.


    Andrew rested his arms on his knees and leaned forward. His breath fogged in front of him, hiding the town square from view. Autumn was ending soon. He¡¯d need to get warmer clothes since he outgrew last year¡¯s. The beach will be colder as well. So will the caves.


    So will Victoria.


    Andrew swallowed a mouthful of unease. He didn¡¯t want to leave Victoria, but Ignar had come to his chambers last night to tell him that Doctor Davis¡¯s health took a turn for the worse.


    ¡°Master may not make it past two more moons,¡± the wolf-man had said with a tear hanging across his furry cheek. ¡°I think we ought to present him with a reason.¡±


    ¡°A reason?¡± Andrew asked.


    ¡°To cling onto life,¡± answered Ignar. ¡°Something that reminds him why he lives.¡±


    ¡°And what would that present be?¡± Andrew asked, although he knew the answer already. He saw it in the wolf-man¡¯s twinkling yellow eyes.


    ¡°A new subject,¡± replied the homunculus. ¡°A chance to right a failure.¡±


    And so Andrew was here again. Minerva was different after the festival. Even though he expected it to be more somber, Andrew hadn¡¯t been prepared to see the complete opposite. It wasn¡¯t just because the decorations had been taken down. There was something else, like a fog had descended on the little seaside town. It was too quiet, even with the rain making music across the rooftops.


    Andrew was so lost in that thought, he didn¡¯t notice the tench coat coming over until the man was standing over him.


    ¡°Your parents know you¡¯re out here past curfew, Sonny?¡±


    Andrew glanced up at the dark man. ¡°I¡¯m not your Sonny,¡± he said rudely to hide his surprise. ¡°And I don¡¯t talk to strangers.¡±


    The man chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s good. You shouldn¡¯t.¡± He nodded at the seat next to Andrew. ¡°Mind if I sit down?¡± he asked, and sat anyway without waiting for an answer. He then lifted one side of his coat and flashed a silver pointed star at Andrew, giving him a wink before hiding it again.


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    A detective. Andrew felt his body tense. He¡¯d expected a creep or at most an off-duty constable, but a silver star was the badge of a detective. A kingsman.


    ¡°Which house is yours?¡± the detective asked. ¡°I haven¡¯t seen you around here.¡±


    ¡°I came down with a sickness not long ago,¡± Andrew said, launching into a pre-rehearsed lie. ¡°I was bedridden and couldn¡¯t get up. My mother had to stop working to take care of me.¡±


    ¡°How terrible,¡± said the detective as he twisted the end of his mustache. He had an easy drawl to his voice that made his words seem friendly. But Andrew knew better than to trust someone from the city.


    ¡°I got better only this morning,¡± he continued. ¡°And was well enough to walk not long ago. I wanted to take a walk in the streets before going back to rest.¡±


    ¡°A well-needed walk,¡± noted the detective. ¡°You¡¯re pale as a ghost, or someone who¡¯s been very sick.¡± He laughed at his own joke. ¡°I won¡¯t take up much more of your time. There¡¯s just something I¡¯d like to ask you.¡±


    Andrew nodded. He held his hands still in his lap, and tried his best to look as relaxed as the detective. It wasn¡¯t easy but he thought he was doing good, until he found himself staring at the familiar faces of Constantia and Victoria Summers.


    He forgot how to breathe for a second.


    ¡°I¡¯m looking for two sisters,¡± said the detective. ¡°I¡¯m sure you¡¯ve seen them. Couple of troublemakers, from what I¡¯ve been told. You seen them?¡±


    Andrew felt his throat close up. He tried to buy himself time by leaning in and pretending to study the photo. It was small and more than a little blurry, as if the photographer had been laughing when the lenses were shut. But Andrew recognized the subjects all the same. How could he not? He had been spending every moment of his waking hours thinking of them.


    In the photo, the two sisters were standing by the entrance of a large building, beaming proudly into the camera. Constantia had her hair done up in a fancy ponytail and Victoria¡¯s was cut short like a boy¡¯s. There was something else, too. They were dressed in prestigious school uniforms, complete with fishnet stockings and black leather shoes.


    Andrew knew better than to ask, but he couldn¡¯t stop himself. ¡°Aren¡¯t they both orphans?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been told that as well,¡± the detective answered. His arm hovered longer in front of Andrew, unmoving and thick. Rain slipped down his dark sleeves, falling to the ground in heavy drops. Andrew knew the silence was meant to get him to talk more, but he was trained too well to spill.


    He could still remember Doctor Davis¡¯s instructions, drilled into his head from years of repetition.


    ¡°Never lie fully. But never tell all the truth.¡±


    Andrew shook his head and said, ¡°I haven¡¯t seen them in a while.¡±


    The detective kept still.


    ¡°Did they do anything wrong?¡±


    ¡°You tell me.¡±


    ¡°I really don¡¯t know them well enough to say.¡±


    Finally, the detective retracted his hand, slipping it into his breast pocket. ¡°They¡¯re not in trouble,¡± he said. ¡°Someone is just worried about them, that¡¯s all.¡± When his hand emerged again, it was holding a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Andrew watched in silence as the detective pinched one between his grey lips and lit one, cupping one hand against the flames.


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you what,¡± the detective said after a long drag. ¡°Why don¡¯t I walk you home? I¡¯ve kept you out here long enough. I¡¯m sure your mother wants to know where you¡¯ve been.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d prefer not to be followed,¡± Andrew replied quickly. He stood. ¡°Is that all you¡¯d like to ask, sir?¡±


    The detective¡¯s slow smile curled around the end of the wrinkled cigarette. ¡°Yea,¡± he said. ¡°You be good, Sonny, and stay under the gutters. Don¡¯t want that bug coming back to bite ya.¡±


    Andrew nodded and turned away from the detective. He made it two steps before turning back. ¡°My name is Aragon,¡± he said. ¡°May I know yours?¡±


    The detective kept smiling. ¡°That''s a good name,¡± he said, before turning his head into the rest of the cigarette.

 Escaped

    Someone was looking for the sisters. Andrew couldn¡¯t guess who it might be, but it had to be someone with enough money to hire a detective for the job.


    That, or the detective was just as good a liar as Andrew was.


    Andrew didn¡¯t know which possibility was more terrifying. He focused on getting home for now. Each second out here was beginning to feel like strolling by the mouth of a hungry lion. Andrew picked up the pace, but with how wet the ground had become, he kept stumbling. His mind wanted him to move faster, to flee, take him out of this place and back behind the safety of obsidian walls, but his legs couldn''t keep up. Andrew fought the fear that the detective could be following. He knew the quickest way to give himself away was to make it seem like he had something to hide, so he deliberately slowed his pace.


    Andrew made it past the sycamores and carried on past stone-laid houses with brightly lit windows. He glanced inside some of them, only to wish he hadn¡¯t. Gathered around candle-lit tables and smoking hearths, he saw families and children, lovers and elderly alike, their faces smiling and mouths full of food. It was still too early for wintry dishes, but the rain gave the perfect excuse for steaming stews and fire-kissed potatoes.


    Andrew pulled himself away. Again, his legs betrayed him. They wouldn¡¯t move.


    Stop, Andrew said firmly to himself. Remember the Doctor¡¯s teachings. "Want not the life reserved for the lower people. Ours is a calling not yet worshiped."


    The words did their job. Andrew turned away, only to see a man emerging through the curtain of rain.


    But it wasn¡¯t the detective. This time, it was a constable. The man had a rounded black cap and a long baton hanging by his belt.


    ¡°Get away from them windows, boy,¡± he said, voice ringing through the empty streets. ¡°Quickly now, come on.¡±


    Andrew did as he was told. He stood out in the rain and looked into the constable¡¯s hard face. ¡°I was just looking,¡± he said.


    ¡°Looking is a crime in some places, boy,¡± the constable said.


    ¡°Only when it¡¯s a place you shouldn¡¯t be at in the first place,¡± Andrew argued.


    The constable¡¯s hand went to his belt. ¡°That so?¡± he said. ¡°Well now, see, if you ask my buddy here if a boy ought to be peeping into anyone¡¯s homes on a raining evening, I¡¯m afraid he will be saying no.¡±


    Andrew took a step back. ¡°Look, officer, I¡¯m not-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t tell me to look!¡± The constable advanced with his baton out. ¡°What¡¯s your name, kid? Where do you live? What are you really doing out here?¡±


    Andrew¡¯s mind reeled at the questions. He was exhausted from his dealings with the smoking detective, and now this? It was too much.


    ¡°I¡¯m a traveling merchant.¡± He tried to come up with another lie but he was mixing up his stories. ¡°My parents have a boat on the docks.¡±


    ¡°Show it to me,¡± the constable demanded. ¡°I would like a word with them.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir,¡± Andrew said. He started walking towards the docks, keeping his head down as he brushed past the constable. Then, as the constable was holstering his baton, Andrew threw his weight into him, knocking the man off balance before taking off into a dead sprint down the street.


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    ¡°Hey!¡±


    Andrew put his head down and barreled through the rain. His feet crashed into puddles and slid across the cobblestone. Behind him, he could hear the constable¡¯s yelling growing quiet. He was leaving the man behind.


    Then, a sharp whistle blow ignited the night, shattering whatever peace darkness brought.


    ¡°Stop!¡±


    Andrew pumped his legs harder. Rain lashed against his face and arms. He could see the end of the street, the sand which bordered the ocean. Freedom. With a final burst of speed, Andrew threw himself out onto the docks, only to skid to a stop at the sight of two more black dome caps.


    The two constables were standing on the edge of the docks. Both were turning towards Andrew, no doubt having just heard the whistle call. One of them was armed with a baton, but the other had a holster.


    Andrew didn¡¯t stop to think. His words won¡¯t help him now. He dug into the sand and took off running, straight towards the two men.


    The constables, no doubt confused by the sight of a boy charging full speed at them, didn¡¯t seem to know exactly what to do. Andrew took this chance and reached into his coat pocket for the leather case.


    The constable with the baton reacts first. He stepped in front of Andrew¡¯s path and held his hands out as if to catch a rabbit. Andrew drew out a needle and stuck it into the man¡¯s arms as he crashed into them. The constable gave a yell as he stumbled back. Andrew felt himself pitching forward as the constable¡¯s legs gave out. They both crashed to the ground. Andrew let momentum aid him and slid out of the constable¡¯s loose grip, reaching the other constable. Then before the man could think to jump away, Andrew stuck him in the leg with his second needle.


    ¡°Argh! You little cretin!¡± The constable lurched towards Andrew to try and grab him, but his body continued to lean forward and soon he was falling face-first onto the dock. As the man hit the ground, a crack of thunder rolled through the sky. Andrew felt his shoulder tensing, the muscles going hard like stone. He got up, looked down and saw his arm painted in red. Blood was flowing down him in waves but Andrew didn¡¯t spend a moment longer to see where it was coming from. The two constables were trying to crawl. He had to go.


    Andrew heard a whistle. The first constable was barging out from between the houses, rain flying behind him as he ran. Andrew turned and raced for his sailboat. It was still moored in the place he left it. He jumped in and grabbed the oars, putting all his strength into them.


    Pain dug into his right shoulder. Andrew groaned and dropped the oars. He heard shouting. The two men were getting up. The one with the gun raised it. This time Andrew saw the flash, the thunder half a breath behind. A piece of the stern blew past, splinters grazing Andrew¡¯s cheek. He picked up the oars again.


    Shots rang out. One after another. Stars expanded across Andrew¡¯s vision. He kept his head down. He heard the zinging of bullets, the explosion of wood. He felt the damage being done to his boat through the vibrations traveling along his body. He kept rowing and rowing, long after the shots and men were lost on the horizon. Andrew kept rowing until his shoulder locked up and the pain was shooting fire into his joints. Then, at last, he stopped.


    The water was silent. Moonlight glanced across its wavering surface. The rain had stopped. Andrew untied the sail and let the wind carry him further away from shore. It was a heavy northern breeze. He should see the island by dawn. Sitting back down, Andrew carefully peeled back his clothes, hissing as the wound in his shoulder stung anew. Slowly, he prodded the swelling flesh with his fingers, trying to work out the extent and size of the bullet hole. Andrew reached back and felt the back of his shoulder, finding to his relief an exit wound the width of a coin.


