Alchemy & Treachery: Keepers of the Western Door

By Mel Norman

 

Perfect for fans of Rick Riordan's Percy Jackson & the Olympians series and the novel Seraphina by Rachel Hartman, Alchemy & Treachery is a sweeping YA fantasy-adventure novel about a dangerous secret, a chilling mystery, and the deadly result of a collision between the two.

Rosaline Abraves lives in a world filled to the brim with magic and mysticism, a world full of complete and utter diversity. Her family has had magic in their blood for as long as they can remember, with only one exception—Rosaline. She just can't seem to do the fantastical things her family can do so easily.

When tragedy strikes Rosaline's family suddenly and violently, she finds herself on a quest to the renowned Wu Palace in order to make her family proud and find the truth about her difficulties with magic—whatever they may be. However, Rosaline may uncover more than just the chilling truth behind her difficulties with magic in that palace.

She just might unearth a dangerous secret that's threatening the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mel Norman
• Release date: Jul 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201013943

Mel Norman

Mel Norman was born and raised in Western New York in a teeny, tiny town with a population of less than 2,000. An introvert at heart, she spent the majority of her time as a teen devouring books and making friends with librarians. Now, as a just-as-introverted adult, she hopes to one day be the librarian lonely teens make friends with and the author of the books they take comfort in.

Book preview

Alchemy & Treachery

by

Mel Norman

Copyright © Melanie Nicole Norman

All rights reserved. The use of any part of this publication reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, or stored in a retrieval system, without the prior written consent of the publisher is an infringement of the copyright law, except in the case embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

ISBN: 9798530790515 (Paperback)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021914501

Front Cover image by DavidAP

Book design by DamonZa

First printing edition 2021.

Holley, New York, 14470.

To the perspicacious Bargainer–my confidant, advisor, friend, and supporter in all things. Without whom this book would’ve been absolute trash.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

About the Author

Acknowledgements

Final Word

Chapter One

So, I suck at magic.

And, no, I’m not just saying that as a way to humble-brag about my awesome magic skills. I’m being entirely serious here. I truly and utterly suck at any and all forms of magic. I really just can’t do it, and the kicker is that no one knows why.

Which is pretty frustrating when your entire future depends on being mediocre, at the very least.

Well, maybe I’m over-exaggerating a little–I can do one type of magic. I can use and manipulate water pretty well. However, when you come from a Mythic Family known for their mastery of all four elements–not just one–it’s way less impressive than it sounds.

It’s about focus, Rosaline, Grandmother Ojisunta instructs me from behind brusquely, prodding at my back and steering my shoulders into the correct position. If you just focus on what you want, it will happen.

Grandmother Ojisunta is the second oldest of all my grandmothers at just a little over five hundred years old. She’s aged reasonably well for a woman of her many years, though her face has its fair share of blemishes and creases, and her hair is close to entirely grey. She’s the sternest of my grandmothers, often coming across as curt when she doesn’t mean to.

No, no, no, no, no, interjects Grandmother Mahala as she stomps over–well, as much as any old woman can stomp, it’s about willpower! You command the air to move with all the willpower you can muster, and it will follow your instruction!

Grandmother Mahala looks to be about the same age as Grandmother Ojisunta–maybe just a bit younger–despite being nearly two hundred years her junior. She keeps her salt and pepper hair short like I do, though hers is more a pixie cut, and mine is closer to a bob. She’s also the quickest to anger and the quickest to share her opinion on literally any topic.

She grasps my chin and yanks it upwards, You are in charge of the elements! Not the other way around. Be strong. Be authoritative!

Children, a voice from behind us interrupts smoothly, stop shouting at the poor dear. Not only are you annoying, but you are also wrong. It is about respect.

Grandmother Kayenta enters the room gracefully, her long legs striding powerfully across the wooden floor of the apartment hidden in the weathered shed behind my house.

Though she is the oldest of our Family with over a thousand years under her belt, Grandmother Kayenta is by far the youngest looking–beside me, of course. She doesn’t look any older than a woman in her late fifties or early sixties and keeps her hair long and often tied back into a braid that reaches her mid-back. Despite this, her face holds wisdom that somehow conveys both her power and age clearly.

