{"product_id":"the-alchemist-isbn-9780345462367","title":"The Alchemist","description":"In a sweeping epic of dazzling magic, soaring suspense, and dark longing, three immortal souls are united by fate and a fearless ambition that will change the course of history–even as it destroys their own way of life. . . . \u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOn an upper floor of a plush, high-security building on Central Park West, an elegant man sits in the office of Dr. Anne Kramer, confessing to the heinous murder that has horrified the modern world. Randolf Sontime is renowned for his personal charm, and Dr. Kramer is fighting to keep from falling victim to it. For the first time in her life, she truly understands the meaning of the word “charisma.” Not knowing that her own destiny is irrevocably tied to his, Anne Kramer listens to the story of Sontime’s life.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003ci\u003e“It began with the magic, you see. And so, perforce, must I.” \u003c\/i\u003eAs a boy named Han at the House of Ra, an isolated oasis in the Egyptian desert of a far ancient time, Sontime lived in privilege. There the chosen were trained in the science of alchemy–magic, philosophy, miracles. Only two other initiates were as skilled as he: Akan, quiet and studious, a boy whose thirst for knowledge was matched only by his hunger for truth; and Nefar, beautiful and brilliant, a girl as filled with wonder and unfathomable ambition as Han himself. Together they discovered that in union, theirs was a power unmatched in the physical world.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut even in the House of Ra, there were boundaries to be observed, knowledge that only the masters understood and feared. As the threesome’s thirst for answers–and for each other–deepened, they were tempted by the dark arts that they had sworn to avoid. \u003ci\u003e“Look at three magnificent youths who stand astride your world and scoff at the rules you must obey. . . . Look at us, and call us gods.” \u003c\/i\u003eTheir power was palpable, their desire total–until the fateful moment when their alliance was forever damned, their gifts horribly corrupted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA seductive work that seethes with mystery and passion, \u003ci\u003eThe Alchemist\u003c\/i\u003e hurtles readers back through time to an era when magic was sacred and the workings of the world lay in the hands of a few gifted, but tortured souls. In a stunning feat of unbridled imagination, Donna Boyd has created her most hypnotic novel to date.\u003cb\u003eDonna Boyd\u003c\/b\u003e lives in a restored turn-of-the-century barn in the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where she is now working on her next novel.Imagine if you will the days spinning backward: a millennium ends here, a\u003cbr\u003ecentury turns there, a year ends now, and another, and a thousand others,\u003cbr\u003eand finally there are so many days, so many years ending and beginning\u003cbr\u003ethat you can no longer remember why \u003cbr\u003eit seemed important that you keep count of them at all. And yet I have\u003cbr\u003ecounted them. I have counted every one, marking the beginning of each new\u003cbr\u003eyear, of each new century, in my own quiet fashion: a glass of wine,\u003cbr\u003eperhaps, a silent toast. The world revolves, the view changes. Now I stand\u003cbr\u003eatop a castle turret, now upon the deck of a sailing ship. Here I gaze\u003cbr\u003eupon an ageless river, there a body-strewn battlefield; now I see the\u003cbr\u003edancing lights of the Champs d’Elysée, now I see the smoldering fires of a\u003cbr\u003efallen civilization. The years change, but the question does not. Will\u003cbr\u003ethis be it? I ask myself. Will this be the year I tell my story, the whole\u003cbr\u003eof it, from beginning to end, at last?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd what a lovely entertainment it has been, all these thousands of\u003cbr\u003eturning years, to imagine the telling, the circumstances of the telling,\u003cbr\u003eand the reason for the telling. I have created the scenario and variations\u003cbr\u003eupon scenario over and over again in my mind. Where to begin? How best to\u003cbr\u003eglorify or debase myself in the telling, how to find the thread of truth\u003cbr\u003ethat, in the end, must be the summation of any man’s life–even if that\u003cbr\u003elife has been as long and as tangled as mine. So now the time has come,\u003cbr\u003eand the moment is–as so many greatly anticipated moments\u003cbr\u003eare–disappointing. For I realized some time ago that the whole story\u003cbr\u003ecannot be told, not today, perhaps not ever. Every man’s life is simply a\u003cbr\u003esum of parts, and these are the only parts I can tell you now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut the beginning, where was that? I think sometimes it began with a lithe\u003cbr\u003eyoung girl of grand ambition and laughing eyes. At other times I am sure\u003cbr\u003eit all started with the wistful longings of a poet-priest I once called\u003cbr\u003efriend. Was it a woman’s power, or a man’s dreams? What dark god fashioned\u003cbr\u003ethis unlikely tale and sent it spinning into space with a single smiling\u003cbr\u003ebreath? And dare I think I ever, at any time, had any control over it at\u003cbr\u003eall?