Relax, be comfortable. You are among friends. Close your eyes, but open your ears, for this is a fantastical tale of parabolic nature, rooted in the epicenter of human desire. With a sprinkle of tension and a dash of imagination, I invite you to listen, think, and enjoy this chronicle, years in the making.
* * * * * *
The first time Mercer visited the Alchemist, he had been on a ski trip with friends during a college break. He chose to make the journey after Katie Stezza referenced the legendary Alchemist. She was from the Green Mountain State, so she possessed authority on matters of Vermont. Her baby-blue Subaru Outback even had a bumper sticker reading ‘Keep Vermont Weird.’ Mercer and Katie had rented a small cabin outside of Stowe with their friends Nick and Samantha.
“You flatlanders obviously haven’t heard the Legend of the Alchemist,” Katie said as she opened a can of locally brewed cider.
“Forgive my uninspired, back-woods Virginia upbringing,” Nick laughed as he tossed a fresh log onto the campfire. He then rubbed his hands together, warming them in the mid-winter’s evening chill.
“Enlighten us,” Mercer said, zipping up his down jacket with its’ oversized hood.
“The Alchemist of Mount Abraham,” Katie began, her eyes raising with excitement, “is a Mystic who lives on Mount Abraham, not far from here. Legend has it he can transmute any material into any other material. Give him a rock and poof! Diamond. Bring him a sandwich and poof! Brand new motorcycle. Good, old-fashioned alchemy, like the stuff in fairytales.”
“I’m sure there’s a reason he’s just a legend,” Samantha chimed in, discounting Katie’s tale.
“Let me guess,” Nick rolled his eyes, “you’ve never met the Alchemist.”
“Well, no,” Katie frowned, “but my best friend in high school, well she had an aunt and the aunt’s son hiked Mount Abraham and he met the Alchemist. Came home with a backpack full of truffles that the family used in the kitchen of their Winooski restaurant.”
“Forgive my skepticism,” Mercer said, “but this sounds fake.”
“Then let’s hike Mount Abraham tomorrow,” Katie insisted.
“Even if we did, how would we find this so-called Alchemist?” Nick asked.
“The Legend says that he appears to those searching for him.”
“Now that’s reassuring,” Samantha finished her beer in a few gulps, “I could use a break from the slopes.”
“So we hike?” Mercer asked his friends while running his hand through his thick locs of black hair. He was here to ski, not hike. But he was outnumbered.
* * * * * *
“But if we keep following the trail, how will we find him?” Samantha asked, holding muffs over her ears.
“Because maybe the Alchemist doesn’t exist?” Mercer joked, “c’mon we’re less than a half-mile from the summit. We can at least enjoy the view from up there.”
“So this guy just lives in a cabin on the mountain all year?” Nick asked with a mild shiver.
“Something like that,” Katie said, “we have to believe we’ll find him.”
“Just like Santa, right?” Mercer laughed.
“Who is just like Santa?” a voice echoed from behind the four hikers. A man stood in a red plaid duster jacket with hood concealing his eyes and nose.
“Who the hell are you?” Mercer demanded.
“What the hell?” Nick added.
“Are you the Alchemist?” Katie asked.
“Follow me,” said the man, though his voice was high, mimicking that of a prepubescent boy. Mercer took the lead, followed by Katie, Nick and finally Samantha. The hooded man guided the group through untouched mountain terrain covered by a six-inch blanket of snow. Before long, a wooden structure came into view; four walls and a roof but lacking any defining textures. It was unlike any architecture Mercer had seen up until now.
“Sit,” said the hooded man, motioning to two wooden benches beside a black, charred fire pit. The four obliged before being addressed by the man again, “and what can I do you for?” as he removed his hood, the man’s face emerged, wrinkled and scarred, weathered by years of life. This wasn’t a boy at all, but an elderly man.
“Are you the Alchemist?” Katie asked, her eagerness apparent by her giddy jitters, keeping her from remaining sedentary.
“I’ve been called many things,” sis voice dropped by a few octaves. “Oracle. Prophet. Alchemist. But I’m just a human, same as you,” the Alchemist replied.
“Can you transmute matter?” Samantha asked.
“Some would call it that,” the Alchemist replied.
“Show us,” Nick said, “seeing is believing, right?”
“Very well,” the Alchemist continued, “I’ll share my gift with you, but only once for each of you. Then I’d like to be left alone.”
“I think that’s fair,” Katie said, “right guys?”
“Works for me,” Mercer agreed alongside his friends, though he struggled to believe.
“Tell me what it is you desire,” said the Alchemist, “but you must also make an offering of equal or greater value. I cannot create something out of nothing.” He paused, “tell me what you desire.”