    Good. The bullet passed through him. Now, he just needed to stop the bleeding.


    Andrew was already beginning to feel lightheaded. Holding onto the sides of the boat, he went into the cramped crawlspace that acted as a cockpit and fished inside until he found a black bag. He opened it and dumped its contents onto the deck. Gags, blindfolds, handcuffs, and a blanket. Andrew nearly laughed at the sight. Should the two constables had actually gone into his boat and found these, they wouldn¡¯t have hesitated to take him.


    Wind whipped across the boat¡¯s sails. Andrew felt the waves swelling. A storm was coming. But it was still days away, and he¡¯d be safe in the castle by then. If he can get back alive tonight. Andrew grabbed the handcuffs and pulled them apart, then combining them with the blindfolds Andrew made a sort of tourniquet around his shoulder. He then bound the whole joint up with the leather gags and prayed that it was enough to keep him from bleeding out.


    Then with the wind carrying his sailboat deep into the open waters, Andrew curled up in the cotton blanket and tried to get some rest.

 Fixed

    He woke to the sound of his sailboat grinding up against the island¡¯s shores.


    Andrew sat up. He¡¯d made it home. The sun was high in the sky. The wind must¡¯ve carried him the rest of the way. He felt elated, but that feeling was quickly washed away by terror. He¡¯d let the boat drift for much too long. He could have missed the island, and the wind would have kept carrying him north into uncharted waters. Andrew didn¡¯t want to imagine what gods and demons lay in the treacherous darkness that way, so he got up quickly to drag the boat properly onto shore.


    It was after that, Andrew realized just how much pain he was in. His shoulder had turned into stone, and every exertion of energy felt to Andrew like it was his last. His breathing came sluggishly, and his pulse pounded in his temples like a countdown.


    He was dying. He knew this now. He needed to get back to the castle.


    Andrew didn¡¯t bother dragging the boat further up the beach. The tide was still going down, so he had at least a few hours before the waves would start coming back to take his sailboat. And as for Victoria¡­


    Andrew glanced down the western end of the beach, where the onyx rocks stood out of the sand like its own castle, one which rose from within the surface of the world. They wrapped around the corner of the island, continuing on to form outcrops and cliffs. Andrew tried to see where his eyes couldn¡¯t. Somewhere below one of the outcrops would be the cave he left Victoria in.


    He couldn¡¯t go to her yet. Not unless he wanted to die by her feet from his bullet wound. No, he¡¯d have to come back tonight or dawn tomorrow.


    He only hoped she wouldn¡¯t wander and find the sailboat. He turned and trekked into the forest.


    The castle¡¯s marble spires stood stark cold against the foggy sky. Andrew found Ignar outside in the courtyard, sweeping up the maple leaves as they fell from the overgrown maples guarding the entrance to the castle.


    The wolfman looked up as Andrew approached.


    ¡°You are back.¡±


    Andrew answered by falling face-first into the nearest leaf pile.


    When he came to, Andrew found himself in bed with the covers pulled to his chin. He tried to get up, but a huge fur-covered hand placed itself on his chest.


    ¡°The Boy Master needs rest,¡± said Ignar. ¡°The wound is small but your courage will take longer to heal.¡±


    ¡°How long was I asleep?¡± Andrew asked. He wanted to get up and check on Victoria, but the wolfman¡¯s hand kept him still.


    ¡°Not long,¡± replied Ignar. ¡°I only just finished dressing your shoulder.¡± As he said this, a sheep homunculus breezed through Andrew¡¯s vision. He saw her looking at him with those watery yellow eyes, but she quickly glanced away and continued out the door. She was holding an armful of bloody cloths and was followed by another homunculus, this one balancing a metal tray in her short arms.


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    Andrew caught Ignar staring after the homunculi. He mused out loud, ¡°Sometimes I forget your base is a wolf.¡±


    Ignar looked at him. ¡°Why only sometimes?¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re smart and know a lot of things wolves don¡¯t,¡± Andrew answered, ¡°like medicine and cleaning. But then you do things like drool after a sheep homunculus and the illusion is broken.¡±


    Ignar was silent. He seemed to take what Andrew said deeply. Even his jaw moved like he was tasting the words, trying to get at all the nuances hidden between the lines. Then he turned his yellow eyes on Andrew. ¡°Sometimes I forget you are only a boy.¡±


    Andrew said, ¡°I want to ask you about Constantia again.¡±


    The wolfman didn¡¯t try the oblivious act this time. ¡°I recall telling you she was a failure.¡±


    ¡°Is she still alive?¡± Andrew asked. ¡°I want to see her.¡±


    Ignar frowned. ¡°I do not think that is a good idea, young master. No, that is not a good idea at all.¡±


    Andrew pushed, but no matter how much he insisted or lied, Ignar would not budge.


    The wolfman soon changed the subject. ¡°How was the hunt?¡±


    Andrew looked up at the ceiling. ¡°I hate how you call my outings hunts.¡±


    ¡°Homunculus see no reason to dress up truths.¡±


    Andrew didn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°Master is recovering well,¡± said Ignar. ¡°He has begun taking short walks down the hallways.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good,¡± said Andrew, and tried to mean it. The ceiling was spotted with mold. Paint was beginning to crack in one corner. He fought down the shudder as he recalled the events in the town. He hadn¡¯t realized how much luck it¡¯d taken for him to be here, how close he was to never coming back. Still looking at the ceiling, he said, ¡°There were complications with the¡­ operation.¡±


    ¡°I see that.¡± Ignar pointed to Andrew¡¯s shoulder.


    ¡°There was a detective,¡± Andrew went on. ¡°People knew the girls were missing. It made taking anyone else impossible. There were also fewer people on the streets. I suspect they know of the coming storm.¡±


    Ignar made a sound, and at first Andrew didn¡¯t know what it was in response to, until the wolfman said, ¡°Girls?¡±


    And then Andrew realized his mistake. He immediately trudged on, hoping that by piling on details he can take the wolfman¡¯s mind away from the slip-up.


    ¡°There were three constables, two were on the docks by my boat. One had a gun and he shot me. I stuck them both with the syringes. It was the only reason I made it back here alive.¡±


    Ignar¡¯s lips pulled back. His teeth were curved and yellow and glowed with saliva. ¡°You said girls. There was more than the one you brought to Master.¡±


    Andrew stopped talking. He was deathly aware of Ignar¡¯s massive paw still on his chest.


    ¡°The Boy Master,¡± said Ignar, ¡°is hiding something.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Andrew said. ¡°No, I¡¯d never lie to you, Ignar.¡± He tried to turn away so his heartbeat wouldn¡¯t be felt through the thin cotton sheets.


    ¡°That day, you had bread in your pockets,¡± Ignar continued in a low growl. ¡°Was it for the other girl?¡±


    ¡°I never caught another,¡± Andrew said. ¡°The other missing girls had nothing to do with me.¡±


    ¡°You lie.¡±


    ¡°I am not!¡±


    Andrew was breathing hard now. Sweat drenched the bedsheets. He could feel the heat from Ignar¡¯s palm, the heaviness of the wolfman¡¯s claws pressing through into him. He tried to stay still, like a rabbit freezing in the sight of a predator.


    Ignar just stayed still. Not a muscle twitched in his steel jaw. His eyes seemed to lance into Andrew¡¯s soul, drawing out everything he wanted to hide from the wolfman.


    Then, just when Andrew¡¯s heart is about to burst, Ignar let him go.


    The release was almost as painful as the pressure. Andrew coughed to cover the scream trying to come out from inside him. He couldn¡¯t show any respite, because that¡¯d be giving away his guilt. In his struggle, Andrew heard the door open.


    Ignar was standing in the doorway. He was grinning. Andrew waited for the wolfman to say something, to growl or to snarl or anything a wolf might do, but Ignar simply nodded, then left.


    Andrew didn¡¯t know what was worse. Not knowing what Ignar was thinking, or finding himself worrying about what was going on inside a homunculus''s head.

 Waited

    Andrew was surprised to find Victoria still in the cave. He¡¯d left her unchained and with the entrance open for two whole days. Looking back, he knew that he did that on purpose. He wanted her to leave. Because if he came back to find her gone, maybe he could pretend the problem was over, and his life will go back to where it was before all this happened.


    It didn¡¯t take long for Victoria to shatter those naive notions.


    ¡°I can¡¯t leave without Constantia,¡± was her answer when asked why she didn¡¯t just leave. ¡°And I haven¡¯t yet decided whether or not to kill you in your sleep.¡±


    ¡°I would prefer it if you didn¡¯t,¡± Andrew said as he held out the basket of food hooked to his arm. ¡°How about a trade? My life for a sweet roll?¡±


    Victoria snatched the basket over and began digging into its contents. ¡°One will hardly do,¡± she muttered as she bit into the side of a muffin. ¡°Maybe a hundred, or a thousand.¡± She pulled open the top of a milk bottle and gulped it. Then she sat down and stuck her feet out towards Andrew.


    He asked, ¡°You haven¡¯t changed your bandages?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how,¡± Victoria answered. She finished off the milk and tossed the empty bottle to him. ¡°Besides, shouldn¡¯t it be the captor¡¯s responsibility to make sure his captives are alive? That¡¯s always what happens in Constantia¡¯s books, anyway.¡±


    Andrew picked up the bottle and went back down to the beach. There was a sharp wind coming from the north, full of a salty, harsh coldness that seemed to come from the frozen depths of the sea. Andrew had to fight to keep his balance as he climbed back up the stone steps to the cave.


    Victoria was deep inside, munching on a triangle of cheese. When Andrew sat down in front of her, she put her feet up into his lap without prompting.


    ¡°Is your sister a writer?¡± Andrew asked as he unwrapped and examined Victoria¡¯s feet. The cuts had started to heal, but keeping them wrapped up for two days was not good. Her skin is all white and puckered. Any longer and the skin will have started to go on the wrong side of soft.


    ¡°She was a reader,¡± Victoria said. ¡°I think her favorite author was Aragon Dragon, or something.¡±


    ¡°Did you mean Dragonia?¡± Andrew asked. But Victoria wasn¡¯t paying any attention to him. She was looking at her feet too, and her cheeks took on a similar shade of white. She put aside the cheese she was eating. ¡°Is¡­ are they¡­ going to be alright?¡± she asked, pointing with a shaking finger.


    ¡°Your feet?¡± Andrew said. ¡°Oh, they¡¯re going to be fine. It¡¯s your toenails I¡¯m more worried about.¡±


    ¡°What¡­ what about my toenails?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re going to fall off.¡±


    When he didn¡¯t hear anything, Andrew looked up. Victoria¡¯s eyes were brimming over and her lips quivered. She looked so scared Andrew felt a wave of guilt wash over him.


    ¡°I was joking,¡± he said. ¡°Sorry. That was in poor taste, I know. But I was trying to be funny.¡±


    He ducked as cheese flew over his head.


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    Once Victoria was full and her dressings redone, Andrew asked her about her home.


    ¡°Why?¡± she asked, her mouth again full of food. ¡°An orphanage is hardly a place to boast about.¡±


    They were both sitting near the entrance of the cave, looking out. Andrew kept his gaze above, watching the balls of grey clouds tumbling across the sky. It seemed the storm was going to hit the island sooner than any of them thought. And it wasn¡¯t going to be a storm, but a typhoon. He remembered his boat on the beach. He would need to get it to shelter, or risk losing it to the winds.


