The Philosopher’s
Stone
by Russell Hasan
“Here I
was, sleeping in a comfortable mattress I made using my Philosopher’s Stone,
sleeping off a hangover from a delicious beef stew and two exquisite bottles of Pinot Noir I conjured up, and then you come and rudely toss me from bed and point a
sword of fire at my throat. Good gods, man, have you no decency?”
“Be silent,
heretic! People died to make your accursed Philosopher’s Stone. Now tell me
where you’ve hidden the Stone, infidel!”
“That’s
just a myth, you know. We don’t make the Stones from human blood. We distill
them from dragon scales and fairy nectar. No one is harmed by the fun that we have.
Not that I would expect a Councilman like you to know what fun is, Count
D’Imir.”
“I am wise
to your wiles, Patrickus. You Alchemist scum tell lies about how the Stones are
made; deceit is merely another entry in your long list of sins. You Alchemists
used the powers of your Stones to live lives of luxury and you refused to share
them with the rest of the Nation. Didn’t your mother ever teach you to that
it’s nice to share?”
“My mother
taught me not to be ashamed of the fact that I’m alive or to feel guilt when I
enjoy pleasures. And she taught me not to be afraid of filth like you.”
“Watch your
tongue, sinner! You would let a town of villagers starve while you washed your
tongue with Stone-made rum. Fortunately we of the Ruling Council have taken the
Stones away from you, liberating them and putting them to use for the good of
society. Now tell me where your Philosopher’s Stone is.”
“So I
surrender my Stone and you let me go? Is that it? Or is it merely a quick death
that you’re promising?”
“I made no
promises, Patrickus. Give me the Stone and then we will see how merciful my
mood is.”
“Never.
Kill me if you want to, D’Imir. I won’t tell you where the Stone is.”
“Fool! I
too have a Philosopher’s Stone, the one that I took from your old Alchemy
teacher Albertus before I killed him. I have become adept at using the Stone’s
magic to torture, and you will scream in agony and beg for death if you do not
yield your secrets to me. The glory of our Nation demands that the Council have
all the Stones, and you will not be allowed to thwart our will!”
“I have
grown tired, Count D’Imir. Ever since your Ruling Council came to power we
Alchemists have been outlawed and hunted like foxes by you and your hounds. I
want only the sweet release of oblivion, rather than to continue fighting for a
hopeless cause. All I care about is enjoying a really satisfying sin, and
you’ve made the world, how shall I phrase it, sinfully boring. I would be
willing to tell you where my Stone is, provided that you grant me certain
conditions.”
“The Stone
for a clean, painless death? I can agree to that.”
“No, I want
that and something else also. I want to know the truth. The Philosopher’s
Stones brought wealth to everyone in the Nation; we made giant ears of corn and
gigantic potatoes and stalks of broccoli as big as trees, and we sold what we
made to the villagers at very reasonable prices. Then you and your Council
cronies come and declare war on us in the name of the people, and persuade our
own soldiers to join you. Why? I understand the envy that motivated the Nation’s
peasants, but what of the Council? You don’t care about using the Stones for
the good of all, isn’t that true? You just want the Stones so that you can do
magic, so that you can grow more powerful. You called yourselves selfless but
you are really insanely greedy for power. Am I right? I just want to hear the
truth from your own lips, and then I will yield.”
“You are
cynical and oh so inaccurate. While we only pay lip service to the Nation and
care not for the villagers, we do nothing for our own glory, we care nothing
for our own power. Our goal is not to use the Stones to become gods, but rather
to give the Stones to a god. Once we have gathered all of the Philosopher’s
Stones we will have enough magical energy to open the Portal of Olympus and to
call forth the god whom we serve. Once he arrives we will we deliver the stones
to him, and he will reward our loyalty.”
“But all
the gods are long dead, aren’t they? They all died in the Pantheon Wars.”
“Not so. The greatest one, the one
whom Death himself could not kill, has returned. The Council serves him, the
greatest of the Pantheon of Elders. The Cult that has long slept and lived only
in nightmares has been reawakened. And we will know everlasting life while the
people of the Nation taste fatality.”
“It’s the Cult of Death you speak
of! So, the Ruling Council is a front for Saturn, the God-King of the Undead! I
expected something horrible, but not this. The legends say that the Cult of
Death’s plan is to massacre humankind and resurrect us as zombies to be your
slaves. Is that true? How could we have been so blind?”
“I don’t know. We left clues for
you to see. We sent out preachers who preached that enjoyment of physical
pleasures was a sin and that self-abnegation was the path to eternal life—a
doctrine which anyone who bothered to read the ancient texts would have
recognized as the gospel of the Cult of Death. Saturn showed us how to twist
the peasants’ compassion for their fellow men into a feeling that their own
desires are dirty and sinful. We help the Nation’s people to be very selfless,
in the name of helping their brothers they surrender everything to us, and we
will give them exactly what they do not want, exactly what will give them no
guilty pleasure at all. Their bodies sin, so we will kill them and give them
the blessing of release from the flesh. They believe that the body is a prison
for the soul, so we will do the merciful thing and set their souls free to
journey bravely into the afterlife, and we will take the bodies they leave
behind and animate them as zombies. Our teachings made the peasants miserable,
so that they became insanely jealous of anyone who was happy—and, of course,
you Alchemists with your Philosopher’s Stones are generally quite cheerful. Is
it any wonder, then, that we turned the Nation against you?”
“A ghastly plan, D’Imir. You want
to kill us all—and yet the people believe that you are their champion. I never
paid any attention to what the preachers were saying; I just assumed that
everyone would appreciate the prosperity that the Stones would bring to our
Nation.”
“You should have understood, Patrickus.
After all, you Alchemists were the main power in the Nation before we came
along, and power inevitably corrupts. Don’t think that I believe your pretense
of being so naïve and innocent. You are upset because you no longer rule the
Nation and we do, but you might as well accept the inevitable. Soon this Nation
will consist entirely of our zombie slaves and Saturn will rise to rule
humanity once again. But enough chatter. I gave you what you wanted, I was
frank and honest. Now, before you die, you know the truth, that you and the
Alchemists never had a chance against my omnipotent Master. So tell me, where
have you hidden the Stone? You swore an oath, and I will force you to answer!”
“The Stone is all around you,
D’Imir. I gave it to my friend Muzickus, who used it to create an illusion of
the Floating Fish Inn of Hamtown, which you entered, never bothering to cast a
sight of truth spell while you hunted, and then stormed into my lodging room
and captured me and used your spells to bind me and point this flaming sword at
my throat. The Stone is in these walls; this room is a cage.”
“A trap? Impossible! You are not
smart enough!”
“We, Muzickus and I, aimed a Mirror
of Memories at you, and we recorded your whole little confession. It’s a shame
that idiots like you are so proud of how vicious you are, Count D’Imir,
otherwise you wouldn’t be brash enough to brag about your Cult. Now, if we can
make it past the Council’s army and reach the Tower of Sages, we can use the
Crystal Orb and broadcast your confession to the world, and the people of this
Nation will rise up and dethrone the frauds who claimed that it was a sin to
live well and that the interests of the people demanded war against the
Alchemists.”
“I will never let you! Prepare to
die!”
“Muzickus, my friend?”
“No, stop it, stop! Help! Saturn,
save me! You Alchemist sons of….”
“Phase one of your plan has
succeeded, Patrickus. The Cult of Death has developed a weakness. Life still
has a slim but glittering hope.”
“Indeed, Muzickus. Now, onto phase
two. To the Tower!”