“I’ll go first!” Nick exclaimed, “uh, uh, I want some beer.” He pulled his gloves off and handed them to the Alchemist. Apparently booze was more important than keeping his hands warm for the hike down the mountain.
“Very well.” The Alchemist held Nick’s gloves in one hand and pressed his other palm to Nick’s forehead. The Alchemist’s hand glowed black and then gold, emitting a light so bright that Mercer and friends had to shield their eyes.
“Hell, yeah!” Nick yelled, as the Alchemist handed him two ordinary aluminum cans. Nicked cracked the seal on one and took a big sip. “Tastes like Pabst!”
“No way did that just happen,” Samantha said.
Mercer was in awe at what he’d seen. There must have been some trick behind it, so explanation. Every magician had secrets, right? So how did the Alchemist manage this one?
“A Margo Sinclair designer handbag,” Samantha said. “It’s not that I can’t afford it, they’re just very limited and uber difficult to find.”
“Sounds rare and valuable. What’s your offering?”
“Hm,” Samantha thought aloud. She stroked the maroon scarf around her neck before moving her hand to her throat and clutching the golden, bejeweled necklace. “My mom gave this to me, I’m not sure I can part with it.”
“What about your earrings?” Katie suggested.
“Oh these?” Samantha removed the pearl studs from each ear. I bought these in Costa Rica last year.”
“You can buy another pair of pearls,” Nick chimed in, “but when else will you get to experience alchemy? Real alchemy!” Nick took several gulps from his beer, his eyes rolling as if he were consuming the most decadent of liquids to cross his palate.
“You know what? You’re right! YOLO,” Samantha handed the pearls to the old man.
The Alchemist clutched the earrings and placed his palm to Samantha’s forehead. A bright light followed and soon, Samantha was in possession of her very own Marvo Sinclair designer handbag, tags an all.
“Whaaaaat?” Samantha and Nick said in unison while their jaws dropped at the spectacle.
“Who is next?” The Alchemist asked.
“What I need, is to pass the MCATs, and then pay off my loans,” Katie began, “I’m not sure you can help me. Besides, my whole outfit was thrifted, even this hat!”
“But what do you have of value?” The Alchemist insisted.
Katie sat silently for a moment before reaching into her pocket, removing her ring of keys. The chain was adjoined by a deep blue pendant. “Lapis lazuli. I carry this everywhere.”
“But isn’t that your ‘good luck’ charm?” Mercer questioned, “your words, not mine.”
“It is,” Katie smiled reflecting her excitement, her eyes bulging as she began removing pendant from her keyring. “I carry this because of its’ natural properties for enhancing memory. Maybe this was always meant to happen.”
“The Lapis Lazuli also stimulates the desire for knowledge,” the Alchemist replied as Katie handed over her blue stone.
“You’re sure about this?” Mercer asked.
“One hundred percent,” Katie cast Mercer a confident nod.
“Very well,” said the Alchemist as he placed his hand upon Katie’s forehead while his other held the lapis lazuli. This time, the glowing light emanated from both the Achemist’s hands. Katie staggered backward in shock.
“What’d you just do?” Katie asked.
“What did you do to her?” Mercer asserted.
“Only what she asked of me,” the Alchemist replied.
“Katie, are you alright?” Samantha asked.
“Yea, I’m fine,” Katie said, “I think?” Her face was pale and her eyes glazed over as if she were about to start crying.
“C’mon guys, let’s get out of here,” Mercer addressed his friends.
“But you haven’t yet had a turn,” the Alchemist offered.
“Look, you twisted old man,” Mercer chastised, “I’ve got professional connections, my dad is a state senator, and I have more money to my name than you’ve probably seen in your entire life!” Mercer helped Katie to her feet. “Nothing you could offer me has any value.”
* * * * *
Six years passed between Mercer’s first and second visit to the Alchemist. Mercer had finished his undergraduate degree and even earned a Master of Science with a special focus on physics. Mercer hadn’t grown taller, but he’d filled out as many do in their early twenties. In addition to growing his locs to his shoulders, Mercer now sported a moustache and goatee, both trimmed precisely. When he reached the Alchemist’s home on Mt. Abraham, he hadn’t expected to be remembered, but it seemed the Alchemist’s memory was as astute as his transmutational power.
“Welcome back, Mercer,” the Alchemist said as Mercer pushed open the propped door. It was springtime and thus the hike was significantly easier. Where snow had blanketed the landscape, now birthed spiraling fiddleheads and ivory bloodroot. “I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
The Alchemist wasn’t alone; a woman stood silently, clutching a small leather coin purse which she placed in the Alchemist’s hand. The familiar light of alchemy filled the cabin as the Alchemist transmogrified a pristine set of dentures. The woman beside him gasped in amazement as she placed them inside her mouth, “a perfect fit!” She exclaimed as tears of joy filled her eyes. “Thank you!”