    ¡°And we need wood for a fire, a proper door to block out the rain. Then there¡¯s food, warm clothing, and of course some emergency medication.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    Andrew realized he¡¯d been thinking out loud. ¡°I was just¡­ listing.¡±


    Victoria rolled her eyes. ¡°I understood that part. Why are you listing?¡±


    ¡°Storms coming,¡± Andrew said. ¡°Aren¡¯t you the one who said it was my responsibility to look after you?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± said Victoria. ¡°Just as it¡¯s your responsibility that I get home safe.¡±


    ¡°You should get some rest,¡± Andrew said. ¡°I¡¯ll be back tomorrow with more food.¡± He stood, looked at her briefly then added, ¡°And some fresh clothes. You shouldn¡¯t have to wear the same things for so long. That was an oversight, I apologize.¡±


    Still perched on her flat rock, Victoria watched him carefully, her eyes teasing. ¡°Is this the first time you¡¯ve kidnapped someone?¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Andrew was about to defend himself but changed his mind. ¡°Yes, actually. We don¡¯t have a habit of keeping subjects long before transmuting them.¡±


    ¡°What changed this time?¡±


    Behind him, Andrew could feel the wind growing stronger. It whistled across the mouth of the cavern, chilling the air as it squeezed through. Turning, he could see the ocean darkening in color. Usually blue, today it was almost black, the tops peaked with foamy grey.


    ¡°I think it¡¯s because I¡¯m trying to do the right thing,¡± he said, ¡°after too long a time doing what might not be.¡±


    Victoria¡¯s laugh was biting, as was the cold creeping into the cave. ¡°You couldn¡¯t have come to that decision before meeting us?¡±


    ¡°I will return you to your home,¡± Andrew said. ¡°I promise you this.¡±


    The smile on Victoria¡¯s lips vanished completely. ¡°You promised us you¡¯d take us both back by sunrise.¡±


    Andrew thought about what to say to that. It was true. He did. He said it to Victoria but his words counted both sisters.


    But that wasn¡¯t possible anymore. Because one of the sisters was as good as dead.


    ¡°And that was before I really knew you,¡± he said. ¡°I would never lie to you now.¡±


    Victoria stood. She hobbled over. The orange light of dusk caught her eyes as she leaned towards Andrew. ¡°What changed?¡± she demanded. ¡°What made you do things differently?¡±


    ¡°I ask myself the same thing,¡± Andrew said as he took a step back. ¡°Before, I thought it was because I had come to know you better, but then I find out you¡¯re more famous than you seem.¡±


    Victoria stopped approaching. ¡°What is that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a detective in town who had been looking for you.¡±


    A peculiar look crossed Victoria¡¯s face then. ¡°What detective?¡± she asked.


    ¡°He had a photo of you and your sister,¡± Andrew said. He described all that he remembered from it, the school uniforms, the way the sisters were slung over each other.


    Victoria stopped him mid-sentence. ¡°How do you know the photo was of us? That was - I mean, that seemed like an old photo.¡±


    ¡°Your hair was different and you were wearing nicer clothes,¡± Andrew agreed, ¡°but I recognized your eyes.¡±


    ¡°My eyes?¡± Victoria took another step forward. Andrew inched back. The wind was at his back now, ruffling his cloak. ¡°Dear me. This is the last place I¡¯d expect hearing a confession.¡±


    ¡°The detective seemed to know what he was doing,¡± Andrew said. ¡°Tall and dark-looking. Likes to smoke. Do you know him?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Victoria said, tapping her chin. ¡°I didn¡¯t think we were important enough for anyone to go looking.¡± She fell silent then, and gazed past Andrew at the sea. Her eyes grew distant. It was like she was trying to recall any information about this dark detective, but after a while she seemed to have hit a wall. ¡°I¡¯m cold,¡± she finally announced, then hobbled back into the cave. ¡°Do you mind making me a fire? The nights are getting frightfully cold.¡±


    Andrew thought about leaving, but he felt sorry for Victoria. No doubt, he¡¯d made some past memories resurface with all his talking, and judging by her responses, she could have done without the reminder that her life was immeasurably better before she met him.


    ¡°I just need some wood,¡± he said, turning from the outside to give her a smile.


    That was when he saw her running at him, a rock clutched in her fist.

 Burning

    Andrew can barely walk on his right foot. The cut has not healed much in the last two days, and has started to smell. Each time Andrew took off his socks to change his seaweed bandages, he has to hold his nose to stop from puking. He¡¯s quickly learned to eat after his wound dressings.


    The good news is that the shark hasn¡¯t come back and Andrew is pretty sure he isn¡¯t running a fever. Sure, he feels hot all the time, but he attributes this to the poisonous sun hanging over him every hour of every day.


    He is grateful for the ball of fire though, because it¡¯s this intense sunlight that has inspired him to come up with a new way of preparing his food.


    Drying it.


    The process is so simple. Clean the fish out, slice it open, and hang it on a pole. Then let the wind and sun do the rest of the work. And in a day or two, Andrew has a piece of fish jerky ready to eat.


    He doesn¡¯t know why he didn¡¯t think to do this sooner. He¡¯d lost count how many raw fish he¡¯s eaten. And he¡¯s sure he never needs to know.


    The sun is in its usual spot in the sky, but not exactly where it¡¯s been before. Andrew can tell from the wind that he¡¯s been drifting in a different direction. When he set out from the island - fled, really - he¡¯d been going out north into the uncharted ocean. But now, he¡¯s pretty sure he¡¯s heading more westward.


    Towards more uncharted waters.


    Andrew turns to the stack of scrap in the corner of his raft. There¡¯s been more brought to him, a piece or two every day until there¡¯s more than he knows what to do with. He¡¯s already strapped everything that can float onto the sinking side of his raft, saving it from completely sinking, but that still leaves him with a bunch of debris too specific to have any immediate use.


    He counts three nails, a wooden handle from some kind of tool, a bit of rope, and a glass bottle. At first, he¡¯s delighted to be given a container. But thinking about it, he realizes that a bottle is one of the least useful things out here. What will he hold in it? Seawater? All the clear drinkable water he makes he drinks straight away, and it hasn¡¯t rained in the last two weeks. Still, he isn¡¯t going to throw it away or anything. Out here, everything has its use, even a glass bottle without a lid. He just hasn¡¯t figured it out yet. He puts it aside for now, but fearing it may roll away without some sort of weight holding it down, he fills it up with¡­ well, seawater.


    He catches no fish this day. Food has become scarce ever since he¡¯s down to one fishing line.


    Another good thing about drying his fish. It doesn¡¯t spoil nearly as quickly, so he can keep nibbling on the same piece of jerky for days. It may not be filling, but at least he can give his body the illusion of being fed.


    He thinks about making more lines. He has the ropes that he can unwind, but what to use for the hook? Andrew doesn¡¯t want to sacrifice his three remaining shark teeth. They¡¯re too useful as cutting and crafting tools. He has the three nails, but they¡¯re all too straight and thick to hook into a fish¡¯s lips.


    Andrew will need to bend them. He decides to try one. But as he gets up his foot stabs him with agony. The pain is too much for him to ignore now, and it¡¯s only been getting worse.


    Andrew sits down and peels off all the coverings. The air immediately fills with a pungent, sour smell. It¡¯s enough for his stomach to turn. Gingerly, he twists his foot towards him so he can see the bottom.


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    He almost loses his breakfast, if he had any.


    The cut has simultaneously flattened into and spread across the foot. Thick puss surrounds the grey puckered skin, and bits of broken flesh have turned black.


    Andrew has seen enough of the Doctor¡¯s failed experiments to spot the signs of an infection. He keeps putting off treatment because he thinks, hopes, that he will not have to go to any drastic measures. It¡¯s just a cut, after all. Surely he doesn¡¯t have to lose a foot over it.


    But now, he isn¡¯t so sure.


    Andrew does his best to clean the wound. He doesn¡¯t redress it. He doesn¡¯t have time. He needs a fire, and a sharp blade.


    Andrew almost laughs at that. Fire and metal. Here.


    I may as well ask for a box of medicine and a bucket of ice, too.


    Andrew gives himself a mental shake. He may not be able to create antibiotics or ice, but fire and a blade? He can at least try.


    He starts with the fire. At least he already has some experience. He finds the block of wood he used for his first failed attempt. It¡¯s still dry enough so he can use it right away. But after putting some thought into it, he decides to dig a hole where he¡¯ll place the kindling. This way, the wind will not so easily blow the embers out.


    Next, he needs another scoop. He does the same as last time, pulling out a piece of the raft and shaping it roughly into a length of bare wood. He tries making it more uniform in shape to help with holding onto it, but the tooth he¡¯s been using has gone dull and it¡¯s already taking incredible amounts of energy to carve with it.


    Andrew settles on a rough block half the length of his forearm. It will have to do.


    Then, fastening the drilling station to his raft with rope, he begins to rub the block against it.


    This time, the sun is only halfway down the horizon when Andrew first sees glowing embers. He doesn¡¯t let the excitement get to him. He¡¯d already made that mistake and it cost him. He keeps up a steady rate, dragging the wood forward and back without breaking stride.


    The embers grow brighter, dotting the dark ashes gathering inside the nest of kindling. Andrew¡¯s heart begins to race. Sweat pours down his face. He leans back, letting them drop harmlessly onto the raft.


    It happens so fast. One second, Andrew is panting and sweating and thinking about what body part he¡¯s willing to sacrifice to the alchemical gods, then the next second the kindling is going up in smoke. Plumes of white surround the bundle of string, so thick Andrew cannot see the embers inside it anymore. He keeps rubbing the two pieces of wood but it doesn¡¯t seem to do anything now. He¡¯s missing something. But what? He needs to think. But if he stops he fears the smoke will stop and all his efforts will go to waste.


    And then he remembers something Davis told him.


    Fire needs air the same way earth is quenched by water.


    Andrew drops the wooden scoop and lifts up the block. He holds the smoking kindling to his mouth and blows.


    Everything relies on something to exist. As do you and me.


    The smoke grows denser. It clouds Andrew¡¯s vision. He keeps blowing. He can see something inside glowing.


    And then, fire.


    Tongues of red licks out from within the kindling, writhing outwards from the blackening strings like a creature hungry to move. Andrew sets the block down and is almost frozen in disbelief at what he¡¯s seeing.


    Fire. Here. In the middle of the sea.


    But not for long. Already the kindling is consumed. Andrew hurries to add more. He feeds the embers with sticks and more string in, then bigger blocks of wood as the flames grow until finally, Andrew has a steady fire.


    He sits back, and stares in silence at the living, breathing, burning thing in front of him. It looks impossible. It should have been, on all accounts. Andrew almost convinces himself it¡¯s just a mirage. Even the way it moves is too animated, too alive for a world of constant ebbing and flowing. But the sounds and the smells of burning wood, it¡¯s all too real. And when Andrew brings his hands towards it, he feels a heat too comforting to be imagined.


    Emotions bubble out of him. Laughter, sorrow, all tumble from his lips in an unstoppable flood.


    He¡¯s done it. He¡¯s really done it. Fire. He¡¯s made fire!


    Tears stream from Andrew¡¯s eyes. He curls down by the fire and cries. Huge sobs rack his body. He¡¯s never cried so hard before in his life. And as the sun sets above him, he knows the real work will begin keeping the fire going throughout the cold of night.


    But right now, he just wants to be in the moment a little while longer.

 Hoping

    The fire lasts for three entire days.


    In the beginning, Andrew is so afraid to lose the flame he spends nearly all of his time nursing it, feeding it periodically with bark that he peels off the raft.


    But on the night of the third day, he runs out of both wood to burn and energy to keep watching the fire. He¡¯s stripped naked every inch of the raft¡¯s surface to feed it, so when the sky starts to pour, it feels like the right time to give up and take a break.


    By morning, Andrew is back to his starting place in terms of being fire-less. The good thing, though, is that his glass bottle is now finally filled with water he can actually drink. A side effect of last night¡¯s rain, which has been hard enough to destroy his fire, is that his belly is now filled and so are all his containers.


    Andrew can¡¯t really be upset about the fire.


    Glancing around the raft, he decides to do spend the rest of the day doing some work on it. Using the last of his rope and wood, he fortifies the logs that are in the water or in danger of breaking away. He soon discovers that without any tools, the most elaborate repair work he can do is simply slapping wooden parts together and binding it all with rope. It¡¯s both wasteful and ridiculously ineffective. So, he quickly changes tactics and turns focus onto making a set of tools.


    Last night¡¯s rain has also brought him other things. All along the starboard side are thick layers of seaweed. Andrew changes the dressings on his foot, uses some more as sunscreen by slapping them all over his skin, and the rest he hangs out to dry. Turns out, dried seaweed is edible!


