Fledgling Pt. 02

++++++++

Part 2 of 2

++++++++

I don't consider myself an expert, but as a (sort of) person with no formal training, I think I'm a decent watercolor painter after almost six months of practice. Master has complimented my skills, saying he tried to pick up painting but doesn't have the patience for it.

Today I want to start my most ambitious project: a full-body nude of my Master. I'll keep it secret from him, or at least try to, and give it to him as a gift. Once I finish my chores for the day, I begin drawing the base in my sketchbook. The image is a simple front and back view, like one used in an anatomy text. I spend quite a while adjusting the sketches until I get the shape just right. I know my Master's body quite well and get his build down in less time than I was expecting.

This is when I kind of hit a wall. I want this portrait of my Master to contain all his scars and tattoos, as well as his eyepatch. Master often says the body I have when I'm his double is the better one, one more pure, but I want him to know just how beautiful he really is to me.

I'm confident about the scars, I've seen and touched them all, but for whatever reason I'm having a hard time remembering what his tattoos look like. I know the placement, and remember that they look like black tribal markings, but try as I might I can't quite pin them down. I could just wait for him to come home and get a better look when we're in bed tonight, but I'm frustrated that my project has to be ground to a halt so soon. I wonder if there are any pictures of him I can look at. I can't recall many photos of Master around the house, and in all of them he's decidedly clothed.

Then I remember his study.

He keeps a running journal of new alchemy skills and experiences, even now he has a small notebook he brings with him to work every day. Since I know that his tattoos are directly tied to his alchemy, he might have a drawing of them in his logs.

The problem is, Master doesn't want me in the study unless I'm cleaning it and has told me in no uncertain terms to never touch any of his work-related things.

Still, I have never received any sign that Master reads my mind and keeps tabs on me during the day. He usually has to concentrate to hear my thoughts and likely has other things on his mind while he's on the job. Nearly every evening he'd ask me what I'd done when he was at work, and I'd always tell him about a book I've read or a painting I tried to make. He seems so genuinely interested. He's not just humoring me, right? He can't really be watching me every minute of the day.

Master never wants me to become an alchemist, he's made that abundantly clear. But I don't intend to look in the books so I can learn the craft. I'm not going against the spirit of his rules by simply looking for pictures of his tattoos.

I steadily talk myself into it. Master won't ever know, I'm not exactly defying his orders, and this is all for him anyway. I start to get cold feet when I actually get to the door, but steel my will and go through.

I've been in this room a few times, but only to clean, and only when Master is in the room as well, keeping an eye on me. Still, I've seen enough to know where he keeps his log books.

I go to his bookcase, and on the very top shelf is dozens of the exact same journal. At 182 centimeters, Master could reach it easily. The body he has given me today is a Latina woman about 160 centimeters tall, so I need to stand on a chair.

I pull a journal out and thumb through it, only to discover that it's empty. There isn't a single word written in it anywhere. I examine a couple others, one that looks like the oldest and one that looks like the newest, and discover the same thing.

I'm puzzled. Why would Master be so protective of blank journals? And these books don't have the pristine appearance of ones never touched. They're loose in the way only well-loved books can be, with dog-eared and even ripped pages.

Then it hits me: if Master can make an eyepatch only he can move, it doesn't seem implausible that he could write words only he can see. I suddenly recall that Master only has one pencil, at least only one I've ever seen. That seems like a solid guess.

I frown. There goes my plan.

Then I notice something.

It's on the back wall of the bookcase, exposed when I removed the oldest journal from the shelf. There are some seams in the wood that don't look like they belong there. I remove more journals and reveal a secret compartment in the bookshelf, and it's not locked.

Inside is obviously a very old book, worn and heavy.

On Alchemy by Nicolas Flamel

That name does vaguely ring a bell, but what interests me more is that I can read the cover. When I open the book and flip through the pages, I can see it all! The copy Master has appears to be the same text in three different languages: first French, then English, and lastly what looks like Greek.

