The Golden Woman

Flash Fiction by Kenny Isibor

The alchemist left the final test with a sullen smile. Maybe man was never intended to transmute elements or create external human life — the right only reserved for God. Thoughts circulated in his mind, creating a nebula that crashed out of his mouth.

“How dare he say I be a blacksmith?” the alchemist said, remembering all the petty tasks, minute delays, and small errands he completed for his master. Every little ‘no’ and ‘just wait’ metastasized into a failed final exam. He could no longer become a royal alchemist.

He first blamed his master — a famous man established as the King’s head alchemist, who jeered and performed for the pompous high court, joyfully spending the citizen’s tax dollars to fund these “experiments”.

The King took great delight in what he calls “wizardry,” boasting of only allowing the crème de la crème into his palace performances.

Like a puppet, the master danced for the court, tipping his hat and flailing his cloak like a bat before the monarchs.

The master’s pomp and showmanship didn’t stop at the court. If anything, he became more insufferable when he lectured young alchemists; all of whom were trying to impress him. This budding alchemist was no different.

Showing up early to help the master set up experiments, cleaning out beakers and test bulbs, even handwashing his cloak on occasion — the alchemist would stop at nothing to impress. His fervent desire to serve intrigued the master, for which the master obliged, and made him his protégé.

“Hogwash!”, the alchemist spat, “he wanted an errand boy and nothing more.” Though bitterness nearly overwhelmed the young alchemist, he showed restraint. Was it fair to blame the master, when his own desire for exposure led him down this path?

The alchemist continued to walk the trodden path lined by desert lilies; his lab hidden behind rocky terrain. The desert flora and fauna that once amazed him was now a stinging reminder of his own inadequacy. He stepped around the lilies, his dark cloak grazing the tops of the white petals.

Beneath the mountain rock lay his cave, weathered by wind, and widened by his own hands. He descended the steps into his lair. Bulbs of all sizes lined the perimeter of the cave, with small lanterns backlighting their contents. The alchemist stood silent, studying his incomplete experiments.

“What a vicious reminder,” the alchemist said, tearing off his cloak and casting it into the fire, his breath now ragged and pulse irregular.

“All of it, all of it stupid!” he yelled, thrashing about his lab. The alchemist threw powdered metals, swept unlabeled jars off his top shelf, and cast liquid mercury into the furnace. With sweltering intensity, he ripped the lanterns one by one off the cave walls, and violently threw them into the fire, cutting his arm.

The furnace blared fire from its mouth. The alchemist jumped back in surprise, grabbing the door, and landing on his back outside the cave. He covered himself with calloused hands, protecting himself from his flare of destruction. Sand fell like rain on his head, the smoky scent engulfing him.

“Are you alright?”, a velvet voice called.

It was a woman’s voice, yet, hardly any women traveled this deep into the mountains. The alchemist was afraid to look, ashamed that someone saw him.

“Explosions are nothing to be ashamed of,” the silky voice said.

Ashamed? He thought. How does she know I’m ashamed?

“I can tell by the way you’re crouched over like a crab”, the voice laughed. A mind reader?

“For heaven’s sakes, will you lift your eyes?”

The alchemist paused his thoughts, afraid that this witch woman would probe them. Slowly, he lifted his large eyes from behind his hands. A woman stood before him, glittering, completely made of gold.

A mercury hallucination? He thought. Maybe I threw too much into the fire? Yes, certainly that’s possible.

The golden woman crouched to his level, one knee touching the sand.

“There’s no time for processing. Take me to the core immediately”, she said. The alchemist nodded his head, blinking furiously. The gold woman stood with a single nod.

“There’s an entry point near the edge of this terrain, drop me through the cavern, so I can return to my purest form,” she said. The alchemist forced himself up on shaky knees.

“You came…from that explosion?”, he said, gesturing to his lab now consumed by flames.

“Isn’t that obvious?”, she said, confusion edging her voice.

“You came from my destruction?” he asked.

“Chaos creates gold.”, the golden woman replied. “Now hurry, we must go before it’s too late.”

The alchemist ran behind her, removing his inner robes and wrapping them around her body and head to protect them from covetous eyes. The alchemist watched the golden woman hobble like a doe through the rocky terrain, offering a hand of support, to which she accepted.

Though fascinated by her constitution, he felt melancholic. The dream of every alchemist was made manifest before him. A transmuted human. Gold. But thoughts of the king still invaded his mind.

If he gave the king the golden woman, think of all the riches and respect he would attain. He would become his master’s master. But, what of her freedom? What would the king do to a woman made of gold?

He watched her shoulders sway as she walked. “There, below the passageway”, the gold woman pointed, “Do you see the smoke?”

The alchemist thought to deter her from proceeding, but the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. Sensing his hesitation, the golden woman turned to the alchemist. She pressed her hand to his cheek.

All of his visions and ambitions were held by a warm hand touching his cheek. He always believed his lack of ambition made him weak, that his desire to help others was the reason why he’d be destined for failure, but here, his ambitions were clear.

“I will set you free”, he said.