    Then there are the things the sea god brought. Andrew has taken to calling the mysterious being helping him the Sea God, at least for now. He knows that it¡¯s likely the female voice he heard at the very beginning, but he doesn¡¯t want to come to any conclusions just yet. Besides, if it really is Victoria Summers, it will mean she is behind two of the most traumatizing events in Andrew¡¯s entire life. And he isn¡¯t ready to pin that responsibility on any one individual yet.


    So, Sea God it is.


    Andrew goes through the new materials he¡¯s given. A few more nails, a piece of hard metal the size of his hand, and half of an empty coconut.


    It seems strange for something like a coconut shell to be found so far out at sea. Andrew remembers reading a passage on these hairy fruits in one of Aragon Dragonia¡¯s books.


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    ¡°Located on the eastern seas off the coast, a traveler¡¯s salvation hangs on the discovery of these life-giving trees. Providing more than sustenance and valuable resources, the tree is a symbol of survival, of hope. It shows travelers that even amongst desert beaches and barren sand dunes, there is life still.¡±


    Life. Survival. The idea he may be close to shore is almost too exciting for Andrew. He tries not to think about it, because if he does then he will start to hope. And out here, hope is a dangerous thing.


    The shell has been picked clean, so Andrew leaves it next to his water maker. It is one size larger, which is good. It can hold more. And also, finding a smaller shell to fit in it won¡¯t be as difficult.


    But Andrew decides to come back to it later. Even though his current water setup is just barely keeping him from the edge of dehydration, and having the coconut shell just sit on his raft doing nothing is a huge waste of resources, Andrew still believes that creating crafting tools is more important.


    Besides, if I have tools I can make weapons. And if that shark comes back again, I don¡¯t want to welcome it empty-handed.


    So he sets out to work. And by the time sunset hits him, Andrew has finished whittling a handle out of wood, and managed to fasten the piece of metal onto its end. With some experimenting, he finds that if he hammers the metal with the bottle, he can shape it. Of course, he¡¯s careful to wrap the bottle up first in his socks to prevent it from shattering.


    Eventually, he gets the metal to just the shape he wants - a crescent on one side and flat on the other, like a half-moon.


    Andrew holds it up to the darkening sky. The light catches the side of the metal.


    There. He¡¯s got an ax.


    For the next days, Andrew wields his ax like a painter with a brush, his raft the canvas. Any splinters he smoothly removes, and rotten pieces of wood he dissects away. The Sea God has also provided him with more wood and a bit of swollen rope. Andrew puts these to great use, expanding his raft and further stabilizing it until it is once again back to its former dimensions.


    Andrew walks around the edges of his raft proudly. It¡¯s taken days, but he¡¯s managed to restore all the floor space taken away by the shark, more so even. He¡¯s now able to walk five paces in either direction without getting his feet wet.


    He¡¯s so pleased with that, he almost cries.


    Finally, Andrew can sit down without feeling like his world will tip over with the tiniest movement. It¡¯s euphoric, like he¡¯s spent the last year standing and has now sat down for the first time.


    He exhales, and feels more exhausted than he ever was. He lifts his face to the sky, then back to the water, breathing in the crisp morning air.


    And that¡¯s when he sees it, a tiny toothpick sticking out from the blue horizon.


    Andrew shields his eyes and tries to get a better look.


    No, it isn¡¯t the light playing tricks. It really is a toothpick, light brown and framed against the rising sun. There¡¯s more to it. As the sun gradually shifts above it, the toothpick gains more detail. It grows hair. Green, leafy hair.


    Andrew jumps up so far his feet leave the ground.


    It¡¯s not a toothpick. It¡¯s a tree!


    Andrew¡¯s heart begins to race. He steps as far to the edge of his raft as he dares, squinting at the tree as hard as he can.


    There¡¯s no mistaking it. It¡¯s exactly what it looks like.


    A tree. Which means, an island!


    Andrew raises his arms to the sky and cheers. Then he kneels and gives thanks to the gods above and below for his salvation.


    His suffering is over. Finally, he can get off this damn raft and walk on solid ground again.


    He just hopes the currents don¡¯t change direction.

 Landing

    Andrew feels the current shift in the afternoon. It¡¯s gradual at first, the waves changing so subtly that Andrew will not have noticed it if he hasn¡¯t got one hand in the water.


    He¡¯s been keeping as close to the water¡¯s edge as possible, watching, waiting for a change. But now that it has, Andrew finds himself scrambling. He¡¯s been expecting a change but not this soon. After only a few hours carrying him towards the island, the current is now moving away, taking him east instead of north.


    Andrew controls his panic. He can¡¯t waste any time. He¡¯s made progress. He just needs to keep it. If he can¡¯t move towards the island he must try at least to not drift further away.


    Besides, he¡¯s prepared. Andrew reaches behind him and picks up the long plastic paddle he¡¯s made earlier. He plunges it deep into the water and tries to row against the current.


    The flimsy piece of plastic snaps after the third stroke. Annoyed but not entirely surprised, Andrew throws the plastic aside and uses the wooden plank he¡¯s prepared. His Plan B.


    Except that doesn¡¯t work either. It isn¡¯t obvious before, but the plank is way too thin to move any water. It¡¯s barely any different from Andrew using his hand. He throws the wood aside. Now, he panics. He hasn¡¯t come up with a Plan C.


    He looks around. The only other piece of material he hasn¡¯t used is a rusty pipe. Andrew hasn¡¯t touched the thing since getting it, for fear of cutting himself on the poisonous metal. He still doesn¡¯t want to touch it, but he is out of options. The current is taking him away from the island. If he looks now, he can see the tall tree moving sideways. Too long like this and it¡¯ll be nearly impossible for him to get back to it by himself.


    He comes up with an idea.


    Throughout his ordeal, the only piece of soft clothing Andrew has left on him are his underwear and socks. He isn¡¯t about to expose his entire self to the sea winds yet, so he grabs both socks and wraps them around the base of the pipe. Then, he ties the wooden plank against the other end, and using nails he sticks the broken pieces of plastic onto the plank.


    Now, he has something to work with. Andrew immediately puts his creation to the test. Pushing the paddle into the waves, Andrew can feel it already catching the current. He pulls against it, putting his weight behind it.


    The raft stops moving.


    Heart pounding, Andrew rows with all his might. The paddle stays together, the many parts of it straining but not breaking. In front of him, Andrew sees the island moving towards him.


    He¡¯s doing it. He¡¯s going in the right direction.


    Andrew¡¯s chest tightens in exhilaration as the island grows bigger. Soon, he can see the island in its entirety. It is not particularly big, perhaps that of a village. But it is land. And, oh, what a delightful thought it is to walk upon it!


    Andrew doubles his efforts. Sweat has gathered on his skin, stinging him whenever the wind blows. He barely feels it, rowing without stopping into the evening and then night. Desperation is his energy, hope is his drive. Even as the sun goes down he does not stop, using the moonlight as a guide instead. He keeps going, watching as the mountainous shadow grows ever-steadily above the horizon.


    He arrives at dawn. Exhausted to the brink of delirium, it isn¡¯t until Andrew¡¯s raft slides up against the sand that he realizes he¡¯s done it. His arms, locked in their constant movement, find resistance. He stops, and has to consciously force his stiff fingers to let go of the pipe. The makeshift oar clatters off the side of the raft and onto the sand below. Andrew follows it with his eyes. And then he too, topples over onto dry land.


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    It is noon when Andrew opens his eyes again. The sun is beating down onto his exposed back and legs, the ocean lapping at his toes. When he stands, Andrew can hear his body crackling like firewood. Wind stings at his raw skin, his leathery lips, his burned scalp. But none of that registers in his mind. Because right now, his attention is not on pain or hunger or thirst, but on the array of vibrant colors spread out in front of him, colors he¡¯s not seen in weeks, maybe months.


    No. Lifetimes.


    In every direction, lush, green vegetation stretches deep into the island. Sparse shrubberies prelude the dense and vine-covered woods further on. Andrew looks east, then west, tracing the glittering beach until it curves out of view.


    His chest swells with pride. He¡¯s made it. He¡¯s really done it. With his own two hands, he¡¯s snatched life out of the jaws of death.


    Andrew takes the first step, wobbling as his legs learn how to walk again. When he feels himself falling he doesn¡¯t fight it, instead embracing the sandy ground as he crashes onto it. Laughter bubbles out of him. Free, grateful.


    He¡¯s survived. He will live.


    The sand is warm, reaching into Andrew¡¯s insides like particles of sunshine. Andrew climbs back up, feeling lightheaded with glee. His legs are still jelly, so he crawls, leaving behind his raft and all the horrors he¡¯s experienced on it. He gets to the end of the beach line, where sand disappears slowly into yellowed grass. He finds a nearby tree and leans against it, enjoying for the first time in a long while the coolness of shade.


    There, under the protection of the tree, he sleeps once more.


    Only to wake again to the fiery sensation of being consumed alive. Andrew jumps up and begins to wack at his arms and legs. All along his body, moving pinpricks of pain stab into him, wriggling through his skin to crawl along his bones. Andrew lets out a terrified howl and makes a dash for the water. The moon is out now, casting the waves in a silvery glow.


    He jumps in.


    The water is lukewarm from under the sun, but freezes against Andrew¡¯s burning skin. He welcomes the icy pain as it covers over the fire. And soon, he doesn¡¯t feel the itchiness anymore. Standing up, he sucks in a breath as wind bites at his sun-fried body. Even so, it is a better feeling than the one he woke up with.


    Andrew begins wading towards onto the shore again. He treads carefully, as if whatever tormented him may still be in the water, hiding in the shallows.


    But nothing greets him on or in the water, save for his raft. Carried by the ebbing tide, the raft is a dark beast whose form is grotesquely abnormal. The gentle moonlight only further emphasizes the unnatural look of the cobbled-together vessel.


    Andrew pauses in the water to study it. From where he is, he can only make out the shape of the raft. He almost cannot believe that such an ugly, small thing has been the only barrier between him and the ocean floor. It doesn¡¯t seem like a water vessel at all, but an amalgamated slab of bloated logs and strung-together pieces that shouldn¡¯t have held together but by some miracle did.


    No, Andrew shouldn¡¯t think like that. Hideous as it is, that thing bobbing on the water is his raft. And it is only thanks to it that he¡¯s even survived for so long, let alone reach this island.


    Andrew wades towards it. Even if he doesn¡¯t like it, the raft deserves a proper retirement on land, not out there in the unforgiving water.


    Moonlight dulls as stars disappear. Andrew can barely see in front of him, and has to stare hard at the dark shape as he approaches. And as he does, something about the raft hits him as strange. Stranger than even his Frankensteinian raft has a right to be.


    And then he realizes what it is. Something is poking out from the far side of his raft. Something not part of the vessel.


    Is it his coat, or some other piece of material that has caught against the wind?


    Andrew slows, crouching so his chest is submerged. The shape moves too, growing in height and form as something long protrudes out of its middle.


    Then, it separates.


    Two arms, both holding the long protrusion, set it down onto the raft.


    Realization hits Andrew like a tidal wave. It¡¯s the Sea God, delivering another plank to him.


    Before he knows it, Andrew is standing. No, now he¡¯s running, arms waving in the air and yelling.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    The shape immediately stiffens. Andrew thinks he sees two glowing orbs. Eyes?


    ¡°Hey!¡± Water splashing onto his face he runs, pulling his legs through the shallows. ¡°Hey, wait!¡±


    The shadow turns, stretching back into the waves.


    ¡°I just want to talk!¡±


    The moon chooses now to reappear. Bright blue light shines across the raft, illuminating the moldy logs and highlighting a twin-leafed fishtail raised high in the air.


    Then, amidst a bloom of cobalt water, the tail vanishes.


    Andrew stops, one hand frozen in place towards the now empty raft.


    It is quiet again, but inside his mind, explosions of light tear through the darkness as everything starts to make sense.


    ¡°Oh, gods,¡± he whispers. ¡°What have we done.¡±

 Raised

    The cave was dark when Andrew woke, but lightning illuminated the stone and sand he was lying on. He got up, groaning as pain pounded through his skull. he didn¡¯t remember what had happened, and it was only when he felt his head and found his fingers coming back red that memory came back.


