EPISODE 8: The Alchemist’s Map
The fog still clung to the cobblestones as Orem Black left London after his father’s funeral in 1888. Alone now in the world, he set out on his own journey, blazing a trail towards the echo of the Book of Amar...his only clue, the name, Broderick Zayne -- spoken to him by his father, Reginald. It was one final misdirection by the illusionist, meant to steer his son away, to keep him chasing his tail for years to come. But, Orem believed it was a credible lead, and so, he followed it.
Through painstaking efforts and scattered fragments, Banerjee, Veera, and Joseph Frost managed to stitch together rough contours of Orem Black’s journey through his journals, cryptic and weather-worn, serving as the only footprints to follow. Orem had become consumed with finding out who Zayne was. His research led him deep into forgotten libraries, sealed archives, and rotted histories, until, at last, he uncovered the truth behind the name. A vanished alchemist. Erased from record. Lost to time. But to Orem, the rumors and stories he found were no deterrent. Instead, confirmation. Proof Zayne had either found the Book of Amar, or come too dangerously close.
One of Orem’s journal entries stood out among the rest. In it, he describes fruitless days spent at the National Archives in Austria. Hopelessly scouring over page after page of dead ends. But that night, everything changed at the boarding house where he was staying...with a knock at the door.
He opened it to a vacant hallway, the silence of the night broken by the echo of hurried footsteps fading further into shadow. At the far end, a figure vanishing into the dark. And left behind on the threshold -- a single, timeworn object, the Alchemist’s Map.
OREM: To this day, I know not who delivered the map. Maybe one of the many Bookmen at the Hothbibliotek or a fellow history seeker I’d unknowingly interacted with.
Etched across its yellowed surface was a list of cities, each one a step in the path Broderick Zayne had once taken in his pursuit of the book.
OREM: Constantinople, Mecca, Sena, Usango, Zanzibar...and Allahabad.
To anyone else, it might have appeared like the desperate wanderings of a man chasing myth, but to Orem, they were steps towards discovery. To the members of the Order, huddled together, reading from Orem’s journal, it was too deliberate. Evidence that dark forces were at work. Resolutely guiding Orem down a murky path paved not with questions, but with design...toward something that wanted to be found.
In 1893, Orem landed in Allahabad.
OREM: Upon leaving the temple, I was approached by a man, dark and mysterious...at first I thought he was a beggar, but he told me he knew what I was searching for...The book has called you here, he said.
The man, Kasson, a dark complexion, long obsidian hair, haunting eyes. With fingernails overgrown, sharp, dirty. He shepherds Orem into a shanti in the slums, to meet his master, a withered old man...Gyan, who sits motionless, cross-legged on silk pillows strewn about the floor. The airs ripe, teeming with flies.
OREM: Good evening, sir.
But Gyan doesn't respond. Just staring straight ahead, as if vacant from this world.
KASSON: Please excuse my master. He’s very old, his eyesight is long gone, and he can no longer hear...We know you’ve traveled far, searching wide for your destiny.
OREM: And how is it you know that?
KASSON: The book gives those around it an abundance of abilities, as it has given me the gift of second sight. I know all about you, Orem Black. It spoke your name to us, long ago.
OREM: But why me?
KASSON: Every living being has a set path through many lifetimes. Reborn, one step closer to their ultimate destiny. You are on the doorstep of yours. Can’t you see...Fate brought you here.
OREM: Is the book here? In this dwelling? I’ll pay any price you ask. Money is no issue.
KASSON: Oh, but the book is not for sale...Powers beyond our comprehension conceived the book. Many have sought it, but the copy my master possesses belongs solely to you.
OREM: Me? Where did it come from?
KASSON: My master acquired it over two-hundred years ago, from his master.
Orem looks over in awe at Gyan, who’s still sitting quietly.
OREM: He’s...two-hundred years old?
KASSON: He’s a guardian. The book has kept him alive, so he may pass it to you.
OREM: And after I receive it?
KASSON: He will die. His mission on this Earth will finally be complete. His duty has been to keep the book safe. He’d gladly give his life for it, and you.
OREM: What makes me the rightful owner?
KASSON: Many have tried to claim it. But the book knows who the chosen one is...
Kasson excuses himself to fetch the tome. And as Orem sits quietly in wait, Gyan moves, coming out of his static trance. His head slowly turning. Glassy eyes directed at Orem...An unnerving look spreads over his face, one of seething disdain. A hatred and pain broadcast from the netherworld.
Uncomfortable, Orem averts his eyes, but feels the stinging stare the entire time...As Kasson re-enters the room, Gyan’s body snaps back to its original position. The foul look, gone….Kasson hands Orem the book, wrapped in a dirty, tattered cloth.
KASSON: Mister Black. I present you with your destiny.
Pulling back the fabric, Orem marvels over a worn and rugged leather-bound book...His fingers running over the cover, taking in its contours...
KASSON: Questions abound, Mister Black. The book will reveal its purpose to you in time. It has a mind and a heart that will beat along with your own.
Cracking the book, Kasson stops him.
KASSON: This book is more powerful than you realize. Open it only when you’re alone, and for your safety, tell no one of it.
OREM: Of course…
As Joseph read the entry from the journal aloud, it was confirmation Orem found the book and used its magic before the Order of Wormwood.
Orem’s writings continued, describing his silent return to Black Manor. Slipping in unnoticed, hiding in the shadows of his childhood home to study the Book, letting it unravel its secrets...And, since Orem didn't have the book when he called for an audience with the Order, it would mean it was still somewhere in the study. Banerjee, Veera, and Joseph moved at once, pulling books from shelves, tearing the room apart, searching...
But their hunt was cut short as word came from the other side of the estate -- the mysterious man, who had appeared in Orem’s place when he vanished, was awake. Banerjee and Veera exchanged glances, then turned to go. But before Veera stepped out, he stopped in the doorway with a warning for Joseph -- not to search for the text without them. Being a “FACE” member of the Order with no otherworldly abilities, Joseph would have no defense against what dark powers the book could unleash...he wholeheartedly agreed.
Then, they were gone, and the study fell silent. Alone, Joseph looked at the torn-up shelves, the overturned furniture...but something else about the room felt different. A presence lingered. Joseph felt like he was being watched. The book, wherever it was, knew he was there...and it was waiting.
TO BE CONTINUED…