“Don’t I need that?” he asks.
“You aren’t ready for that yet. Look only at the glass of water.”
He does so.
“Now. What is the simplest transmutation?”
“An element into itself,” Ari replies. “It’s hardly a transmutation at all.”
“Very good. It will take almost nothing from you to transmute liquid water into ice, or to steam. Basic chemistry. It’s so simple a transmutation that ordinary people can do it with a stove or freezer. But we are forgoing such helpers today, aren’t we, Ari? I want you to turn this water into ice.”
Ari stares at the glass of water and sees in his mind the geometry of overlapping circles that comprise it, a large ring for oxygen, two smaller rings for hydrogen, then billions of them joined together, their edges crossing like ripples in a pond. But it is one thing to understand it, to visualize it in your mind’s eye—entirely another to translate that into your hands and the air. Ari stares at it and doesn’t know what to do next.
Mr. Rudra smiles at his confusion. “Suddenly unsure how to apply the theories you’ve learned? Humility is the first gift alchemy offers us. What is the second?”
“Adaptive thinking,” Ari answers.
“All of alchemy is an adaptation, training your mind to think in as many ways as possible. The more different the materials are, the more steps the transmutation takes, and the higher the risk of you making a mistake. But this transmutation only needs one step. We’ll keep it simple, so you can work on your concentration. Can you do that, Ari?”
He nods, still staring at the water.
“Good. Now, watch.”
Mr. Rudra tilts his head at Isla. She steps forward and touches her hand to the water. She has barely even brushed the water’s surface when Ari sees ice crusting against it, delicate, crystalline curls of frost expanding down to the bottom of the glass. It is such an extraordinarily beautiful sight, like witnessing the secret of the universe, that for a moment, he forgets his fear.
Ari studies Isla’s hand for clues, but finds nothing.
“When transmuting an object into itself,” Isla says, “you need to look for the difference and anticipate it. Think of the lattice of elements that ice creates, how neatly they align in comparison to liquid water.”
Isla touches the ice again, and it cracks, disappearing as water fills the glass once more.
“Remember,” she says. “You have to touch the object you’re transmuting.”
“Why?” Ari asks.
“Why do you think?” Mr. Rudra says, looking Ari straight in the eye, as if this is the entire reason why he has been brought halfway across the globe to be in this place. “The transmutation needsyou.The core of you. And the way we connect to the world is through our hands.”
Ari swallows, muscles rigid with anticipation.
“Chemistry is alchemy’s younger cousin,” Mr. Rudra says. “But they are not the same, are they?”
“No,” Ari murmurs.
The man nods. “In chemistry, combining a specific set of ingredients will always create the same end result, no matter who does it. Alchemy is different. My way of transmuting an object into another object will differ from yours. Why is that, Ari?”
“Because every successful alchemical reaction requires a fragment of the alchemist’s soul,” Ari answers. “And no two souls are exactly alike.”
Mr. Rudra smiles. “Correct. Every alchemical reaction contains a signature, if you will, of its alchemist. In time, you will learn to detect that signature, and even distinguish between them.” He leans against the table now and stares intently at Ari. “I scour the world for souls like yours. It’s not easy to find those like you—most souls are simply not capable of powering an alchemical reaction. Even with proper training, they could spend their entire lives attempting a transmutation and never succeed. There are fewer people out there than you think who have what it takes.” He nods for Ari to concentrate. “Now, turn your attention back to the glass.”
Ari looks back down at the water, then reaches out and touches his finger to its surface. He starts to envision the circles in his mind.
“Call on your soul.”
“How?”
“You know where it is. Only you.”
Ari shakes his head, frustrated. All he sees in himself is darkness, a physical body, nothing more. “I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