I stop myself. I'm definitely doing something beyond my original plan. I should just look through it and see if there are any pictures of the tattoos before I copy the image and put all the books back. Thankfully, there's a picture of the markings at the very beginning of the English section. As I examine the drawing, trying to etch it into my brain, I can't stop myself from reading the words next to it.

Chapter 1

Alchemy is the art of manipulating nature's laws, distinct from witchcraft, which directly breaks them. Through the basic principles of conserving both mass and energy, alchemy can do anything from turning seawater into salt and water to taking a disease away from a person and transferring it to an animal.

In principle, alchemy should be thought of not as turning things into other things, but as reaching within that object and rearranging its smallest particles. It follows the basic framework of a chemical reaction: matter goes in and the same matter goes out, while energy is either released or absorbed.

Besides the natural and tangible, alchemy can manipulate things more abstract in a similar way. Something such as memories or thoughts can be forcibly transferred from one person's brain to another, and a nearly limitless amount of actions can be preformed as long as what is lost is equivalent to what is being gained.

The path to beginning alchemy is simple, but requires a strong will. A person becomes an alchemist when they get the alchemic marks, black shapes all over the body similar to a tattoo. To achieve this—

FLEEEDGLIIIIIING!!!

My Master's voice rings so loudly in my head that I lose my balance and fall off the chair I'm standing on. I crash to the ground and can't move a muscle.

Pure fear courses through me. Master has caught me snooping through his belongings! I can feel his anger, even from far away.

I hear one door after another in the house open and slam shut and sense his fury intensify. The door to his study is flung open and my Master approaches.

I've seen him angry before, but this is the most intense rage I've ever seen him have, and what's worse is that all of it is directly towards me.

"I GAVE YOU SO MUCH FREEDOM, BUT YOU COULDN'T RESIST DEFYING ME ANYWAY!!" he bellows. I can't even whimper, I'm so horrified.

"THAT'S RIGHT, BE AFRAID, YOU LITTLE SHIT!"

My body shrinks to the smallest one I've ever been in. Master picks me up so I can see myself in a mirror. I'm a deathly pale and emaciated man, though as weak as a child. I can't be much more than a meter tall.

"You think you can just disobey me? You're my slave! You're like an insect to me!"

He gets me down to the floor and I'm forced to curl up in surrender. For the first time, I feel myself urinate. It's dark, rancid, and gets all over my chest and face. I'd gag and throw up if I could move.

"This insolent little pup seems to have forgotten who its alpha is. It deserves to be reminded who's in charge."

I'm humiliated. I'm a tiny weakling pissing all over myself. I feel small and useless.

"As you should feel, whelp. You think you can just rebel against your Master like that? How arrogant could a pissant like you possibly be?!"

He absolutely towers over me, imposing and furious.

"You think I liked it when I sensed that my alchemy book was being tampered with? You think I enjoyed realizing that the only one who would be touching it is my fledgling that I always thought I could trust?!? I was doing something with a client and had to leave immediately, without explanation. I had to waste away body mass I can't afford to lose so I could run here fast enough! LOOK AT THIS!" He points at his eye, and it's crying tears of blood. "YOU DID THIS! DOES THIS LOOK FUN TO YOU!?"

My stream of rotten piss finally ends and he stomps his boot down on my face. Unlike any time he's done it before, now it hurts like hell.

"Alright, you little worm, I'm going to allow you to speak and you will explain to me why you thought it was necessary to defy me. For your sake, I better really fucking like your story or your life will be hell on earth until I decide that you've learned your lesson."

He removes his foot and my mouth becomes the only part of my body I can move.

I tell him the entire truth, how I was planning on surprising him with a loving portrait but needed pictures of his tattoos. I tell him how I came across his alchemy book by accident and opened it only out of curiosity. I tell him how even though I found what I was looking for, I made the choice to disobey him and read the book.

"Master, I'm so sorry for my disobedience. I started out with good intentions, but that's no excuse. All I can do is beg for your mercy."

He still looks livid. He pants some more through clenched teeth before sighing.

"God damn it, pet! I hate being such a bastard to you! I don't like the thought of punishing you any more than you do!"

He gets down and begins the process of putting back all the books.

