Alchemised, page 37
His power really did seem otherworldly.
Helena knew it wasn’t; in fact, she probably knew more about how it worked than he did. While Luc had a natural talent for pyromancy, he lacked both patience and interest when it came to the science. As a student, he used to rely on Helena to make sense of the theory sections of his homework.
Pyromancy was more varied than metal transmutation. A pyromancer in combat needed to be able to rapidly improvise without hesitation or miscalculation based on numerous variables—wind, enclosed space, target distances, oxygen levels.
She watched Luc’s fingers, mentally calculating which techniques and array sourcing he was using. He was so fast, she could barely keep up.
Because basic projectiles had negligible effect on necrothralls or the Undying, most fighting was either incendiary or close-range.
“Hel!” Luc’s voice split the early morning as he stopped short, waving her over.
Luc grinned as she neared. He was all in white, wearing just his amiantos under-armour to keep his clothes from singeing. His face was glistening from the heat. “How was I?”
Her lips pursed.
He laughed. “You can be honest.”
Her eyebrows furrowed. “You’re overusing oxygen. It’s a bad habit. It can be dangerous if you’re in an enclosed space,” she said.
Luc scrubbed his forehead. “I know, I’m trying to extend the accuracy of my reach, but I can’t keep it stable without losing control of how much air it takes.”
Helena gnawed on the inside of her lip. “Which formula are you using?”
Luc grimaced. “I don’t know, haven’t written out an array in ages. Just do it in my head. You know, what feels right.”
“You could probably work it out if you actually wrote it down,” she said, giving him a pointed look.
He got a sly gleam in his eyes. “Well, maybe I will if you’ll look at it. We’re about to go on break anyway, and I hear you’ve got trainees now, which means there’s no excuses left. It’s next time. Come on. I’ll set something on fire if you try to say no.”
She exhaled. “I was actually on my way to—”
The sky above them burst into flames with a crackling roar, drowning out her words.
“Sorry, you were saying?” Luc asked.
“You should come, Hel,” Lila said as she mopped her face with a towel. “Luc’s been going on about this new thing he’s doing for weeks, and none of us has any idea what he’s talking about.”
Helena’s heart quickened, and she dared a smile. “I guess I have to help, then.”
“You guess,” Luc grumbled as he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her along with them all. “You should be delighted. I’m delightful.”
Helena laughed.
She had no idea what had him in such a good mood, but she was glad of it. Kaine Ferron was a small price to pay if it meant there were moments like this again.
“Marino.”
Crowther’s voice was like a knife through her back.
She flinched, freezing in her tracks.
Crowther was standing behind them in the corridor. “Marino, I need to discuss the hospital inventory sheet you turned in last night,” he said, gesturing in the opposite direction.
Luc spoke first, his voice unusually cool. “I’m sure it can wait, Jan. I need Hel for something.”
“I apologise, Principate, but it cannot,” Crowther said, his voice mild, but his eyes boring a hole through Helena. “It’s a matter of some urgency.”
Helena started to speak, but Luc squeezed her shoulder and smiled, all teeth. “Sorry. I need her.”
Crowther’s eyebrows rose. “Are you injured?”
Luc stiffened. “No. She’s helping me with something related to pyromancy.”
Everything about Crowther seemed to sharpen, like a cat extending its claws, but he bowed. “If you require help with your pyromancy, I would be more than happy to advise. I was personally trained by your family.”
“I’ll certainly keep that in mind,” Luc said in a tone of false civility.
“I am always at the service of the Principate,” Crowther said, inclining his head. “And as such, I must insist that Marino come with me. The matter of inventory may sound trivial, but it is of vital importance that the hospital is properly equipped; it can make the difference between life or death for our soldiers.” His gaze flicked to Lila, then Soren, then Alister, and onwards, resting on each one of them, as if to insinuate that Luc was choosing Helena’s companionship over their lives.
Luc stood silent. Helena could feel his rising resentment, a pressure growing in the air.
A standoff like this could only hurt the Resistance. Ferron’s spying would be of little use if Luc disregarded information from Crowther out of dislike.
“He’s right, I should go. Sorry, Luc,” she said as she stepped away. She looked back. “Next time.”
Lila’s eyebrows were drawn together, but she didn’t speak. It wasn’t a paladin’s place to speak in situations like this. Soren looked resigned but unsurprised, as Lila noticed; she cast a sharp, interrogative look at her twin.
Luc forced a smile. “Of course. I’m holding you to that.”
* * *
When they’d gone, leaving Helena alone with Crowther, his vaguely congenial expression vanished as he looked at her.
“You are a known advocate for necromancy with entirely conditional clearance now. Whatever allowances Ilva has permitted in the past, consider them all revoked until you have results that would make the effort of rehabilitating you worth it.”
Crowther’s words were still ringing in her ears as she set out for the wetlands. There was heavy fog hanging over the river, bringing with it a cold that penetrated to the bones, but there was no smell of blood or miasma, no smoke filling her lungs. Even before the war, being outside within the city never really felt like being outside.