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt began with the magic, you see. And so, perforce, must I.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI had a name in that long-ago time, but I have forgotten it centuries\u003cbr\u003esince, so let me call myself as I was in those days: Han. Perhaps I had a\u003cbr\u003emother, a father, and an early family life but I do not recall those\u003cbr\u003eeither. Life began for me, as I remember it, in the House of Ra.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMuch has been written in human history about this time in Egypt; entire\u003cbr\u003elifetimes have been dedicated to piecing together the scattered bones of\u003cbr\u003ethat long-ago life. As always, when what is shattered is reassembled with\u003cbr\u003eno model to follow, mistakes will be made in the reconstruction, great\u003cbr\u003echunks, perhaps, will be missing and others will seem to have no place in\u003cbr\u003ethe whole at all. The result is, more often than not, a monstrous\u003cbr\u003egrotesquerie.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo believe me when I tell you that, while historians have done a fair job\u003cbr\u003eof reassembling the past, so much of what they have learned is only what\u003cbr\u003ewe wanted them to know, what was left for them to know. And nothing, I\u003cbr\u003eassure you, of what you know or what you think you know of that time can\u003cbr\u003eeven begin to touch the truth of the House of Ra.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTruth is an interesting word. I cannot tell you now with absolute\u003cbr\u003ecertainty whether the structure itself, the temple complex in which we\u003cbr\u003elived and worked and ate and slept and studied was in fact composed of\u003cbr\u003emortar and stone, or whether it was merely an illusion of the same–or,\u003cbr\u003emost likely, a combination of both. I will describe it therefore as I\u003cbr\u003eperceived it to be, remembering that in the end, in almost every instance,\u003cbr\u003ethe difference between truth and illusion is so faint as to be almost\u003cbr\u003einconsequential.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe House of Ra existed on a man-made oasis far from the banks of the\u003cbr\u003eNile, in a part of the Egyptian desert that is today a particularly brutal\u003cbr\u003eand barren stretch of land in a place that is known for its inhospitable\u003cbr\u003enature. Soaring sandstone cliffs surrounded the oasis which, from the sky,\u003cbr\u003ewould be seen as an island of green in a sea of sand. Date and fig trees\u003cbr\u003egrew side by side with banana, papaya, and orange trees. Waterfalls\u003cbr\u003etumbled from limestone boulders, formed deep pools and meandering streams.\u003cbr\u003eThe ground was covered with a lush low carpet of a fragrant creeping herb\u003cbr\u003ethat smelled like sweet lavender and felt like moss to the touch. Even\u003cbr\u003eafter all these years, I can but think of the House of Ra and that\u003cbr\u003efragrance will return to me. There is nothing like it growing in the world\u003cbr\u003etoday.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe temple complex was enormous–larger, I think, than any of us imagined,\u003cbr\u003efor it seemed the more we discovered, the more there was to discover.\u003cbr\u003eThere was a set of carved cypress doors at the entry to the temple, easily\u003cbr\u003etwo stories high, which were closed only on ceremonial occasions. The door\u003cbr\u003ewas inscribed with pictographs in the ancient language centered around the\u003cbr\u003esymbol of our craft–three interlocked globes in perfect balance that\u003cbr\u003eformed the points of a triangle. When the doors were open, the triangle\u003cbr\u003ewas broken, leaving two globes joined and the one alone. Only when the\u003cbr\u003edoors were closed was the triangle complete.