"Christ, if you wanted a reference picture of me, all you had to do was ask! I'll give you all the photos you need! Why did you think misbehaving was the better option?"

"I was only thinking of myself, Master. I'm so sorry."

He doesn't say anything for a few seconds before he replies.

"I think I should apologize, too. I assumed that you had the worst intentions before even finding out exactly what happened. I let my anger get the better of me."

He unlocks my body and returns me to the female I was a few minutes prior.

"I suppose what you've gone through is punishment enough. Just tell me what parts of the book you read so I can erase it from your memory if I deem that necessary. Don't lie to me, or I'll punish you for real."

"I only read the beginning of the English section. You stopped me when I was reading about how alchemists get their tattoos."

Master looks at the text.

"Did you read any instructions?"

"No, it was right before that."

He glowers at me.

"I suppose that nothing you read is anything you didn't already know or couldn't have guessed. Just mark my words, fledgling. Never, under any circumstances, touch this book again. This is the only time you'll get off leniently."

"I understand, Master."

He puts all the rest of the journals back before turning to me again.

"Well, you pulled me away from my work for this, so I should at least get something out of it." He begins taking off his clothes. "I'll model for you. This better be a damn good painting."

I nod eagerly and run off to get the sketches. When I return I see my Master in all his glory.

"I can't believe you actually want to see these tattoos," he grumbles.

"They're beautiful. They're a part of you."

I spend the next forty minutes sketching his tattoos, trying to be thorough so he doesn't have to model for me again.

I've always sort of thought of them as multiple separate images, but as it turns out they all kind of make a single shape together. They start at his forearms, go behind his shoulders and split into three. The middle section goes down his back and stops while the other two sections spiral down his torso and legs to his calves. The overall effect emphasizes his V-shape and makes him look rugged.

"Thank you for doing this, Master," I say when I'm done. "I'm sorry for dragging you away from work."

"I forgive you, little one." He looks at a clock. "It's too late to go back there. Make me a feast to compensate for all the energy running here cost me."

My mouth is already sealed again, so I just hug him and run off to the kitchen.

It takes a week before I'm satisfied with the portrait. Once I feel like I've done all I could at my skill level, I show it to Master.

"I call it 'Portrait of a beautiful man.'"

He examines it and looks impressed, awestruck even.

"Was this difficult, pet?"

"It was the hardest thing I've ever made, Master, but I wanted to show you how beautiful you are."

His eye gets shiny.

"I can't remember the last time anybody did something like this for me. Thank you, precious one."

Hearing those words made me happy in a way no orgasm could. Still, I enjoyed how he tried to prove that wrong later in the bedroom.

*****

One day, Master turns me into a behemoth of a woman when he gets home. Usually when he makes me so big he wants to be held, so I sit down and he indeed gets on my lap. I pet his hair the way he often pets mine.

"How are you feeling, Master?"

He sighs. "Fine, but I got some news today. The Vatican has asked for my services."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Yeah, but it's been years since I've done this type of work. They want me on the job restoring a church in Sierra Leone."

"Does that mean you'll have to move there?"

"For a few months, yes."

I think about how little I know outside this house. Does he think I would be helpful out in the real world?

"Of course I do! There's no way I'm leaving without you. That isn't why I'm not looking forward to this."

I wrap my arms around him a little tighter. "Then what's the problem?"

"Not a lot of people actually trust me, especially in the clergy. Employing alchemists has been a secret tradition of Catholic churches for centuries, but it's not seen as savory. Many regard it like hiring a demon or a witch."

"But you're a devout Christian! How could they think that?"

He laughs. "I really do love your innocence, pet. But if I were them I wouldn't trust me, either."

"Do you want to turn this offer down?"

"No. I accepted it on two conditions, though: the first is that you come with me, and the second is that I can also bring Diana along."

That sounds wonderful! I love being with Diana, and I finally get to spend all my time serving my Master!

"Don't get too excited, fledgling. I'm putting you to use out there."

"I don't mind the work."

He kisses me.