Grandmother Kayenta continues solemnly, Don’t forget what gives us our strength, our power, and longevity. We’ve called upon the elements of this world to lend us their power. We do not command them, and focus means nothing without proper respect.

Both Grandmother Ojisunta and Mahala look properly chastened–Grandmother Ojisunta more so. Unlike most other Mythic Families, ours does not rely on some crazily powerful creature to sustain our power. We rely on the elements–earth, air, fire, and water.

Any progress yet? My great-grandmother asks as she walks in with her great-aunt Nora. It’s been like three hours!

My great-grandmother has a hundred years and some odd change under her belt–thirteen years of change, to be exact. She looks very much like the average grandma, just like all of my grandmothers do, though she’s a little more modern looking with her tracksuits and bulky sneakers. She’s also the only one my mother and brother know about–the rest have retreated from the human world and have to hide from their descendants.

Wanda! Aunt Nora chastens from her place beside Grandma, Please! It will take time–just like anything would.

Aunt Nora is the most proper of all my grandmothers and is only seventy-five years older than Grandma–her great-niece. She likes to wear almost smock-like dresses similar to the clothing of her youth and is often the voice of reason whenever the whole Family gets together. She is the only one of my grandmothers that I do not call Grandmother, preferring to refer to her by her relation to Grandma–her great-niece.

Grandma rolls her eyes, She’s sixteen! She should’ve learned this years ago. Now, a week before we send her off, we have to rush to teach her something she should already know!

I swallow my pride and avert my eyes. I know what they’re saying is true. I know I suck at magic. How can they think that I don’t know? I’ve never been able to do the things my grandmothers can with the elements–no matter how hard I try or how often I practice, I never seem to get any better.

We are getting awfully close to the day she leaves, aren’t we? Grandmother Ojisunta murmurs apprehensively. What will everyone think? We’ll lose our good name.

What? Grandmother Mahala cuts in angrily, But we worked so hard to make a name for ourselves! It’s not fair to lose it just because Rose is an idiot. I say we don’t send her. We can just tell everyone she died or something!

And wait another century to send off an heir? Grandma questions with a sneer, We’ll lose any remaining respect other Families have for us. No, we need to send her. Who cares how shitty at magic she is?

Rosaline, Grandmother Kayenta cuts in conversationally, commanding my instant attention and the silence of the rest of my grandmothers, you have been accepted by the elements. I know you have; I was there when they accepted you. They are under your direction now. As long as you give them the respect they deserve, they will respond to your call.

There is a pause as she stares into my eyes, and I fight the urge to fidget. You do respect them, don’t you?

I nod along hurriedly, desperate to prove myself, Yes! Yes, of course, I do.

She nods once back, a confirmation, Then nothing is holding you back but yourself.

Grandmother Kayenta looks around the room with narrowed eyes, I will try to remedy Rose’s problem. I have never failed to teach one of my descendants yet, and I don’t plan to start now. You all have my word.

With that, she steps closer to me, shooing away the others with a flick of her fingers. She grabs my hands softly–her hands are rough with callouses but gentle as they hold mine. Her bright brown eyes shine like liquid gold in the soft afternoon light–eyes that look eerily similar to my own–and I find myself growing even more desperate to prove that I’m more than just the family fuck up.

She leads me to the sofa in the corner of the room, and we sink down into the well-worn cushions. Her assessing eyes never leave mine, and I find myself wishing she’d let the others stay with us. It’s not often I find myself alone with her. She’s typically too busy to instruct me and usually leaves the actual teaching to the rest of my grandmothers.

I find myself often thinking about where I went wrong with you, she comments idly as she tucks a loose piece of hair behind my ear. Perhaps I should’ve taken a more active role in your instruction as I did for the others.

I struggle to keep my expressions from showing the piercing hurt I feel at her words. It’s not often people tell me to my face how much I truly suck. I’ve heard it enough today for a lifetime, but now for Grandmother Kayenta–the Head of my Family–to tell it to me so blatantly hurts in a way that words can’t express.