The wetlands were too flooded to traverse, and she was forced to forage along the banks. There was a large copse of willows just below the dam.
Willow bark was best before the sap began to run. While its efficacy paled against laudanum, it could provide some minor pain relief and was also good for reducing inflammation, for managing fevers, and as a disinfectant for wounds. They were getting dangerously low on antiseptic, too.
She harvested ruthlessly, leaving all the stripped branches behind. It was mindless and frigid work.
She had no idea what Crowther expected of her. She didn’t know how to make progress with Ferron. She’d expected the mission to be awful but straightforward, but Ferron gave her no opportunities to do anything.
She slit open a thick willow shoot with the tip of her harvesting knife, exposing the white wood beneath and removing the bark with a quick sweep of her arm.
The sound of one of the floodgates opening was almost lost amid the rush of water. A hinge shrieked, startling the marsh birds which burst out of the winter grass.
Helena dropped to the ground on instinct.
Cold mud seeped through her clothes as she peered across the water. The fog was slowly rising with the light, and she could just make out the upper tip of the West Island across the flooded wetlands and river channels. She didn’t think she was in danger, but she knew better than to allow herself to be seen.
The floodgates were connected to an intricate tunnel system which led into cavernous flood cathedrals beneath the West Island. As she watched, several necrothralls appeared through the mouth of the open floodgate, dragging a large box by chains.
Behind the necrothralls came several people in black or dark-grey uniforms.
One man waved a hand, and the necrothralls simultaneously pulled long bolts from the top of the box, causing one side to fall open.
Helena watched with fascinated horror as a creature crawled out from inside.
It was larger than a dog, and pinkish like a pig, except its shape was wrong. It had catlike legs and a long, flattened body, but the head was the most grotesque. Reptilian. Flat, with a snout so elongated that the creature struggled to hold it out of the way as it crept forward. There were massive jutting teeth curving out of both the upper and lower jaws.
Helena’s mouth went dry. She knew what it was, but it was impossible.
Like homunculi, chimaeras were one of Cetus’s prescientific alchemical myths.
But she couldn’t deny what she saw with her own eyes.
One of the men in black waved a hand, and a necrothrall stepped into the creature’s path.
Teeth flashed as the mutated body lunged, moving impossibly fast.
The necrothrall went down, and the creature used its hooked teeth to peel the greyish skin off the limbs. The necrothrall continued trying to stand until the over-large jaws ripped the head off.
Helena’s fingers shook as she buckled the straps of her satchel and began to crawl slowly away, trying to keep hidden.
The men across the water were all in conversation together, watching the monster as it ate the necrothrall. As a group, they turned and reentered the floodgate tunnel, leaving the creature behind, a pale and monstrous sentinel crouched on the bank.
Helena watched from across the water as the monster wandered along the shore with short, disproportionate steps. It struggled to move and stayed out of the water, sticking to the bank.
Helena resumed crawling, not wanting to find out if the chimaera could swim. Her hands had turned purplish grey from the cold. She rubbed them together rapidly, trying clumsily to use her resonance to bring warmth back into her fingertips.
She was just crossing the bridge, able to see the gate and checkpoint, when a searing heat encased her hand, so painfully hot she almost screamed.
The heat instantly faded.
She looked down, realising what it was. The skin around her left ring finger had a red tinge to it, and when she tilted her hand, the ring reappeared for an instant.
It burned again.
She nearly ripped it off. With her hands so cold, the heat was excruciating.
Bastard. There was no reason to make the ring that warm unless he thought she had nerve impairment.
He was probably summoning her to tell her about the chimaera, which she already knew about. Her bag was heavy, and she was freezing, and all she wanted to do was get back to Headquarters.
But Ferron wouldn’t know that she already knew. She turned reluctantly and headed for the Outpost.
* * *
She arrived first. She’d known she would, but it was still irritating to be so cold and forced to wait. She was barely able to get the door open.
She removed her cloak and then peeled off her jacket, wringing the sleeves so that marsh water trickled out, then she twisted at the extra fabric of her shirtsleeves, trying to make them slightly drier. Her boots squelched every time she moved, and her toes were numb.
The door finally swung open, revealing Ferron, whose eyes instantly narrowed at the sight of Helena.
“What are you doing?” he asked, eyes following the trickle of the muddy water Helena was squeezing onto the floor.
“I was wet.”
Irritation flashed across his face, but Helena was beyond caring. She shook her jacket so that it snapped. “So, chimaeras. Is there more than the one?” When he didn’t answer, she looked up.
His eyebrows were drawn together. “You’re already aware.” There was crisp irritation in his voice.
She nodded. “I saw it.”
The most indescribable expression passed across his face. “You saw it? How?”
“I was down in the wetlands when they set it loose.”
“You were in the barrens?”
She’d always hated that name for it.
“Yes. I go there for medical supplies. There’s a lot to forage, it’s—” She hesitated. “—it’s good in a pinch. Is there only one chimaera?”