    Victoria had hit him. No, she had backstabbed him, done him in when his guard was dropped. Granted, she did it with a rock, but he saw no reason why it wouldn¡¯t still be called a backstab.


    Grunting, Andrew pulled himself up from the wet sand. Rain was showering into the opened mouth of the cave, drenching everything, including him.


    Where was the wooden door?


    That was the only thought left inside Andrew¡¯s mind as the headache continued to pulse through him. He clutched his temples and squeezed, as if he could push the pain out of his ears.


    It didn¡¯t work, of course. But Andrew didn¡¯t have the luxury of sitting down and waiting for it to pass. He had to work out where Victoria was, and why there wasn¡¯t anything blocking the cavern entrance.


    As lightning strikes across the sky, Andrew¡¯s senses returned.


    Of course the door wasn¡¯t there. Victoria had taken it. On her way out of the cave.


    She wasn¡¯t here anymore.


    Pain took a backseat from fear. Andrew lurched out of the cave, facing the rain head-on as it lashed from the sky.


    When Andrew got to the entrance, a deep roll of thunder shook across the sky. He felt the force of the storm through the soles of his feet, shaking into his bones. He felt scared. But not for himself.


    Andrew scanned the waves. It was like watching the realm itself rippling from the anger of the gods. Huge waves curled high into the sky, crashing down in explosions of foam and salt. The roar deafened Andrew¡¯s shouts for Victoria.


    He had no idea where she would¡¯ve gone. The beach was lost in the curtains of rain, and the stone outcrops hiding the cave were treacherously slick from the tossing waves. It took Andrew all his strength just to cling onto the side of the cavern to keep from being taken into the air. He couldn¡¯t imagine Victoria surviving in this part of the beach.


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    And then he saw something. Far out in the water, thrown about by the raging storm, was a slab of wood.


    Andrew threw himself down the outcrops. Howling winds tore at him from all sides, threatening to steal his footing. Andrew didn¡¯t care. He jumped, leaped, fell down the cliff towards the beach. The rocks dug into his flesh, clobbered bruises all across his body. He kept going. He didn¡¯t stop to think why, only that Victoria¡¯s death would be on his hands alone, if the storm took her.


    Andrew¡¯s steps finally faltered. He slipped, and fell into the water.


    Beneath the waves, there was no storm. Andrew fought against the current and pushed his head above the foamy surface. He breathed hard, his ears popping from the roar of nature¡¯s wrath. A few yards away, a fork of lightning crashed down from the sky, illuminating the twenty-foot wave as it descended from its precipice. The enormous force swept over his head, and Andrew was deep down again, tumbling through the murky chaos.


    Fight it!


    Inside his chest, Andrew felt the surge of desperation, of calmness in the panic. His eyes opened, his hands wheeled around the water. He found the surface - that blue, angry thing - and clawed his way towards it.


    Breaking free, he sucked in all the air he could. His lungs screamed from cold but he kept taking in breathes bigger than his body could manage. He was alive. He was alive and afloat.


    He heard Victoria¡¯s scream.


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    Turning towards the sound, Andrew yelled as loudly as he could,


    ¡°Heeeey!¡±


    But there was no answer. He wasn¡¯t even sure he had the right direction. The waves were too tall, every one of them towering over his head. Andrew had to duck under to avoid being beaten down, and each time he surfaced it was like emerging into a foreign world. He had no idea which way was shore, and where Victoria might be.


    She screamed again. This time, sounding far away.


    ¡°Victoria!¡±


    Andrew swam in where he hoped was the right way. The current pulled him crossways, back around, spinning him round and round. Another wave rose, swept him sideways into the water. Andrew struggled to stay afloat. He had to do something. Now. Or risk losing both his and Victoria¡¯s lives here.


    Andrew surfaced, sucked in as much air as his lungs would allow, then before the next wave can come he dove. Down and down he went, kicking with his legs in the direction of the ocean floor.


    He was lucky. The ocean wasn¡¯t deep here. He could see sand. Reaching out, Andrew grabbed onto a nearby sunken rock to stabilize himself. Then with his finger, he drew a circle in the sand, surrounding it with the characters for Earth, Sand, Rock, and Change.


    Then, his lungs now burning, Andrew opens his mouth and screams out the phrases he¡¯d learned from Doctor Davis, phrases he wasn¡¯t meant to know but picked up and practiced in secret.


    Above the waves, the storm continued to rage. Andrew could feel it even where he is, the awesome power of this world, this place where mountains were raised, rivers formed and men lived. And as Andrew thought about this, he shoved his hand into the sand, over the circle he drew, and summoned his will to change the world.

 Discovered

    The storm continued to rage as Andrew dragged Victoria onto the beach. He heaved her as far away from the swelling waves as he could, then collapsed by her side.


    Rain pounded against the both of them, buffeting their exhausted bodies.


    Andrew reached over and shook Victoria¡¯s shoulder.


    She slapped him away, yelling, ¡°Just let me die!¡±


    ¡°No way,¡± Andrew said. ¡°I didn¡¯t kill half the seabed just so you can be so ungrateful!¡± Wind stole the rest of what he wanted to say, but he had a feeling Victoria got his point.


    The girl curled up away from him, but Andrew could hear the sound of her cries even through the howling rain.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to be here anymore,¡± she sobbed. ¡°I just want to go home. I want my sister.¡±


    Andrew sat up. ¡°You can¡¯t,¡± he said. ¡°Because Constantia is dead.¡±


    Victoria cried harder. ¡°You¡¯re a monster.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not!¡± Andrew said. His heart was slamming against his ribcage, making it hard to focus. Remnants of the alchemical reaction still flowed in his veins, numbing his fingertips. It was exhilarating, as if he¡¯d dipped his whole body inside a tank of electric eels and had come within a hair¡¯s breadth with oblivion. ¡°I¡¯m not the monster,¡± was what he wanted to say, but when he cast his eyes out at the rolling sea, and saw the massive pillars of rock and sand jutting out between the waves, he wasn¡¯t so sure.


    ¡°Let¡¯s get out of this rain,¡± he said to Victoria. ¡°You can decide on what to do when we¡¯re both dry and covered.¡±


    He prepared for her retort, and was surprised when she got up without another word.


    They headed into the forest.


    Whatever gods that let Andrew live through the ordeal in the ocean were good enough to let him find shelter. After stumbling deep into the overgrown vegetation, they stumbled upon a tiny cave half-hidden among vines and low-bearing willows. Andrew led Victoria inside, instructing her to wait there while he gathered fire wood.


    When he returned, he had half a mind to expect her gone again, but she didn¡¯t. Curled up in the dirt, she looked like a drowned kitten, and it sent fresh waves of guilt down Andrew¡¯s gullet.


    He threw his armload of timber against one side of the cave. Victoria tensed, but didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to light a fire,¡± Andrew said.


    Still with her back to him, Victoria chattered through her teeth, ¡°Then do it.¡±


    Andrew looked around. He tore out a few clumps of moss out from their crevices and went back to the wood pile with these tucked under his arm. Then, he picked out a stick from among the pile and started to draw.


    ¡°Does it have to take so bloody long?¡± Victoria asked.


    ¡°It¡¯ll take longer if you complain,¡± Andrew replied. He finished the last few characters, tossed the stick back into the pile, and took the moss from under his arm and placed them in a clump right onto the alchemy circle.


    With a spark and the right words, the woodpile started to burn.


    Andrew stepped back, satisfied, and glanced over to see Victoria staring at him and the fire.


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    ¡°How did you do that?¡± Her voice came out as a gasp. She got up, crawled over to the fire and stuck her hands out in front of it. ¡°You didn¡¯t have any matches.¡±


    ¡°I transmutated the water out of the wood,¡± Andrew explained, setting himself down on the other side of the flames. ¡°And directed the lightning from the reaction into it, causing it to combust.¡±


    After hours in the freezing storm, the fire in front of them was a godsend. Andrew didn¡¯t want to leave, but he knew he had to soon, or else the sun will set and whatever warmth they¡¯d built up in the cave will be drawn right out by the deadly cold of night. He got up.


    ¡°Where are you going?¡±


    ¡°We need food,¡± Andrew said, already shrugging off his coat. It came away a wet bundle. Then he started pulling his shirt over his head.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Do you always have this many questions, all the time?¡± Andrew asked. He went to the fire, pulled out a stick that hasn¡¯t burned yet, and stuck it through the sleeves of his clothing. ¡°I¡¯m going out to pick some berries,¡± he said after seeing the hurt on Victoria¡¯s face. ¡°I want my clothes to be dry when I come back so I don¡¯t freeze.¡±


    Victoria looked at him then, her eyes wide. ¡°You¡¯re going back out there, half naked?¡±


    Andrew shrugged. ¡°Believe it or not, it works.¡± He stuck the sticks with his clothes attached into the ground, then stepped around the fire towards the mouth of the cave. Rain was still reaching in, making it look like they were blocked off from the outside world by a veil of static.


    Without another look behind him, Andrew stepped through the veil and back out into the cold.


    After two more hours of fumbling around in the wet woods, Andrew found his way back just before sunset.


    Victoria gave a little shriek when he burst in carrying an armful of mushrooms, roots, and the coveted berries.


    ¡°I was beginning to think you weren¡¯t coming back,¡± she said. Then looking at the food he brought, added, ¡°I¡¯m glad you did.¡±


    ¡°I sure hope so,¡± Andrew said, dumping his finds aside and falling to his knees by the fire. It was bigger than when he made it, and it didn¡¯t take him long to see that Victoria had been busy too. While he was gone, she had gathered many more things to burn. Over by the wall, there was a whole stack of branches and twigs. And by the looks of it, she even pulled a few long stems from the nearby willows.


    ¡°Good work,¡± Andrew said, nodding towards all the material. ¡°With that much, we can stay here tomorrow if we need to.¡±


    Victoria was silent. She was mostly dried now, but didn¡¯t look any less miserable. Her hair was an angry shade of red, and hung in a limp ponytail over her shoulder, just brushing the top of her collarbone. Her clothes were crumpled and faded, with parts of it stretched so much it¡¯d torn.


    Andrew realized then that she was wearing his coat around her shoulders.


    ¡°That¡¯s mine,¡± he said, pointing.


    Victoria clicked her tongue. ¡°Come and take it,¡± she said.


    More than getting his warm coat back, what Andrew wanted to do more than anything was to take off his pants. He was drenched to the bone, and was shivering even when he was pressed close enough to the fire for the hairs on his arms to be burned. But for some reason he didn¡¯t want to do that with Victoria right there, looking. So he stayed where he was and kept quiet.


    They ate what little Andrew found, and fell asleep shortly after. They were both exhausted, and their bodies needed rest even if their minds still reeled from the day¡¯s events.


    When day broke, Andrew woke to a bad smell. He opened his eyes, thinking the worse had happened, only to get a face full of wolf paw.


    Andrew¡¯s scream died in his lungs. He stared into the yellow eyes of Ignar, his brain somersaulting with an explanation as to why the wolfman was here.


    Victoria stirred.


    Andrew¡¯s eyes widened. Ignar grinned. The claw on Andrew¡¯s face tightened. His heart began hammering, pumping fear into his senses. He could see everything, from the lines of white hairs along Ignar¡¯s snout to the speckles of saliva clinging to the wolfman¡¯s fangs, every detail imprinted in Andrew the inevitability of bloodshed.


    Ignar lifted his head to look at Victoria, and as he did his drool dripped down onto Andrew¡¯s face.


    In that second, Andrew knew why Ignar was here. The wolf had known Victoria was on the island, knew it probably since she came here. And now, with the Doctor no longer well enough to control him, his primal nature was likely getting stronger, overcoming what little reason he even had to begin with.


    He was here to hunt.


    His mouth still covered by the wolfman¡¯s massive paw, Andrew tried to convey what he could with his eyes. But then he heard sounds of rustling coming in Victoria¡¯s direction, followed shortly by her sigh of, ¡°Morning already?¡±


    Andrew was out of time. He had to do something, or else Victoria was dead. But what chance did he have against a monster who was neither man nor wolf?