“It was my pleasure,” replied the Alchemist as the woman exited the home to undoubtedly hike down Mount Abraham. “So you’ve returned. May I assume you’ve come back to have a wish granted?”
“You’ve inspired me, actually,” Mercer admitted, “I’m pursuing a PhD in Astrophysics and currently researching for my dissertation. But there’s one thing that doesn’t make sense to me. How is your alchemy possible? Transmutation, I mean. How do you do it?”
“I have bad news for you,” the Alchemist replied, “my gift of Alchemy does not obey the laws of science.”
“That’s precisely why I’m here. To learn how you do it.”
“It’s not something that can be taught, nor is it in my capacity to teach,” the Alchemist stroked his chin and sat upon a red Adirondack chair that looked to have been designed for the outdoors.
“Then transmute the knowledge for me,” Mercer demanded.
“I’ve told you, it’s not a gift I’m able to offer. If there’s something else-”
“Do you remember Katie, one of the girls with me on my last visit?”
“Lapis lazuli,” the Alchemist acknowledged.
“You know, she’s one of Forbes ’30 under 30.’ You gave her knowledge so I’m simply asking you gift me the same.”
“You think I transmuted knowledge for that girl? You’re naïve. That’s not something I can do. I did transmute courage for her, not knowledge. The woman believes in herself; that’s something I can do for you, too. But knowledge? No can do.”
“You’re full of shit,” Mercer said, “how much do you want?” He removed a checkbook from his back pocket. “How does fifty thousand dollars sound?” Mercer began writing before the Alchemist replied.
“That sounds like a lot of money, but it seems to be of little value to you.”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap. I just watched you turn a small coin purse into a three thousand-dollar set of dentures.”
“Do you have nothing more to offer?”
“Seventy five? A hundred grand? What do you want?”
“This isn’t about me, it’s about you,” The Alchemist stated.
With that, Mercer exited the Alchemist’s home and slammed the door shut behind him.
* * * * *
Mercer’s third visit to the Alchemist was only a couple of years later. He hiked Mount Abraham early one summer morning after having earned his PhD and meeting his soulmate in the process. Mercer wanted to see the Alchemist for two reasons: the first was because he wanted the Alchemist to know he’d earned a doctorate, and that Mercer had done it without the Alchemist’s help. The second reason was because he’d figured out something the Alchemist could help him with, finally the Alchemist would use his power for Mercer.
“Hey, old man?” Mercer knocked on the cabin door, having remembered how to find the secluded Alchemist.
“Come in, come in,” came a reply, “I’m not used to visitors this early in the day. Forgive me, I’m still in my pajamas. Hello, Mercer.”
Mercer entered and saw the Alchemist wearing baby-blue pants with a tight undershirt. His gray hair stuck up in the back while his grey bangs were matted over his eyebrows. Mercer was hesitant, having left on unfavorable terms after his previous visit.
“I did it,” Mercer began, “I earned my PhD in Astrophysics and I’ve just landed a pretty cushy job at NASA.”
“And are you proud?” The Alchemist replied, his intonation soft and innocent, high in pitch.
“Of course, I am. And I even make more money than Katie.”
“Well, isn’t that splendid?” The Alchemist’s voice continued with nonchalance.
“I didn’t need your help.”
“Is that why you’re here? To gloat?” the Alchemist asked as Mercer lifted a glass of water and began drinking.
“I’m here because I finally know how you can help me,” Mercer took off his backpack and began unzipping. “I’ve met someone special. Her name’s Abby and I’d like to give her a unique engagement ring. I could have a jeweler custom-make something, but I think your Alchemy could create something truly one-of-a-kind.”
“I’ve made engagement rings before,” the Alchemist said before his voice dropped three octaves, “but there needs to be a suitable offering; something of enough value for what you desire.”
“That’s why I’ve brought you a pack full of cash, hundreds and fifties,” Mercer tossed the backpack to the Alchemist’s feet, “half a million. Cold, hard cash.”
The Alchemist looked at the money and frowned, “you’ve learned nothing since your last visit,” his voice turned deep and coarse.
“Make me a ring,” Mercer demanded.
“And how much more money is at your disposal?”
“You still want more? I’ll throw in another quarter-mil if you make me a ring. Now!”
“The outcome will not be what you desire,” the Alchemist explained.
“Do it! I’ve watched you use your alchemy on money. Now make me a ring!”
