Alchemised, page 44
She tried to be gentle, but he shuddered, gripping the back of the chair until his knuckles turned white as she washed and cleaned the wounds. She worked quickly, warning him each time she touched him, explaining each step, trying to help keep the end in sight.
He still flinched every time she touched him.
Every night she came back to the Outpost, following the same routine. Most nights, Kaine didn’t speak to her at all. He was always slightly drunk and somehow seemed annoyed that she kept coming back. After five days, the talisman stopped radiating energy as if it were a leaking battery, and she could feel the aggressive decay from overstrain slowing.
After more than a week of wordless treatment, he spoke abruptly when she was washing her hands. “The High Necromancer wants someone.”
She paused. “Who?”
“A guard from one of the Hevgoss’s prison complexes.”
“Why?”
“I’m still persona non grata, so I don’t know all the details of what’s going on. Apparently at some point, Morrough promised the Hevgotian militocrats the key to immortality. It’s been decades, and he hasn’t produced the version of it that they want. The reason they’re supporting the Guild Assembly is because the High Necromancer somehow convinced them that he can develop it if he can take Paladia. The alliance soured with the latest setback, and now Morrough’s suddenly concerned with getting his hands on this guard without Hevgoss knowing. A few aspirants are going in quietly, trying to track him down. If the Eternal Flame wants more details, they should send someone after them.”
“Why not send the Undying?” she asked.
“It’s more complicated to send us. It takes special preparations, and there’s limits to how long we can go.”
She paused. “Why?”
She could feel his annoyance at the question. “Because we’re bound to Morrough.”
Her hands froze. “Do you mean like”—there was no polite way to phrase it—“are you like—the necrothralls?”
He glared from the corner of his eye.
It was well known that necrothralls could go only so far from their necromancer or else they’d “die” again. Most necromancers could manage a few miles at most. The Undying’s reanimations were particularly powerful; the necrothralls in Paladia moved so freely, no one was sure of their limits, but they were assumed to be somewhere within Paladia’s borders.
That a limitation of distance applied to the Undying indicated parallels between the two.
“Yes,” Kaine said, his tone begrudging.
“But Morrough left, and he didn’t take everyone. You were still here. How did that work?” she asked as she began applying the salve to lacerations that were still fresh and raw.
“We’re not always bound to him exactly.” He sighed. “We’re—he uses his bones, pieces of them, when we’re made. Part of the outer bone of his right arm was used on me. He calls them phylacteries. It’s what creates our physical immutability. A part of that is used to make the talismans.” He gestured at his chest. “He takes the phylacteries out sometimes and either grows a new bone or takes a spare from some necrothrall. That’s what he did when travelling, so he could leave some of us behind during his trip. He doesn’t like to do it often, but if he travelled without leaving the phylacteries, the connection would sever, and we’d—die.”
“His bones?” Helena was stuck on that point.
He nodded. “Yes. He shares a piece of himself with us, and we give all of ourselves to him.”
He was silent, and Helena just kept working, her mind churning, until he spoke again.
“A few tried to run, back when the war started. When they realised it wouldn’t be a tidy little coup to depose the Holdfasts. The High Necromancer had the corpses brought back. He’d made new talismans from each of the phylacteries and put them into the corpses. I believe you call them liches when they’re dead like that. That was when we began to realise what being ‘Undying’ meant.”
“What would happen if you stole your phylactery?”
He laughed under his breath. “You’ve never been anywhere near Morrough if you think that’s doable. He can fill rooms with his resonance. But even if it were possible to steal from him, they start crumbling after a while. That deterioration doesn’t kill the Undying, but—their minds start to go.”
Well, that explained why Ferron needed the Eternal Flame; he was dependent on them defeating Morrough for him.
“I’ll let Crowther know,” she said as she finished.
* * *
Helena paused halfway across the bridge to the East Island, looking back towards the dam and mountains. Lumithia was a waning crescent, approaching the summer Abeyance, but still her light gilded everything.
A few more weeks and the summer tides would fully ebb, making passage across the seas possible, and the month-long deluge of trade would pour across the sea, hurrying inland. The Resistance had secured the ports just in time for the annual trade season.
Helena stood, studying the stark world around her, cast in black and silver.
She felt lost. Kaine’s injury was eating into her detachment. She could feel herself losing focus. Now that he was showing signs of recovery, she couldn’t let herself forget her task.
Hold his attention. Make him loyal. Or obsessed. Whichever came more readily. As vital as his information was, he remained a liability if his service was solely at his own discretion.
Undying. Murderer. Spy. Target. Tool.
She repeated the list to herself, but her conviction in them rang hollow.
The motives Crowther attributed to Kaine felt like an ill-fitted façade, something that Kaine hid behind. Helena was an alchemist; she was not in the habit of manipulating or altering things until she understood their nature.