    He felt the weight shifting as Ignar unfolded himself off from him, claws and teeth glinting in the daybreak.


    It was too late.


    Andrew heard a sharp intake of breath, then just before Ignar sprung and Victoria screamed, he reached out, grabbed a fistful of Ignar¡¯s fur, and began the transmutation process straight into the wolfman¡¯s body.

 Broken

    Ignar¡¯s eyes grew to the size of fists. His lips pulled back, revealing black-spotted gums. His jaws opened and closed, blood rivering between his white teeth, down onto the sandy ground.


    Andrew lowered his hand. He was breathing hard, the magic coursing through his veins like fire. His senses were heightened, giving him information about the world he didn¡¯t know existed. He could see the remnants of electricity buzzing about Ignar¡¯s head, hear the sound of the wolfman¡¯s stuttering heart, superimposed on the drumming inside Andrew¡¯s own chest.


    And over yonder, he could hear Victoria¡¯s scream even before she opened her mouth.


    Then, movement exploded. Ignar threw Andrew off of him and staggered towards Victoria, bleeding a path along the sand.


    Victoria screamed and threw rocks at him. Then she leaped back, flattening herself against the side of the cavern.


    Ignar advanced, snarling, blood staining his grey fur black. His clothes were smoking ruins on his back and with a shaking claw, he pulled off everything that wasn¡¯t naturally him.


    ¡°I am an animal,¡± he said, voice thick with saliva. ¡°And animals should look like one, shouldn¡¯t they?¡±


    ¡°What the devil are you?¡± Victoria demanded as she kicked at Ignar. ¡°Go back to the hell you came from, fiend!¡±


    Ignar growled, caught Victoria¡¯s foot and pulled her into the air. Victoria shrieked and kicked harder, but it was no use. The wolfman leaned forward and opened his massive jaws.


    Andrew slammed into Ignar¡¯s back, bouncing off the thick hide. He scrambled up and grabbed a stick from the campfire. He ran into the wolf again, this time like a jousting knight, ramming the stick deep into Ignar¡¯s back.


    The stick snapped in half but the second piece caught the wolf¡¯s flesh, piercing through the fur.


    Ignar howled, dropping Victoria. Andrew tried to duck but he wasn¡¯t quick enough. The claw came raking across his face, turning his world red.


    Andrew flew back into the sand, gasping. He felt a massive weight crush into him, and smelled the rancid breath of the wolf bearing down his face.


    ¡°I should have done this a long time ago,¡± said Ignar. ¡°But the Master was always in the way, see? But no longer. No longer.¡±


    Andrew pushed against the wolf but it felt like pushing against stone. ¡°What,¡± he gasped, ¡°are you doing, Ignar? I¡¯m the Doctor¡¯s assistant!¡±


    Ignar howled, splattering blood and spit into Andrew¡¯s face.


    ¡°No longer! No longer! The Master is gone. Dead!¡±


    Andrew froze. It couldn¡¯t be. It was impossible.


    ¡°You lie.¡±


    Ignar¡¯s grin stretched his wolf lips to the limit. ¡°No. But you die.¡±


    Victoria let out a massive roar and brought a rock down onto Ignar¡¯s head. The stone cracked like a coconut, the sound vibrating through the walls.


    On top of Andrew, Ignar stiffened, his features twisting into agony. Trails of blood seeped from his head, past his yellow eyes and Andrew felt them dripping onto his own skin.


    But the wolf did not fall.


    ¡°Run,¡± Andrew said, quietly at first then screamed. ¡°Run, Victoria!¡±


    Victoria didn¡¯t hesitate. She dropped the two halves of the rock and dashed out the cavern entrance, disappearing into the wet foliage.


    Ignar turned after her, howling words that didn¡¯t make any sense. Andrew tried to grab the wolf but his fur was slippery from all the blood. Ignar shoved Andrew deep into the ground, then left him there and bounded after Victoria.


    Andrew lay there, panting, sobbing. Doctor Davis was dead. The man who saved him from the sea, raised him in the same house, taught him how to live, was gone.


    No, it couldn¡¯t be. Andrew pushed himself up. The wolf had gone mad. He couldn¡¯t be telling the truth.


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    At the entrance, Andrew paused. He needed to go back to the castle. If Ignar had gone insane then so could Bartholomue and all the sheep servants. The Doctor was still recovering, and he was severely crippled. There was no way under the sky he could defend himself if the homunculi were to attack him.


    Andrew started towards the castle, only to stop after a few steps.


    He looked in the direction Ignar went, where the grass and leaves were parted and stained red.


    Victoria.


    Andrew grasped his head in his hands. Victoria didn¡¯t know the island and she was being chased by a wolf. She couldn¡¯t survive even if she was armed.


    She needed him.


    Andrew looked up at the sky. It was blue, tainted pink with dawnish light. It was going to be a beautiful day.


    Someone was going to die.


    Andrew started down a different direction, following the blood trail as it merged with the shrubbery.


    No one was going to die. He would save them all, or what was the use of alchemy, the science which was supposed to change the world?


    The blood led him through the forest towards the beach. Andrew quickly realized where Victoria was going. She was trying to trace the path she took with him yesterday, during the storm.


    Even now, she wanted to go home.


    Andrew felt a pang of regret. Except it wasn¡¯t a pang so much as a spear jamming through him.


    He shouldn¡¯t have done this. It was wrong. All of it. He hurried, pushing through vines and leaping over puddles. He could hear crashing not far in front of him, and his legs wanted to slow, in case Ignar turned around and decided Andrew was the one to go first.


    But Andrew pressed on, willing his body to move faster. His head pounded with pain and his ribs ached. He knew he must be hurt from grappling with Ignar and instinct told him to slow, to access damage.


    Andrew gritted his teeth. He wanted to keep going. But despite it all, the crashing grew more distant and his legs grew sluggish.


    Andrew had to stop then. He was out of breath. Leaning on his knees, his eyes darted across the trees, trying to see if maybe Victoria had looped around, that somehow she might¡¯ve lost the wolf and was actually safe.


    He heard her scream, and knew it was too late.


    ¡°No!¡± he cried, sprinting after the sound. ¡°No, gods, don¡¯t do this!¡± He shoved through low-hanging branches and burst onto sand.


    The beach was blue. The waves far. Sunlight shot across the horizon, and on the beach, Victoria was dangling from Ignar¡¯s jaws.


    Andrew''s world shrank.


    Ignar was on all fours, his back hunched and his tail high up in the air. He looked indistinguishable from a real wolf, save for the places on his body where skin grew instead of fur like some disease.


    The wolf stood still on the beach, snarling at Andrew. Victoria¡¯s neck was between its teeth, her blood pooling beneath the both of them. She was facing the sky, mouth opened in a silent, un-ending cry.


    Furry lashed around Andrew¡¯s chest, pulling him up. He started across the sand, first running, then sprinting, then throwing himself forward with a maddened howl of rage tearing from his lungs. The wolf startled, lowered itself and snarled. But Andrew didn¡¯t care. He leaped at the wolf straight on, arms wide like a mad man embracing death.


    The wolf turned and bounded away, letting Andrew fall into the sand. But at the last moment Andrew reached out, grabbed the wolf¡¯s hind leg and held on as the creature started to kick at him.


    Claws dug into his cheeks. One scraped over his eye. Andrew bit back the desire to let go, instead grabbing on with both hands.


    The wolf started to jump, trying to get away. Then when it seemed to all be in vain, it finally opened its mouth and snapped at Andrew, dropping Victoria in the process.


    Andrew was waiting for this exact moment. He let go of the wolf¡¯s legs and went to grab for its mouth. His hands caught the wolf¡¯s fangs. Too quickly, the creature bit down. Andrew screamed. He didn¡¯t let go, though, and with the last ounce of his desperate strength he commanded an alchemical reaction right there, into the wolf¡¯s body.


    This time, lightning struck from the heavens. The wolf¡¯s body stuck straight up, flinging Andrew high into the air. The reaction broke, electricity shooting up into Andrew¡¯s arms.


    By the time he fell into the sand, his world was already dark.


    Andrew got up. The world was dark. But it was because his eyes were glued shut. He clawed at them, feeling flakes gathering under his fingernails. Finally, he could crack open his right eye.


    The sky was in turmoil. Black clouds rolled around each other as thunder drummed through the thick air. Every hair on Andrew¡¯s body was standing straight, but everything else couldn¡¯t. Limping, Andrew made his way back across the sand. He¡¯d spotted the bodies lying a few hundred feet away, his vision too blurry to make out any details. As memory came crawling back, he prayed Victoria wasn¡¯t caught in the alchemical rebound.


    He got to Ignar first.


    The wolf was jerky. There wasn¡¯t a bit of fur that wasn¡¯t singed and what human skin it had, had fallen away to reveal the messy flesh underneath. Andrew kept his eyes averted from the creature¡¯s white ones, and stepped over the closest thing he ever had to a friend, continuing down the beach until he finally got to Victoria.


    The girl that started it all.


    She was lying on her side with her hand pressed against her neck. Andrew knelt down to feel for a pulse but his hands were shaking too much to be of any use. So instead he tried using his voice, which cracked just as the sky lit up with lightning.


    ¡°Victoria?¡±


    Victoria¡¯s eyes fluttered. Her lips twitched but no sound came out. When Andrew tried to move her again, she whimpered, so he stopped.


    ¡°Victoria,¡± he said again, this time his voice sounding firmer. More certain. ¡°We need to get you back to the castle. I can heal you there.¡±


    Victoria didn¡¯t move.


    ¡°Please,¡± Andrew said. ¡°Please let me fix you.¡±


    Victoria opened her eyes, and gazed fixedly ahead. Then her mouth opened, and she said to Andrew, ¡°I¡¯ll be waiting in hell for you.¡±


    Then, her eyes closed, and with one last shuddering breath, she died.

 Exchanged

    Outside the castle, the sheep were grazing.


    Andrew wanted to ignore them, like he¡¯d always done in the past. But this time, he forced himself to stop and stare into the slanted gaze of these creatures.


    He now knew why he never wanted to look at them. It wasn¡¯t what they were, but what these homunculus represented. Each was a person once. A person like Victoria, Constantia, even him and the Doctor. And each one fell into Andrew¡¯s trap, ended up on the Doctor¡¯s table, and was now on all fours in the grass, pulling at roots with the front of their teeth.


    Andrew carried on through the castle gates and into the courtyard. There were more sheep here, some still in their maid dresses, broken sleeves dragging through the mud under their hooved feet.


    Andrew made his way through, carrying Victoria in his arms. No one stopped him. No one looked his way. He felt like a ghost drifting through his own home, carrying the dead to be buried.


    Except, he wasn¡¯t burying her, but his guilt.


    The castle was dark. Not a lantern was lit along the walls. Andrew could see only what the dim light through the narrow windows showed. All along the walls were blood stains, bits of clothing and smashed plates. It looked like before the sheep turned feral, they suffered the same madness as Ignar.


    Andrew¡¯s feet landed softly on the carpet. It was red, stained darker with what he could only hope was water.


    It was noon still, but it was cold. Andrew made his way deeper into the silence. His heartbeat seemed to echo through the walls, marking the passage of the only living being through the ancient fortress.


    The steps leading to the laboratory were still dripping when Andrew made it to the bottom. He traced it with his eyes, winding it along the hallway and down into the kitchen. The door was hanging off its hinge, claw marks scratched deep into the wood.


    Andrew didn¡¯t want to check if the cook was still here. He barely fought one homunculus when he was well. He didn¡¯t want to fight another, not when he wasn¡¯t sure if his insides were still intact.


    Everything above the first step was lost to the shadows, but looking up, Andrew knew it was a straight shot into the laboratory. He placed one foot onto the first step, then the second, then one more.


    Victoria was heavy. Every foot climbed was becoming more difficult than the last. Soon, Andrew¡¯s breath came in labored gasps. His chest throbbed where his ribs broke from the wolf¡¯s attack. His head pounded and every time he blinked, Ignar¡¯s fangs closed in on him.


    Andrew¡¯s foot missed the step and thudded heavily on the landing.


    He was there. And the door was ajar. Through the gap in the iron, Andrew saw light.


    He nudged it open with his shoulder.