You have a fine character, she is staring through me now, though her hands are still holding mine gently, and a fine education and moral compass. Yet, still, you struggle so much with what is innate to the rest of us.

Her eyes focus on mine once again, Can you not feel the elements around you? Feel them in the earth and the trees and the air you breathe and water you drink?

I nod again, less eagerly than before, Yes, of course, I can.

Her head cocks, as if I’m a puzzle to solve or something interesting to dissect, Then where is the disconnect? Truly, Rosaline, I must ask you because I am at a loss.

I screw up my face as I try to find the words to answer her, When Grandmother Mahala says to command them, I know that is not the right thing to do, but–the thing is–I wouldn’t be able to even if I tried. How do I command them? Do I say what I want to happen out loud? In my head? Or do I simply will it to happen? I have no clue.

She frowns at me, But you use water just fine. What is stopping you from doing the same with the other elements?

I shake my head and try to extract my hands from her, but her grip suddenly becomes a steel trap. With water, it seems to do what I want it to do before even I know what I want it to do. It knows my will better than I know it sometimes.

Finally, one of my hands worms its way out of her grip. I extend it towards the glass of water sitting on the side table across the room, and, before I even fully extend my arm, the water slinks its way out of the cup and begins floating towards my hand like a magnet to its pair.

Grandmother Kayenta watches with bright eyes as the water encases my hands. With a wiggle of my fingers, the sweat off my brow from the summer heat joins the rest as Grandmother watches with a fascinated expression.

It’s innate, I explain, using her own word back at her, and I don’t know how I do it. I just know that I can’t do this with anything else.

She stares in silence for a while as I manipulate the water into patterns around my hand with slight twitches of my fingers, her eyes gleaming a golden hue in the dim light of the late afternoon. I can see her processing something in her mind, but I have no idea what she could be thinking so hard about.

Suddenly, with a quirk of her eyebrow, the water I had been so expertly manipulating around my hand is snatched away. It darts towards her and lands on her face. She remains unflinching as the water covers her eyes, nose, and mouth, and, as I watch, the water is absorbed into her skin until there isn’t even a droplet left behind.

She watches me intently, But why?

I shrug and drop the hand that had been manipulating the water down to my lap limply. Grandmother Kayenta’s eyes dart over my face as if she’s going to discern the answer to every problem imaginable from my features.

The mastery you exert over water is admirable, she says finally, almost reluctantly, but your mastery of one element is not even half the control I have over all four.

Grandmother’s eyes seem to alight as she raises her hand, and, in quick succession, all of her fingers light up as if they’re matches. I have always had an affinity for fire. I suppose we are opposites in that way.

Then, as if she were always that way and I had only just noticed, she is engulfed in flames. I jump away as quickly as I can, but I can feel the heat on my knees and the tops of my feet–the closest part of my body to her–as they get singed.

True mastery lies in merging yourself with the elements, she says conversationally as the bright, bouncing flames continue to flicker around her body. Right now, I couldn’t tell you where I stop, and the flames begin. They are me, and I am them.

Then, as quickly as they appeared, the flames are gone. Grandmother Kayenta smiles at me kindly and pats the seat next to her on the unburnt couch. Which means she let the fire scorch me on purpose–to make some kind of point.

I sit cautiously, and she smiles at me softly, Can you try something for your dear old grandmother?

Irritation at being burned flares up in me, but the ingrained respect I was instilled to have for my Grandmothers wins over the anger, Of course, Grandmother.

She grabs my wrist, and I watch as she places her palm over mine. Instantly, I feel the pulsing energy of the elements brush up against my skin, followed by a stirring in the air that tells me she is using the element air.

Do you feel that, Rosaline?

I nod, still watching our hands, Of course.

I glance up into her face to find her staring at me intently. A quick twitch of her lips signifies a change before I feel it. Instead of the gentle brushing of energy that I associate with air elementals, the slow-building energy that I know to be the element fire now warms my palm. Followed closely by the feeling of heat that tells me I was right.

And this?

I nod again, Yes.