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe complex itself was laid out like a triangle, with long straight\u003cbr\u003ecorridors containing classrooms, laboratories and sleeping areas, and\u003cbr\u003elarge circular common rooms at each apex of the triangle. The whole was\u003cbr\u003eprotected by a raised roof, so that indoor gardens and pools thrived in\u003cbr\u003ethe artificial tropical rain-forest atmosphere that had been created \u003cbr\u003eby the designers. There were many levels, some labyrinthine, some so\u003cbr\u003ecompact they were practically claustrophobic, each with its own internal\u003cbr\u003eenvironment–cool in the heat of the sun and warm when the cold winds blew\u003cbr\u003eacross the desert.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eArtificial light glowed from the walls and ceilings so that we might work\u003cbr\u003eor study at night, and could be discontinued when we wished it.\u003cbr\u003eRefrigeration was available, but rarely used, as our supply of fresh foods\u003cbr\u003ewas abundant. Our clothing was manufactured so quickly and inexpensively\u003cbr\u003ethat there was no need for laundering, and our food was cooked with a\u003cbr\u003emethod that used no fuel and gave off no heat. We bathed in warm-water\u003cbr\u003epools and used an internal, automated waste-disposal system. We had, in\u003cbr\u003ethis ancient, long-forgotten desert temple, every modern convenience.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe House of Ra was a secret over two thousand years old even when I was\u003cbr\u003ethere. Within those vaulted marble halls and sun-drenched galleries, magic\u003cbr\u003emet science, philosophy met truth, wonders and miracles were merely a\u003cbr\u003ematter of course. Years later a library would be built in Alexandria that\u003cbr\u003ewould become known as the greatest in the world; it was only a shallow\u003cbr\u003ereplica of the library contained in the vaults of the House of Ra. There\u003cbr\u003ewere never more than thirteen initiates at a time; the best and the\u003cbr\u003ebrightest of all of Egypt, hand-chosen by the Masters to live at the\u003cbr\u003etemple and study the truths.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd what truths were those? Ah, you could spend a lifetime and still not\u003cbr\u003elist them all. The nature of atomic particles and the nature of man, the\u003cbr\u003ecomposition of chemical alloys and the mysteries of the soul. The\u003cbr\u003etransmutation of matter, the source of all Power. To live in truth, and to\u003cbr\u003epractice deception. Magic. Medicine. Discipline. Mastery. Good and evil.\u003cbr\u003eBalance in all things.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe were chosen at a young age, male and female, for characteristics not\u003cbr\u003eeven our parents could identify, and from that time until we gained\u003cbr\u003eadulthood we knew no life outside the House of Ra. It was, to the best of\u003cbr\u003emy recollection, a very ordinary life: we played, we studied, we ate and\u003cbr\u003eslept; we had childish spats with our classmates, we were impertinent to\u003cbr\u003eour teachers. We had moments of great joy and deep pain, of triumph and\u003cbr\u003efailure and enlightenment and humiliation. We grew, we learned, we loved.\u003cbr\u003eWe formed loyal friendships and casual sexual liaisons. There was nothing\u003cbr\u003especial about us, at least in our own view. We lived in the same universe\u003cbr\u003ethat you do today; we simply learned to operate that universe according to\u003cbr\u003ea different set of rules.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eYet I don’t mean to minimize the grandeur of our time there; the majesty\u003cbr\u003eof what we were becoming. Even now I have but to close my eyes and it will\u003cbr\u003ereturn to me with breathless, aching wonder, the first time I understood\u003cbr\u003ethe workings of this world and the power I had over it. Let me speak the\u003cbr\u003ewords, with proper tone and rhythm, choosing the syllables and the harmony\u003cbr\u003ethey produce, let me hold the thought and say the spell, and what once was\u003cbr\u003eis no longer so. Watch me now as I pluck from the air the electricity that\u003cbr\u003esparks from my fingers, for don’t you know it was always there? And now\u003cbr\u003ewith an outstretched arm I will lift that stone with the strength of my\u003cbr\u003eintent, and see how it floats like a feather in the air! Let me touch your\u003cbr\u003ehand and rewrite your memory. Let me bind you with my eyes, let me whisper\u003cbr\u003eyour name and capture your will. We were dealers in magic, and magic ruled\u003cbr\u003ethe world.