Alchymist

Nish wasn't ready to meet his father, and could never be. What can I say to him? he thought despairingly. And what would Jal-Nish do to him this time?

'You're troubled, Cryl-Nish,' said Xabbier as they reached the bottom and turned towards the camp.

'You know what my father is like. Imagine-'

'I can't imagine.' Xabbier put an arm across Nish's shoul-ders. 'But my thoughts, my hopes, go with you. I'm sorry, Cryl-Nish. If I could have prevented this I would have, but oncee you were seen there was no choice.' 'I understand duty,' Nish said hollowly. 'I'll take you up to his tent.'

As the lieutenant led him up the slope of Gumby Marth, through row after row of tents, Nish fought a desperate urge to run. That would be the act of a coward. Besides, he'd never get away from Xabbier.

Xabbier ushered him through a dozen guards surrounding a tent the size of a cottage, lifted the flap and stepped through into an anteroom. Light shone from an open flap ahead. Jal-Sish was alone, his back to them, bent over a table covered in retorts, alembics and a variety of other types of alchymical apparatus. Nish's mouth went dry. He had never been able to stand up to his father.

Xabbier cleared his throat. Jal-Nish turned and his head jerked up as he saw his son standing before him. The loose mask shifted on his face, revealing part of the scarred and writhen flesh beneath. Jal-Nish tossed his head and the shining platinum face-cover settled back in place.

'Well, Lieutenant?' he said to Xabbier.

'I found him on my watch, surr, halfway down the escarpment. He thought he saw-'

'He can tell me himself. Leave us, Lieutenant. Wait outside for my orders. Don't allow anyone in!'

Once Xabbier had gone, Jal-Nish drew the tent flaps closed with his one hand. Returning to Nish, he stood chest to chest. 'I heard you escaped with Flydd. He's behind this, I suppose?'. Nish had been expecting that question. 'Flydd's dead,' he lied.

'Dead? How?'

'An injury he took in the escape turned bad and he got blood poisoning. There was nothing I could do to save him.'

'A pity,' Jal-Nish said indifferently. 'I wanted to see him suffer, first. And you, Cryl-Nish – what do you want?'

Panicky and unable to think clearly, Nish said the first thing that came into his head. 'I want to be free of you, Father. Forever!'

'What?' Jal-Nish looked disconcerted.

'You've ruined my life. Since I was three years old I've slaved to please you, but not once did you praise me or show you cared in any way. Not once did you comfort me, when I was little and had those awful nightmares…'

Jal-Nish opened his mouth, beneath the mask. 'I-' 'I haven't finished!' Nish said desperately, and, to his surprise, Jal-Nish allowed him to go on.

'Say it, whatever it is; he said, smiling malevolently.

'I know I've done stupid things, but I've suffered tor them. I've also done brave deeds, and clever ones, and not had a word of acknowledgment from you. That used to hurt me more than you can ever know, but it no longer matters. Do you know why? Because I no longer care! You mean nothing to me. I used to pity Tiaan because she had no father. Now I envy her, because no father at all would be better than one like you.'

Oddly, considering his heartless denunciation of his son, this rejection seemed to strike Jal-Nish to the core, but Nish ploughed on.

'I don't know what you wanted from life, or whether you're happy now, but I know one thing. As a father, you were a miserable failure and I'm happy to go to my death if it means I'll never see you again.'

Jal-Nish lurched backwards into the table and overbalanced. As he fell, the back of his head caught on the edge of the table, flipping the platinum helm off.

Jal-Nish looked up and Nish almost vomited. He well remembered the ruin of his father's face after the lyrinx attack, but that was nothing to what he saw now. The claws had torn three jagged gouges from ear to mouth, under which the flesh had grown back in ugly lumps and depressions. The scars were purple and blistered with pus-filled boils that even after three-quarters of a year had not healed. His left eye was a purple socket filled with bulging veins the size of earthworms, his once proud nose a crusted hole that could have accommodated a lemon. The mouth, a twisted ruin that would no longer close, leaked stringy green saliva with every breath.

Jal-Nish rose, but did not bother with the helmet. He approached his son. Nish tried to back away but Jal-Nish's hand caught his jaw in a crushing grip.

I too had a father, Cryl-Nish, and if you think I'm a bad one, he's the reason for it. He taught me all I know. He hated me because my mother died giving birth to me. He loathed me because I was clever and he was not. He despised me because I was handsome and he was a hideous little weasel.

You remember that, Nish? I was handsome, wasn't I?' His lips contorted in the most nauseating travesty of a smile Nish had ever seen.

Nish swallowed bile, wanting to look away but held fast by fingers as strong as steel. 'You were, Father. I envied you your looks and, yes, your easy charm.'

'He tormented me, Cryl-Nish. Every day for fourteen years he beat me black and blue. Before I was a grown man, I'd suffered more horrors than the soldiers in this army have in all their service. He was a small-minded man who wanted to be great, and failed, and ever after forced me into the mould he could not fill. I hated him and all he stood for, yet he's twenty years in his grave and still I have to drive myself higher, though every success only causes more pain. It would not have been enough for him, so it cannot satisfy me. I must be great.'

'But you are great,' Nish muttered. 'A scrutator, no less. One of the mighty who control the world.'

'It can never be enough until there's nothing left to achieve, because I must have it all.'

'And then?'

Jal-Nish gave another of those ghastly smiles and green crusts flaked off his lower lip. 'There'll come a time when I've finally beaten him. That's what keeps me going, even in this hideous state.' He thrust his face at Nish and Nish recoiled. 'You can't bear to look at me, though it was you who made me this way. I begged you to let me die, Cryl-Nish -remember? After the lyrinx tore me apart I pleaded for death, but you would not give it me. You had to save my life, so I could suffer ever after.'

'I couldn't let you die,' whispered Nish, recalling that horror up on the icy plateau. 'Despite everything, I couldn't…'

You made me this way. Jal-Nish thrust one finger into the yellow-green cavity where his nose had been. You and that cur Irisis.'

'But there must be a way, with the Secret Art, to restore you to what you once were.'

'Do you think I haven't sought for it? There is no way. Even with the alchymical power I now have, I can't repair what you did to me.'

'Then what good is seeking more power?'

'Revenge!' hissed Jal-Nish. 'It's the one pleasure I have left.'

'But, Mother-' Nish began, looking anywhere but at that ghastly face.

Jal-Nish caught his son by the shirt and pulled him close. He was ferociously strong. 'Your mother has cast me aside. She always looked down on me; now she can't stand the sight of me. Though I'm scrutator and will soon be elevated to the Council, I'm no more use to her.'

'No!' Nish whispered. 'Not Mother.'

All my life, women have betrayed me. My mother died, abandoning me to the monster. My wife has repudiated me. Irisis humiliated me and performed this butchery on me, from which I've not had a moment without pain since. Tiaan, by her treachery, has torn down everything I worked so hard for. Let me tell you this, Cryl-Nish! When I'm Chief of the Council of Scrutators I'll put them in their place. Women will go where they belong – to the breeding factories.'

'You're a monster/ cried Nish.

Jal-Nish gave him a pus-smeared smile. 'And who created me?'

'I'll hear no more of this.' Nish backed away. 'I'm leaving, Father. I repudiate you. You'll never see me again.'