This time there is nothing in her face that forewarns me of another change. The energy is stable this time, almost like water, but there is no flowing or streaming. It’s just a steady presence of somethingness that tells me she’s engaging an earth elemental. I feel a roughness touch my palm, almost like the feeling of her calloused hands holding mine, but grittier.

This?

I barely refrain from rolling my eyes, "Yes, Grandmother. I felt all of them. I am still a Mythic. I know what each element feels like, but I just can’t use them as I can water. I don’t know how else to explain it to you–I just can’t. I’m sorry."

She frowns at me, bordering on a scowl, If you can feel them, you can use them. That feeling is what it feels like to use them; there is nothing else to know. You just do now.

But–

Her face turns downward into the most upset expression I’ve ever seen on her–which is still not very, There is nothing else I can teach you, Rosaline! Do it now.

I falter once again, and she yanks me up into a standing position with her forcefully, Now! Now! Do it now! Do it!

A feeling of compulsion falls over me and wipes away any remaining hesitation I still feel. It is as if I am ejected from my body, and some puppet master takes control. I watch as my body’s arms lift up and feel a wave of power rush through me disconnectedly.

Distantly, I am aware that I’m being controlled. Compelled is what I think Grandmother Kayenta calls it. She acquired the extra ability after centuries of housing the elements’ foreign and probably toxic power. Not many people develop them, so, of course, Grandmother Kayenta just had to.

I watch as every water molecule in the room is drawn towards my body like pebbles rolling down a hill. Water comes from the air, the wooden furniture, the carpet in the other room, the sink, and even Grandmother Kayenta’s body.

Her eyes widen in shock as the water of her body is leached away, and I can see her try to cancel whatever compulsion she’s placed upon me. Nothing she tries works, and I watch, almost disinterestedly, as I see fear enter her eyes. It’s only when I realize how wrong and terrifying what’s happening truly is that I snap back into my body like a rubber band that’s been stretched too far.

The water that had been gathering around me is shoved away from me as if I’d cannonballed into the middle of it. Of course, it doesn’t go back into the things I’d drawn it from. Not into the carpet or the furniture or the sink.

It does, luckily, go back into Grandmother Kayenta. Though, I imagine that has more to do with her drawing it back than me pushing it.

Now that it’s all done with, and that everything looks as if a tidal wave had splashed over it, Grandmother Kayenta looks to me in part amazement and part disappointment, You really can’t use the other elements.

I sigh and sit back down onto the soaking-wet couch with a flop, too drained to do anything else, That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.

Well, she sighs back as she begins to ring out the water from her hair, I suppose if we are to have a failure in the Family, at least it is a prodigious one.

Chapter Two

The swirling specks of dust in the dense, damp air of the shed filter through faint rays of dim light before my eyes. I can feel the summer heat begin to leak into the shed as the sun inches its way over the horizon. My back lets out an ache of protest from lying all night on the hard flooring of a rickety shed–a type of ache no sixteen-year-old body should have.

Distantly, I hear the sound of feet scuffing along the wooden flooring accompanied by a muffled curse from the other side of the shed. If I strain my ears, I can also hear a continuous stream of muttered complaints coming from that same direction.

I let my eyes wander back up to the ceiling of the shed, where soft rays of light stream out of spindly cracks made from water damming and old age. It’s a wonder the roof hasn’t collapsed in yet–I suppose it must be magic.

Another curse breaks the silence–this one far louder than the last. I lift my head off the rotten and slightly soggy bag of mulch to cast a wary look in the direction the curse had come from.

Rosaline! Stop sleeping and get over here!

With a start, I scramble to my feet. Unceremoniously tripping over piles of old, rusty garden tools and other such clutter in my haste to follow the command. The shed is dark and gloomy, with no light to be found within it besides the faint rays coming in through the cracks in the roof.

Well, that and the blazing ball of fire floating above an old table in the corner.

Cautiously, I step around my brother’s old hockey net and over the piles of broken garden furniture my mother refuses to throw away to reach the opposite end of the shed. Now, far enough through the gloom, I get the first glimpse of my great-grandmother in hours.

She stands hunched over an old table that had been pushed into the back corner to make more room in the shed. Both of her hands rest on her cane falteringly, and I can see from where I stand that she’s irritated.