    Cold flooded through as light spilled from the broken windows. Ash swirled around the blackened room, perching like butterflies on the burned shelves, peeling walls, and the shoulders of Doctor Davis Von Boldstein.


    Andrew stopped, his foot hovering by the door.


    ¡°Doctor?¡±


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    Doctor Davis turned his head, and his thin lips stretched into a smile. ¡°Ah, Andrew. It has been a while, my friend.¡±


    Andrew was too taken back by the doctor calling him a friend, but when Davis turned the rest of the way and held out his arms for a hug, Andrew realized he was much too naive to be shocked by so little, for stretched out on either side of the doctor, were the arms of Bartholomeu the lizard.


    Andrew took an involuntary step back. ¡°Doctor Davis,¡± he said. ¡°I didn¡¯t think you¡­¡± His eyes fell from the doctor to the table behind him. Laid out across it was the lizard cook, head tilted back, tail curled around the edge of the marble transmutation table.


    A trail of blood ran from the ends of the table, running all the way across the room, behind Andrew and down the stairs.


    The doctor laughed. ¡°You thought I¡¯d die by the hands of these, monsters?¡± He held up his new hands, wicked claws attached to the end of two winding limbs. ¡°You think I¡¯d let my own creations destroy me?¡±


    He laughed again, the sound laced with insanity, which stopped all too suddenly. ¡°Ah, Andrew. I see you¡¯ve already brought me a new subject. Good, good. I have waited for you.¡± He pushed off from the table and went to one corner of the room. There, sat a cage, its steel bars blackened from the fire. The doctor reached down, his claws curling around the handle. ¡°Seeing as Ignar is probably off into the woods somewhere, I¡¯ll let you catch the next animal.¡±


    Andrew shook his head. ¡°Enough, Doctor Davis. We need to stop this. We have to put an end to this madness."


    The doctor¡¯s steps haltered. His eyes widened like Andrew had just stabbed him. ¡°What?¡± he said, his voice choking up. ¡°You want to¡­ to stop? But¡­ look at this, Andrew!¡± Doctor Davis waved his arms around. ¡°Look at this progress!¡± The cage slipped from the doctor¡¯s claws, crashing into the wall with an ear-splitting shriek.


    Doctor Davis froze. Slowly, he raised his claws up to his face. His eyes were round, misty marbles, and Andrew suddenly wasn¡¯t sure if the doctor he knew was still in this room, or if that man who had once challenged the gods of creation themselves was already died.


    Doctor Davis dropped his hands to his side. His head swiveled to look at Andrew. ¡°Then why did you bring her here? If not to further the evolution of science?¡±


    Andrew glanced down at Victoria. Her cheeks were colorless, and her lips white as the marble of the transmutation table. And yet, her hair was still that same shade of fire he had grown to know and love.


    ¡°She is my last sin, and I am here to pay my dues.¡± Andrew walked towards the table, towards the man he had once worshiped and said, ¡°Now, please. Get out of the way.¡±


    Doctor Davis¡¯s misty eyes turned from Andrew, then Victoria, then back. Then, the doctor smiled. He reached over the table, grabbed the dead lizard by the neck and hauled it to the side of the room. There, he dumped the carcass among the burned debris, then made for the exit, brushing by Andrew without another word.


    Andrew placed Victoria onto the table. He turned, watching the doctor¡¯s back disappearing down the stairs.


    And the doctor was gone.


    Andrew almost wanted to believe that was the last he¡¯d seen of the doctor. But he knew that was not the case, because the doctor would never stop his experiments. Even without help, he would be capable of continuing his demonic magic. The only way to put an end to alchemy was to destroy those who used it.


    Including Andrew himself.


    ¡°One last time,¡± Andrew whispered, taking place beside Victoria. ¡°One last time and I will never use it again.¡± He placed both hands on the cold marble, and said the words he had heard the doctor utter a hundred times already.


    ¡°Illud non moritur, quod polleat usque morari. Temporibus miris, Mors, potes ipsa mori.¡±


    The circles on the table lit up as words jumped from the diagrams. Lightning crackled through the room, leaping into the walls. Wind began to blow, throwing a cyclone of dust around Andrew and Victoria.


    Andrew kept his eyes glued onto Victoria¡¯s face. Even as the light began to blind him, he forced them to stay open. All the while, the spell streamed unbreaking from his lips, those terrifying words that kept him up each night, always accompanied by the screams of his victims.


    But this time, there were no screams.


    Andrew¡¯s voice built to a crescendo. The skies outside the empty windows grew black. Tendrils of ephemeral darkness reached out from below the table, grasping around Andrew and Victoria. They writhed to the rhythm of his voice, adding their own sounds to the howling cacophony.


    Material, they ask.


    Offering.


    Sacrifice.


    ¡°My life,¡± Andrew answered. ¡°For hers.¡±


    The tendrils hissed. More burst from the ground, wriggling up to Andrew¡¯s face. They covered his eyes, went into his nose and mouth. Andrew didn¡¯t cry out, didn¡¯t say anything. He simply gave in to the energy and let it take whatever it wanted from him. In exchange for Victoria to live.

 Reuniting

    Andrew ties off the last of the rope and stands back to admire his new contraption.


    It is perfect. Running around the entire raft is a system of ropes and shells. Andrew has hollowed out four coconuts, filled them with pebbles, and hung them on all four sides of the raft.


    Getting into the water, he tests his homemade alarm system. Reaching over the raft like he¡¯s getting onto it, Andrew presses down on one section of rope, and the whole thing unravels itself. Shells fling into the approaching waves, disappearing out of reach before Andrew can get to them. The rest of the rope slides off the raft, and Andrew just barely manages to catch onto a section before it floats off.


    Not a good first take.


    Sighing, Andrew gathers most of everything and tries again.


    ¡°Is that all for me?¡±


    Andrew lets out a yell and springs to his feet. He moves too suddenly and the raft pitches sideways, slipping from beneath him. He falls into the water, the cold punching the air out of him.


    Memories of the shark attack replay in Andrew¡¯s mind. But this time is different. He isn¡¯t afraid of the sea anymore.


    And he is in the shallows, which helps.


    Standing up, Andrew wipes seafoam from his eyes. He turns this way and that, looking for the source of the voice. For her.


    ¡°Over here.¡±


    He pivots towards the sound. It¡¯s painfully familiar, and even before seeing Victoria lounging lazily on his raft, Andrew¡¯s eyes mist up with emotion.


    Victoria waves. ¡°It has been a while, hasn¡¯t it? Sorry about last night. I was just as spooked by you as you were by me.¡±


    Andrew swallows a smile. ¡°Y-yea.¡± He wades over to the raft. It floats just above his waist, so he has to look up to see Victoria¡¯s eyes.


    They are the same jade green as he¡¯s always known. He lowers his gaze, tracing the contours of her face, down her chest, and past her bare stomach.


    Then, he looks away.


    Victoria laughs. She lifts up her mermaid tail and slaps it against the water, spraying foam into Andrew¡¯s face.


    ¡°What is that expression for? You''re not scared of your own creation, are you?¡±


    Andrew blinks, sunlight and salt stinging his eyelids. He can¡¯t help it then, and laughs as well. ¡°No. I¡¯m mostly scared of you.¡±


    Reaching out, he heaves himself onto the raft. Sitting next to Victoria, he smiles uncertainly. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ good to see you again, Victoria.¡±


    Victoria¡¯s smile is no easier than Andrew¡¯s. ¡°I thought it might be difficult for me to say the same thing, but surprisingly, it¡¯s not.¡± She looks out at the vast open waters, her shoulders rising in a shrug. ¡°I supposed I should thank you for bringing me back from the other side.¡±


    ¡°You thanked me well enough already,¡± Andrew answers. ¡°I couldn¡¯t have made it this far without your help.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± agrees Victoria. ¡°But you also wouldn¡¯t have been in so much danger if not for my homunculus.¡±


    Andrew¡¯s words die in his throat. He feels the water turn cold, the salt sticking to his skin like tiny needles. ¡°You made¡­ a homunculus?¡±


    Victoria nods. ¡°Well, something like it.¡± She lifts a strand of red hair and tucks it behind her ear. ¡°I just made it talk, but I think I did a pretty good job at that.¡±


    ¡°What about the subjects?¡± Andrew asks. ¡°What about stable transmutation platforms, and¡­ and¡­¡± He lifts his gaze from the water. ¡°You went back to the castle.¡±


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    Victoria is silent, but her eyes flicker over to Andrew and she smiles from the corner of her lips. Then, she lifts herself off the raft and slides into the water.


    Andrew leans over the side, watching the bubbles disappear. A heartbeat later, Victoria returns holding two wriggling fish in her hands.


    ¡°Let¡¯s have some breakfast.¡±


    They eat on the raft so Victoria can keep her tail in the water. Andrew makes a small fire with her help, and as they eat, he tries to make peace with the fact that the Victoria sitting with him is not, and will never be, the same one he had taken off the docks all that time ago.


    That Victoria, the one with dreams and a sister, is dead. She died on the beach, her neck gouged out by a savage wolf.


    The one with Andrew right now, eating her fish, is a homunculus.


    The flesh inside Andrew¡¯s mouth turns sour. He swallows down the rest of it and tosses the bones over the side.


    Victoria does the same.


    Andrew chuckles dryly. ¡°Does it not bother you that we ate creatures that inhabit the same space as you?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± said Victoria, stretching her arms over her head. ¡°I prefer to think of myself as a human who just so happens to breathe water and swim like a champ.¡±


    ¡°But¡­ your tail.¡±


    ¡°What about it?¡±


    ¡°Nothing.¡± Andrew has a hundred different questions he wants to ask, but he doesn¡¯t want to ruin this moment with Victoria by demanding explanations he probably doesn¡¯t even deserve.


    He turns his attention to the horizon, where the sunlight slices across the open water like a pathway straight into the heavens. Warmth spreads through his body as the day properly breaks. It¡¯s never a bad feeling to see the sun come up. No matter how tired, hungry, or thirsty he is, Andrew can¡¯t help but marvel at what may just be the most magnificent powers of the universe at work.


    Victoria is also looking. When Andrew turns to her, she smiles at him.


    ¡°Remember our first sunrise?¡± she asks. ¡°You kept me locked to the wall of that cave so long I almost died.¡±


    Andrew¡¯s smile wavers. He gets down, and despite his better judgement, leans over and pulls Victoria into him. Wrapping his arms around her shoulders, Andrew¡¯s chest tightens until he can¡¯t breathe.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± Victoria asks, perplexed. ¡°This isn¡¯t like you at all.¡±


    Andrew opens his mouth, only to let out a sob. He clutches onto Victoria with all his strength, wanting desperately to turn back time. He wants to go back to the day he met her, when she was stumbling out of the tavern with her sister, yelping as rain powdered over their heads.


    ¡°I wish I never met you,¡± Andrew whispers. ¡°I wish¡­ you never met me.¡±


    He felt Victoria¡¯s arms slide around his waist. They were wet and slippery, but warm.


    ¡°Me, too,¡± she said, squeezing hard. ¡°Gods above, me too.¡± She let go of him, and gently pushed him away so that they were staring into each other¡¯s eyes. ¡°But we are neither gods nor clocks. We can only go forward. And I am determined to keep on living with this life you have given me, no matter what.¡±


    Andrew nods and tries his best to smile. ¡°That is very much you,¡± he said, rubbing the tears from his eyes. ¡°Can¡¯t say I don¡¯t love that about you.¡±


    Victoria was quiet. When Andrew looks back up at her, he sees that she¡¯s looking out at the sea, a wistful expression in her green eyes.


    Andrew opens his mouth, then closes it again. He follows her gaze, seeing the vast openness of blue from her eyes.


    So much space, so many miles of water, too much for a single person to inhabit.


    Andrew stands up, startling Victoria from her daze.


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asks, repeating herself when Andrew jumps into the water. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going back,¡± says Andrew, pushing against the side of the raft, towards the sea. ¡°I¡¯m returning to the island, to the castle.¡±


    ¡°Why? You tried so hard to leave it.¡±


    ¡°I never should have left,¡± Andrew answers. He shoves at the raft some more, nudging it ever deeper. The sand beneath his feet drops away and he has to swim. Using his feet to paddle, he continues pushing.