We leave two days later. Master has quite a bit to pack, clothes, energy bars, toiletries, and alchemy supplies. I assumed that I would be extremely low maintenance, I never thought I needed anything except for him, but I turn out to require quite a bit of extra work. For the very first time we go down to the basement, it has always been locked up as long as I've lived here, and he goes to an odd item: a metal box the size of a desk that appears to have been welded shut. What does he need this for?

"I'm not the one this is for, little one. You're why I even own this."

"What do you mean?"

"When I transform you from one body to the next, I can't create or destroy your organic matter. That violates the laws of conservation. So I made a place to store the mass not being used. This is where your matter comes from and goes to when it's not part of your body."

I suddenly have a horrifying image in my head of the box being filled with pieces of flesh.

"Not quite. It's more like a primordial soup. But don't worry, the box is always sealed. Nobody would be able to use it besides me."

"Why do you have to bring it to Sierra Leone?"

"Because if I don't, transforming you would be moving mass thousands of miles, which would be very taxing. I need both of us to be at our peak performance at all times."

Diana, Master and I travel to Sierra Leone by plane, in a jet owned by the very rich Muslim leader who would be overseeing the church's restoration. Apparently the team would be uncommonly small, only about half a dozen people. Having Master would allow for more work to be done in less time with less labor. He also assures me that I'll be invaluable to the project.

For the trip there he turns me into a young girl, light-skinned black. I almost look like if Master and Diana had a child, though I never mention that aloud. If Diana notices, she doesn't say, either. Most of my plane ride is spent with her holding me, telling me stories about herself and Master. It's enjoyable, but reminds me how my Master never tells me stories about his own past. He seems ashamed of his backstory, but I'm still curious.

Our party arrives to the camp outside the church first. Master turns me into a trim, strong Arab man and tells me to sit down.

"When you talk around these people, I want you to use third person. It's for the best that they see you as nothing more than a sentient tool."

I nod. "This one understands."

The first one to arrive is Imam Shaikh, a man even older than Father Pretorius. He addresses Master first.

"You must be Arcangelo. The Vatican told me about you. I've heard rumors, but never knew they were true. You're what, a sorcerer?"

"An alchemist. It's an honor to meet you, sir."

He next turns to Diana.

"I assume that you must be Miss Govender. Glad to have your assistance."

He finally sets his gaze on me.

"I was told that Arcangelo would bring somewhat of a wild card. Who are you?"

"This is a servant I created that I refer to as my fledgling," Master cuts in. "It can transform into any human body I will it." To demonstrate he morphs me through a few bodies before returning to the male Arab.

"My word! That's remarkable. Can it talk?"

"Yes, it can." He looks at me.

"This one hopes to be of use, sir. It will do what it can to help with the restoration."

"I see." He turns back to Master and gets a more ominous expression. "I was assured that you're a man of God and not using black magic. Do not make me regret trusting you."

I think that's rather rude, but Master simply nods and assures him he won't.

Four more people arrive, a young Jewish male, a fit man who looks to be in his fifties wearing a priest collar, a 20-something Muslim man who looks like the Imam, and a Muslim woman who I assume to be his wife.

Imam Shaikh introduces us to each other. The Jewish man is named Marcus Falk. He seems laid-back and agreeable. The couple is the Imam's grandson Ali and his wife Kafiyah. They're polite but not exactly friendly. The priest is Father Jean-Luc Wells. He's formal, but somewhat cold.

This team was selected mostly for good PR, a diverse group working together for a common goal. This restoration would reflect well on Shaikh and his congregants. Master's alchemy, as well as my existence, would obviously be kept secret.

"Lastly is the servant you see here," he says, finally acknowledging me. "I'll let Mr. Arcangelo explain this."

Master nods.

"This is my fledgling. It's a creature I've created as a servant that can morph into any type of human body and follows my orders. It will be an asset to us." He once again demonstrates his ability to manipulate my appearance.

There's a lot of wide eyes and raised eyebrows.

Say something to put them at ease, pet, my Master tells me.

I stand up and prostrate myself.

"Please use this one in any way you need. Its body is your tool."

Probably overkill, he says in my mind, but that'll work.