Ferron refused to return to the matter at hand. “This is something you do often?”
“Well, it’s seasonal. There’s not much I can get during heavy flooding but—” Helena paused at Ferron’s stunned expression.
She sighed impatiently. “I mentioned that I do this every Saturnis and Martiday. I was out today getting some extra.”
“No…” Ferron said slowly, a dangerous edge to his voice. His posture was still casual, but his tone gave him away. “You said you were getting medical supplies. I assumed that meant meeting a smuggler in the city.”
“Why would the Eternal Flame send me to meet a smuggler? I’m getting medicinal plants; it helps stretch the supply.”
He flicked his hand towards her. “Alone?”
“Obviously,” Helena said. “That’s why we can meet after I finish. How have you not realised this? You’re constantly crawling through my memories.”
“Your mind is considerably less interesting than you imagine. Why would I pay attention to the frivolous things you do on the way here?”
It was almost funny how blindsided he was.
“Tell Crowther to come up with some other excuse for you coming out of the city,” he finally said. “You come here, and you go back. I’m not risking my cover having you crawl through a marsh for a few weeds.”
Helena stood, stunned with indignation. “You—you can’t do that.”
His expression hardened and now he moved, finally, stalking her across the room. “Actually, I can. Have you forgotten? I own you.”
“Yes,” she said, refusing to back down; she’d done enough bending and complying that day. “But you also gave your word not to interfere with my responsibilities to the Eternal Flame. Foraging is part of my work. I’ve been doing it for years. If you want to control everything I do, you can wait until we win.”
Ferron stood glaring at her for several seconds, and she was afraid that he’d go over her head, contact Crowther, and force an alternative.
Crowther would do it. She just knew. Anything to make Ferron happy.
Her heart pounded fiercely in her chest, praying he wouldn’t call her bluff.
He stepped back, eyes steely. “Fine. Then tell me, how are you protected out there? What weapons do they have you carrying? I want to see if they’ll work on the chimaeras.”
He held out a gloved hand. Helena stared at it. Despite her still-numb hands, heat crawled across the back of her neck and a lump rose in her throat.
She swallowed. “It’s—um, not like that,” she said awkwardly, trying to sidle past him.
“Not like what?”
“I don’t—have an issued weapon. They pulled me from combat before I qualified. When you only work in Headquarters, you don’t—” She gestured at her clothes. “I forage as a civilian.”
His eyebrows rose. “You’re travelling through the city and out into the barrens alone and unarmed?”
Helena squirmed. It sounded much worse than it was. She had vivimancy, but she couldn’t tell him that. It also didn’t help that her trips weren’t officially sanctioned.
Pace knew. Crowther knew. Matias, her actual superior, did not. Helena didn’t want to give him the chance to forbid her from making medicine for some reason.
She tried to make it sound more reasonable. “If I had an issued weapon, that would put me in even more danger if I were apprehended.”
“You can’t be serious,” he said in flat disbelief.
“I have a harvesting knife.” She held it up.
He blinked slowly. “And what could you do with that thing?”
She lifted her chin. “We all did the basic combat training at the Institute. I still know the forms; they work with or without transmutation.”
He looked her up and down. “And when did you last practise them?”
She averted her eyes. “I don’t know, I don’t keep track of things like that.” She shoved the knife back into her satchel; her fingers stayed wrapped around the handle, its varnish worn away but the wood smooth from use. “I’m rather busy.”
“Well, now I know what I’m doing with you next,” he said with a sigh. “I thought your mind would be the biggest danger to me, but it turns out you’re somehow still a walking liability. I’m not wasting my time training a new contact after all the time I’ve wasted on you.”
Helena sighed. “It’s not necessary. No one’s ever bothered me.”
Ferron raised an eyebrow. “You think there’s only going to be one chimaera out there? Bennet’s been working on this project for years. Now that he’s cracked it, he’ll have the barrens and low districts overrun with the creatures. What you saw is one of the early prototypes.”
“Tell us how to kill them, then,” she said sharply. “We’re not going to give up food and medicine because you psychopaths decided to set monsters loose everywhere.”
She was already being pulled in so many directions, she couldn’t stand to think about having to add combat training.
“Obviously, I’ll be working on that,” he said through gritted teeth. “That’s why I called you here, to let you know to be alert for them. If you’re going out there, you have to be trained.”
Helena gave an exasperated huff, turning towards the door. “Then I’ll drill at Headquarters.”
She unlocked the door as he spoke again.
“You don’t want me to train you?” His voice had turned slippery and dangerous. “Why not? I’d have thought you’d prefer to fill our time with training rather than with some of the other activities I could demand.”
Helena stopped short and looked back. He was cornering her.
He must have realised that she was supposed to seduce him, even if he didn’t have any idea of her vivimancy. Damn it all.
“Fine,” she snapped. “You can train me.”
She knew already that whatever physical training he chose would probably be even worse than the mental training he’d already subjected her to. Combat training hardly seemed the context in which to evoke a sense of obsessive want.