Hesitantly, as to not provoke her, I whisper, Grandma?

She whips around, her dark eyes wide and reflecting the flame still floating above the table eerily. Her bronze skin seems to almost glow in the flickering light, and her greying hair reflects the fire sharply.

Her face falls quickly from startled into annoyed, Rosaline! Stop sneaking around and get over here. We don’t have time for this!

Hurriedly, I step up to the table beside her, stepping awkwardly over miscellaneous bits of furniture and garden appliances as I go. On the table lies a map of the world. Though not the world as the majority of people know it.

On the old, rusting fold-out table that my mother refuses to throw away is a map of the hidden world of Mythics. There is a small star marking where a Mythic Family lives on each continent and in almost every country–with multiples in most countries.

For every Mythic, there are about a million normal humans–with around five to seven hundred Mythic Families. This translates roughly to seven and a half thousand of us–and when I say Mythic, I’m not just talking about certain humans with extra abilities like myself and my Grandmothers. A Mythic is a myth brought to life.

Every legend, lore, and fable you’ve ever heard is true. Every fairytale and belief is grounded in reality. Vampires, werewolves, and demons are real, but so are wendigos, kitsunes, and Baba Yaga. It’s a world filled with the impossible and magical, and human Mythics are witness to all of it.

Most Mythic Families depend on such Mythics–powerful creatures of legends, fables, and myths–to give them power. Humans can see and interact with the world’s magic but, unlike other Mythics, have no innate magic for ourselves. We have to use borrowed power from either the elements or–more commonly– powerful Mythics who are willing to offer it.

Unconsciously, my eyes begin to search out my own Family on the map. It doesn’t take long until I find it–a small, black star nestled between Lake Erie and Ontario. We’ve lived here for as long as records have been kept, and it’s where we earned the respect of the Mythic world.

We’re one of the smaller Families. Typically, there are ten to twenty people in each Family. However, when the Europeans colonized our land, they pillaged our people to near extinction, and our numbers dropped drastically. The Mythic Families that came over with the colonizers tried to help us out, but there’s only so much a few people can do against thousands of others.

We need to finalize your destinations, Grandma slams a hand down onto the table snappishly, there’s only a little more than a week left until you’re due to leave! I can’t believe we put it off this long!

I take a deep breath and shake my head to clear my tired mind from once again staying up all night. Is this the third or fourth night we’ve done this? After my disastrous meeting with Grandmother Kayenta, she really put her foot down about making some decisions.

You’d think something that ended so terribly would’ve had the opposite effect, wouldn’t you?

So, for most of the last week, Grandma has been locking us both in the shed every night in an effort to force us to finalize everything. Unfortunately, it’s not worked, and we’re no closer to making a decision now than we were a week ago.

There’s a reason this is taking us so long. Each Family sends its youngest and newest members out to visit its partners and allies as a sort of politically motivated coming-of-age tradition. It’s all done in the name of sticking together in a world where we Mythics are so severely outnumbered–both by ordinary humans and Mythic beings. Of course, as I said, there are other–more political–reasons to go on a world tour, and those reasons make making choices very difficult.

My eyes slide over the map foggily. We’ve looked over this map a hundred times by now. I don’t see how we’re going to be able to make a decision now when we couldn’t make one last night–or the night before and the night before that.

Well? Grandma continues irritably, Are you just going to stand there all day, or are you actually going to say something?

I snap back to reality, Umm….

My eyes sweep the oversized page before me, looking for an answer to Grandma’s question. I settle for the first place my eyes land on, What about Fiji? That sounds nice.

"We’ve been over this, Rosaline. Not only do we not know anyone there, but there are no Mythics in Fiji! So, there would be no point in you going there! Give me another!"

My eyes widen, and I quickly look back down at the map, Uh-umm….

Ugh, she pushes me to the side with a bump of her hip, move aside! Do I have to do everything myself? Kids these days don’t know how to do anything, I swear!

There’s a beat of silence as she glares down at the large map as if daring it to deny her the answers she wants. Her hands move from her