    Victoria cocks her head to one side, a frown between her brows. ¡°There¡¯s nothing back there. The townsfolk burned the whole forest and much of the castle.¡±


    ¡°But they can¡¯t harm the Table,¡± Andrew says, his words half lost as water laps over his mouth. ¡°It¡¯s indestructible to the elements. Only an alchemist can break it, or use it.¡± He looks up at Victoria. ¡°I¡¯m going to give you back your legs.¡±


    Victoria¡¯s eyes grow round. She glances at her tail, submerged in the water, then without saying anything more she slips off the raft, emerging next to Andrew. Then, with water clinging to her hair and a bright smile on her face, she places both hands on the raft and helps Andrew push.


    As the raft clears the bay and is picked up by the currents, Andrew and Victoria get back onto the raft.


    ¡°I¡¯m going to be honest with you,¡± Andrew says. ¡°I didn¡¯t really think this through. I didn''t bring anything. I might die before getting anywhere near the Doctor''s island.¡±


    Victoria patted him on the shoulder with a wet hand. ¡°Have I ever let you starve while you were drifting?¡±


    "No," admits Andrew. "But I also had..." He stops as realization slowly dawns. He turns to see Victoria beaming. ¡°My fishhooks¡­ you mean to say you put those fish onto it?¡±


    Victoria laughs. ¡°You didn¡¯t really think fish are that stupid, did you?¡±


    The wind picks up, waves growing choppy as the raft is carried further out to sea. Andrew and Victoria watch as the tiny island shrinks in the distance.


    The thought of jumping and swimming back crosses Andrew''s mind. He can still make it if he leaps off now. The waves aren¡¯t broken enough and he has the strength.


    He steps over to his makeshift sail, and lets it down.


    ¡°Well then,¡± he says, aiming his coat so that the wind catches it. ¡°Let¡¯s go get you some legs.¡±

 Final

    The boat slides gently across the sand, marking the end of its journey with a sigh that sounds almost human.


    Andrew jumps off the side, his feet once again touching ground. He kneels down, grabs a handful of sand, and rubs it all over his face.


    ¡°You know that¡¯s never getting out of your hair,¡± Victoria says.


    ¡°Worth it,¡± Andrew says, looking over the raft that has done so much for him over the last months.


    ¡°Here.¡± Victoria leans across, a sharpened stick in her hands. ¡°Last time I came here I made a wheelchair. But from here, you¡¯re on your own.¡±


    Andrew shakes his head. ¡°I don¡¯t need a weapon. Even if any homunculi are alive, they are literal sheep.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± said Victoria. ¡°I saw the burned bodies.¡± She holds the spear out further. ¡°And I¡¯ve seen him.¡±


    Andrew takes the spear, not wanting to ask more. He thanks Victoria, then turns and stalks off into the island.


    There is no green. The townsfolk burned everything in their path, and in each direction Andrew turns, he sees nothing but the colors of ash and dust. But, as he goes further inland, he finds mushrooms growing out of a blackened log.


    A few hundred steps later, he finds ferns and grass sprouting from the gaps in the cracked dirt by his feet.


    Life goes on, it seems.


    As the castle¡¯s spires come into view, the air grows crisper. The smog of charcoal lessens and the path opens to a bridge leading into the castle gates.


    There is nothing there, of course, only ruins and the iron mechanisms of the draw bridge. To its west is an overturned carriage, the one Andrew has used to transport his victims.


    Never again.


    He goes around. The walls are spotted with arrows and stained with smoke, but otherwise stand firm. Eventually, Andrew wraps around the entirety of the castle and approaches the broken bridge from the west side.


    It¡¯s then that he spots a figure, sitting in the shade of an overturned cart.


    Andrew gets closer. When he gets about twenty feet, the figure lifts its head and stares at him.


    Sunlight trickles over the shadows, making the lizard¡¯s eyes gleam.


    Andrew lowers his spear. ¡°Bartholomue?¡±


    The lizard¡¯s tongue darts out between his lips. ¡°Young Master.¡±


    ¡°No way.¡± Andrew hurries over. ¡°You¡¯re alive!¡±


    Bartholomue rises unsteadily. He has no arms to support himself, and the rest of his body has turned back into a more reptilian state, so every movement he makes looks like he¡¯s doing some sort of writhing dance.


    Andrew stops in front of the lizard man, surprise and relief mixing into one.


    ¡°I thought Doctor Davis¡­ he¡­¡±


    ¡°He did,¡± Bartholomue says. ¡°But he does not kill me.¡±


    As they talk, a deep, mournful sound comes from the castle. It echoes through the walls in one unbroken note.


    Bartholomue¡¯s smile looks like a grimace. ¡°Have you returned to finish the doctor¡¯s work?¡±


    Andrew nods. ¡°I need to get across the moat. Do you know a way?¡±


    The lizard answers, ¡°Not long after you left, a girl comes through. She made a bridge. I burned it down.¡±


    ¡°I wished you¡¯d waited.¡±


    ¡°Me, too.¡± The lizard starts slithering towards the bridge. Andrew follows.


    When they reach the bridge¡¯s base, Bartholomue turns to Andrew and says, ¡°Use me.¡±


    ¡°What? How?¡±


    Bartholomue turns his head to the sun. His eyes close. ¡°You know. You are the Doctor¡¯s assistant.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going to-¡±


    ¡°Andrew.¡±


    Andrew stops. This is the first time he has heard his own name uttered from the lips of the lizard cook. It sounds too foreign that he doesn¡¯t think Bartholomue even knows what he¡¯s saying. But when the lizard opens his eyes again, they are clear.


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    ¡°The Doctor has not been bad to me,¡± he says. ¡°Even though he has taken from me, he has given me more than I had.¡±


    Andrew chuckles humorlessly. ¡°I¡­ somehow doubt that.¡±


    ¡°My human body was ill,¡± says Bartholomue. ¡°I suppose the Doctor never told you that.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± says Andrew.


    ¡°That is why,¡± Bartholomue continues, looking directly at him now. ¡°I wish to do this for him, to aid in the finality of his life.¡±


    Andrew takes a deep breath. He watches as Bartholomue lays down by the edge of the moat, stretching out his green body straight. Then, the lizard closes his eyes for the last time.


    ¡°I am ready, Young Master.¡±


    Without another word, Andrew walks over to Bartholomue. He places his hands on the ground, and with a flash of lightning and grinding stone, the lizard disappears.


    In his place is a completed bridge, reaching over the chasm to the castle¡¯s front gate.


    Andrew looks down at the empty place by his feet. Only a scorch mark stands in the place where his cook has been. There is no fanfare or ceremony. Only destruction marks the existence of homunculi.


    He only hopes the same fate will not befall Victoria.


    The inside of the castle is in an even worse state than the day Andrew left it. The walls have peeled from the heat of the fire, the carpet is gone and all the furniture have been trashed. It seems like before setting fire to Andrew¡¯s island, the people of Minerva had ransacked his home too.


    He doesn¡¯t blame them. He only wishes they did a more thorough job. How easy it will be if the alchemy table is destroyed with everything else.


    Picking his way through overturned tables and demolished walls, Andrew finally reaches the staircase. The steps have stood through the damage but when Andrew walks on them, he hears ominous groans which make him want to turn back.


    He distracts himself by counting the steps.


    As he does, he sees the images of his childhood flash before him. A decade spent within these old walls, all lost now to fire and time. Andrew places his hand against the doorknob of the laboratory. So many times he has gone up these steps, opened this very door, and ended so many lives. Now, he will end one more.


    He opens the door.


    At first, nothing seems different. The windows are still shattered, wind still blowing ashes across the destroyed equipment. In the middle of the blackened floor is still the alchemy table, its marble surface still clean, the diagrams still red.


    Even the Doctor is there, though there is something new about him.


    He sits bound in a wheelchair, his lizard arms sliced off at the elbows. Steel chains wrap around his body like bandages, leaving barely enough for Andrew to see the man¡¯s features, burned as they are.


    Doctor Davis does not say anything, but his eyes follow Andrew as he comes closer.


    Andrew stops in front of the wheelchair and crouches down. ¡°I¡¯m back, Doctor.¡±


    Davis remains silent. His hair is all gone and whatever flesh left on his body has sagged around the chains like putty, and when Andrew places a hand on the Doctor¡¯s leg, the texture of the skin is similar to the dried fish he ate on the sea.


    Davis opens his mouth, showing shrunken gums and a few blackened teeth. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t have.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to,¡± Andrew says. ¡°But I have to put an end to our evil.¡±


    ¡°It is not evil,¡± says Davis. ¡°It is merely progress.¡±


    ¡°For you,¡± Andrew says. He stands, raising his spear. ¡°And for a long time, for me too.¡± He jabs the spear forward, into the doctor and the wheelchair.


    Davis lets out a weak gasp. His eyes lock onto Andrew¡¯s, then they roll back as Davis takes his last breath,


    Andrew leaves the doctor and walks to the Table.


    He places a hand on the cool marble. How many times has he secretly wanted to use it? How many restless nights imagining all the creations he could father with alchemy?


    Andrew traces the blood-stained lines. He used to be fearful of them, then curious, then thirsty. Now, there is little else than disdain and conviction.


    He takes his place at the head of the table.


    The marble hums to life at the merest thought. Andrew needs only to ask, and the alchemy table answers, but he holds back. He doesn¡¯t want to know. The time of changing the universe has ended. Now, it is time to pull back the curtains.


    Andrew chants the words of transmutation. He closes his eyes, light filling behind them. He pours out his soul into the brightness, feeling it pouring back into him, promising more knowledge and power than any boy can hope to grasp.


    He smiles to himself, imagining Davis standing in this exact spot, feeling these exact same feelings. And then he understands.


    As the electricity builds inside the room, tossing broken stone and debris around in its hurricane, Andrew focuses everything he has into the table, and commands it to explode.


    <hr>


    Andrew has always wondered what the end may be like. During the darkest days out on the ocean, he has allowed his mind to picture the worst things he can imagine. Fires and brimstone, devils and pain. He did that in the hopes such awful things may deter his body from giving up.


    Never does he expect, however, for the end to actually come in the form of a beautiful girl, with flaming red hair and eyes the color of seagrass.


    Andrew feels water splashing his face. He blinks, his eyes stinging.


    More water. This time at his lips. Andrew cracks them open, allowing the liquid to seep down his throat.


    It is cool. Fresh. Not the kind extracted with the Water Maker.


    Andrew opens his mouth fully, guzzling the water as fast as it can come. It¡¯s over too quickly. He reaches out his hands for more.


    He hears a familiar giggle.


    ¡°This reminds me of your first day on the raft.¡±


    Those words are like sunshine chasing away the storm clouds of his mind. Andrew opens his eyes, and sees a pair of bare feet standing in the sand next to his head.


    Andrew sits up, gasping, ¡°Victoria!¡±


    The red-haired girl smiles. ¡°You did it.¡±


    Andrew looks back into the forest. It is lush once more, the woods replacing all the destruction. He turns back to Victoria. ¡°Your legs.¡±


    Victoria kicks at the sand. ¡°Just like you said.¡±


    They both look at each other, then laugh.


    Finally, it was over.


    Andrew gets up, holding onto Victoria¡¯s arm for support. ¡°What now?¡± he asks. ¡°Do you¡­ want to live on this island with me?¡±


    When Victoria shakes her head, Andrew tries not to look as disappointed as he feels.


    ¡°I want to go home,¡± Victoria says. ¡°And I think you ought to follow.¡±


    Perhaps it is because his home is gone, or perhaps the evil that has bounded him for so long has disappeared, Andrew¡¯s world opens up in front of him.


    ¡°I¡¯d love that,¡± he says, surprising himself at the sincerity of his own words. ¡°But¡­ how do we get off this island?¡±


    Victoria laughs. She points to the water, where a wooden raft is floating on the shoreline.


    ¡°I hope you¡¯re not sick of sailing to do it one more time.¡±


    Andrew shakes his head, and smiles. ¡°No, because this time, I¡¯m not running away from anything.¡±