The Alchemist placed his hand upon the satchel of cash and the money began glowing with alchemic light. In a mere instant, the entire bag was gone and in its’ place, a modest wooden ring, smooth to the touch with a bezel holding a small green moss agate.
“What the hell is this?” Mercer seized the ring and balled his fist. The ring broke into three pieces which he dropped to the floor. “You’re a real sonofabitch, you know that?” Mercer spat where his backpack once rested before departing. He wouldn’t return to the Alchemist for more than a decade.
* * * * *
Like his first visit, Mercer hiked Mount Abraham in the middle of winter. He did so wondering if the Alchemist still lived on the mountain and if the man was even alive. While the temperature was in the single digits, the sun shone bright overheard, reflecting off the snow-covered trees, gracing the entire landscape with brilliant illumination. There were few other hikers adventuring today and Mercer’s climb was slower than in the past. Time had aged him and he’d fallen out of shape in the years leading up to his visit. Mercer followed the trail that was marked until he reached familiar path marked only by tree stump that had been carved down into a depiction of a black bear emerging from a cave.
To Mercer’s satisfaction, the Alchemist’s home still stood. The roof was weathered and sagged from the weight of snow piled on top. Mercer knocked and was greeted quickly by the Alchemist, who had shrunk several inches into a humpback in the decade preceding this meeting.
“Mercer, I thought you’d never return.”
“I’ve had much time to think since we last spoke,” Mercer said, “so much has happened and I need your help.”
“You’ve come to me for help in the past, but always left empty-handed. Do you think today will be different?” The Alchemist asked in his familiar high pitch.
“It will be, it has to be!” Mercer shuddered as he pulled a pack from his back as he’d done so in his last visit, but instead of money, he removed a small pink blanket with giraffes and elephants, followed by a green pastel-colored stuffed rabbit.
“Her name was Amelia,” Mercer began, “Abby and I tried so hard to have this child. She miscarried three times before Amelia was born?”
“I’m truly sorry,” the Alchemist replied.
“Leukemia took her from me after only three years,” Mercer began to cry, “I quit my job, I spent everything to keep her alive, but the best doctors in the country failed. I should have come to you instead.”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing I would have been able to do,” the Alchemist’s voice dropped as he consoled Mercer, “My power cannot heal the sick.”
“Then bring her back to me,” Mercer pleaded, “please!”
“I don’t peddle in souls,” the Alchemist sighed, “for who can place a value on human life?”
“You don’t get it!” Mercer bawled, “and I didn’t get it before. But I do now! I’m broke, I’m in debt, Abby left me. I have nothing of value except this bag of Amelia’s belongings. You could offer me a billion dollars, and that still wouldn’t come close to how important this blanket is to me,” Mercer held the blanket against his face, tears now dampening it. He hugged the stuffed rabbit. “Take these and give me my daughter back!”
“I can’t do that,” the Alchemist said, “and I think you know I don’t have that power.”
“Do it!” Mercer screamed before crying into a whimper, “please?”
* * * * *
Only a season passed before Mercer hiked up Mount Abraham again. This time, he didn’t carry reminders of Amelia and he didn’t reserve any expectations for his meeting with the Alchemist. Mercer had cut his hair and shaved his beard the day before, attempting to make himself feel better, though it had little effect. Mercer knocked on the Alchemist’s door like he had done so on several occasions. He was greeted by the Alchemist with a smile and cup of green tea.
“Welcome, Mercer,” the Alchemist said in a deep voice.
“Hi,” Mercer replied.
“And what brings you here today?”
“I’m not sure I can answer that,” Mercer admitted, “I don’t know what I want and I don’t have anything to offer you.”
“There is one exchange we can make,” the Alchemist said.
“I’ve told you, I have nothing. My baby is gone, my wife is gone, my money is gone. I have nothing that you can transmute, and I can’t even tell you my desires. I’m lost.”
“My alchemy cannot help you, Mercer,” the Alchemist replied softly as his voice rose in tone, “but I believe I can.”
“How? What trade could we possibly make?” Mercer paced back and forth, tracking mud and snow across the Alchemist’s foyer as they conversed.
“You have time,” the Alchemist said, “and I have friendship.”
Mercer stopped walking and looked at the Alchemist. For the first time, he was seeing the old man whom he’d sought out so many times, examining the wrinkles traced under his eyes and around his mouth, peering into the emerald green of the Alchemist’s eyes. He was neither legend nor myth, but something different altogether; he was a human. Mercer tugged his navy hat off and collapsed to the floor where he leaned against one wall and shook his head. “I could use a friend,” Mercer began, “what’s your name?”