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI have said we, but it is important to know that not all who studied at\u003cbr\u003ethe House of Ra were of equal ability. Some would never do more than\u003cbr\u003emaster the principles of physics and chemistry that would enable them to\u003cbr\u003econtrol the environment in which we must live; others might dip their\u003cbr\u003efingers into the stream of the human unconscious and come away with a\u003cbr\u003ebasic understanding of the arcane laws that govern existence here on\u003cbr\u003eearth. The study of the Art was intensely personal, and we competed\u003cbr\u003eagainst no one but ourselves.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut there were three of us who, from the beginning, excelled above the\u003cbr\u003eothers at the Practice. We couldn’t help noticing. And we couldn’t stop,\u003cbr\u003eno matter how we disciplined our minds, the thread of ambition from\u003cbr\u003esnaking into our days. It was inevitable, I suppose, that that ambition\u003cbr\u003eshould bring us into conflict. But even we would not have sought conflict\u003cbr\u003ewithin the mastery of one of the most dangerous and complex of all the\u003cbr\u003emystic arts–nor could we have guessed how deeply, in the end, it would\u003cbr\u003ebind us together.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt is quite one thing to perform the mysteries on inanimate objects, to\u003cbr\u003ecause boulders to melt into lava, to dry up a stream with the force of\u003cbr\u003eone’s breath, for it is well-known that all things exist in all forms at\u003cbr\u003eall times; it’s merely a matter of learned skills to shift them from one\u003cbr\u003estate into another. But to transform oneself–that is the thing that will\u003cbr\u003etempt and terrify every Practitioner, in one form or another, for as long\u003cbr\u003eas he lives. Many an adept, quite competent in all other areas, will never\u003cbr\u003eachieve the state of simple Oneness that is necessary to become another\u003cbr\u003eliving being. But for the three of us, in that long-ago time in the House\u003cbr\u003eof Ra, the gift came easily. Perhaps too easily.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere has been much debate over the millennia as to whether this\u003cbr\u003etransformation was a literal, physical transmutation of matter, or an\u003cbr\u003eequally literal, but far less demonstrable, transfiguration of spirit. Did\u003cbr\u003eI become the frog, or did I merely cast my consciousness into the essence\u003cbr\u003eof frog-ness, and did I do it with such power and conviction as to cause\u003cbr\u003eothers to see me as I saw myself–in the form of a frog? I tell you now it\u003cbr\u003eis one and the same. All magic is illusion, and all reality is only what\u003cbr\u003eone perceives it to be, and in the world in which we lived the line\u003cbr\u003ebetween these two planes of existence was so faint as to be almost\u003cbr\u003einvisible.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSo if it will help your modern, Western-scientific mind to accept more\u003cbr\u003eeasily the occurrences I describe, believe if you will that it was merely\u003cbr\u003ea function of the occult mind. That we imagined, and caused others to\u003cbr\u003eimagine, those things that seem impossible for you to believe. I’ll not\u003cbr\u003eargue the point. Imagination can stop a heart, you know, or break a bone,\u003cbr\u003eor alter the face of time, and in the end it is all the same to those\u003cbr\u003ewhose lives are affected.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eStill, I should not wish you to think that it was a casual thing, this\u003cbr\u003eshedding of one form to become another, or that it might be summoned at\u003cbr\u003erandom will. Quite the contrary. Most of us will never master anything\u003cbr\u003emore than simple animal forms–the frog, the fish, the bird or snake. Ah,\u003cbr\u003ebut to attain transmutation to any form was a wonder almost too exquisite\u003cbr\u003eto bear; so intensely involving was it, so deeply, singularly pleasurable,\u003cbr\u003ethat there was a real danger in giving oneself over to it so completely\u003cbr\u003ethat one lost all desire to change back, and soon forgot how. Our history\u003cbr\u003eis rich with tales of such unfortunate occurrences: the prince trapped in\u003cbr\u003ethe form of a frog, the lovers transformed into swans, the virgin who\u003cbr\u003echanged herself into a tree–and neglected to change back. Oh, believe me,\u003cbr\u003eI know the temptation. I know the pain of choice.","brand":"Ballantine Books","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46305489682661,"sku":"NP9780345462367","price":21.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780345462367.jpg?v=1767738039","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/products\/the-alchemist-isbn-9780345462367","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}