She crossed the bridge, heading towards Headquarters, but a rain garden caught her eye. She’d passed it countless times but never stopped. Tonight something drew her. It had probably been pretty once but was neglected now. In the middle of the stream sat a shrine to the goddess Luna.
Acknowledgements of Luna were a rare thing in Paladia. Outright snubbing one of the gods was regarded as dangerous, but she was rarely recognised except as part of the Quintessence.
In Paladia, Luna was regarded as fickle and vain, treacherous as the tides. According to the Faith, it was because of Luna’s inconstant nature that Sol had birthed Lumithia from his own heart, placing her in the night sky so that mankind would not fear the dark. Luna, envious of Lumithia’s greater brilliance, had sought to drown the world in retribution. Lumithia had faced Luna in a celestial battle so devastating, it had rained fire across the earth. After the battle, Lumithia settled in the sky and—to repair the destruction caused by the Great Disaster—bestowed the gifts of alchemy upon mankind. Meanwhile Luna, remorseless even in defeat, continued to express her fury by keeping the ocean and sea frothing with her endless jealousy, only calming when she ruled the skies alone.
Millennia later and Luna remained reviled, small and insignificant compared with Lumithia’s brilliant beauty and power.
The statue of Luna was worn featureless, leaving little more than a vague figure behind.
The Paladian treatment of Luna had been a shock when Helena first arrived. She’d known of Paladia’s great devotion to Sol and Lumithia, but the very concept of religion was different.
The islands of Etras had little metal for alchemy, and being in constant proximity to the sea meant that Etrasians regarded Lumithia as the one responsible for the severe tidal shifts that ruled them. In their myths, Lumithia was a violent interloper who’d sought to destroy the earth, and Luna had thrown herself into Lumithia’s path. The act had left Luna so grievously wounded, she nearly fell from the sky, and the seas had tried to rise from their beds to catch her. Lumithia, chastened by this act of self-sacrifice, was quieted from her violence and came to share Luna’s vigil over the night sky. But the seas did not forget: They still rose in rage when Lumithia waxed full, only quieting in her absence.
Because of this, in Etras, Luna did not merely rule the seas; she was also regarded as the patron goddess of protection, an intercessor. A mother.
Helena picked up a smooth stone from the creek.
In Etras, to pray to Luna, they’d balanced rocks in stacks along the beach, each stone a prayer for the tides to carry to her.
There would be no tides here to wash it away, but Helena had always loved the meditative focus of the ritual. She made a neat stack, the first stone Luc, then Lila, and Soren, Matron Pace, the medics and nurses and trainees in the hospital, Shiseo, Ilva (begrudgingly), the Eternal Flame, and the Resistance.
The tower grew until it wobbled dangerously.
Helena held one last stone. She hesitated.
If she knocked the tower down while building it, it would be for naught. She almost put the stone back.
She placed it.
Don’t make me responsible for Kaine Ferron’s death.
The stack wobbled, threatening collapse. Then it settled.
Her throat thickened, and a weight in her chest lifted, as if the universe was telling her it was possible.
A southern ritual had no place in the North, but she’d given everything for the war, and it had not been enough.
Superstition was all she had left.
Chapter 34
Julius 1786
She noticed the streaks of silver while treating Kaine’s back. They were just barely visible at his temple, glimmers of silver-white threaded through his dark hair.
She stopped and leaned closer, inspecting them. “Did this just start?”
He reached up, brushing the spot with his fingers. “I noticed it this morning.”
“I thought you couldn’t change.”
“Well, I am an experiment now,” he said dryly. “It’s not as if anyone knows what will happen. That’s why people perform experiments.”
She leaned in closer, trying to convince herself that he was simply going grey, and that it was not the exact shade of silver-white the stone had been.
He swivelled his head to face her, their faces a breath apart. “Do you mind?”
She blushed, drawing back quickly. “Sorry.”
He spoke again as she was applying the bandages. “Apparently I’m being gifted a chimaera.”
“Gifted?”
The casual way he said it made it sound like he’d been given an unwanted house pet rather than a rabid monster that had a tendency towards decomposing while still alive.
“So far, they’ve all been savage, but a tameable chimaera would be ideal.” He stood up. “Those of us with the ‘resources’ to raise one are being ‘given’ a chimaera to train. It’s a test, obviously.”
She stepped around him, helping him put his shirt on. The haggard bruising under his eyes had almost faded entirely. “But you’re injured. It’s not fair to expect you to tame something like that when you can’t heal properly or raise your arms.”
He looked condescendingly down at her. “Marino, this may be a shocking revelation for you, but the High Necromancer does not care about fairness. It’s his opinion that anyone without the wits and will to survive deserves to suffer and die. Ideally for his amusement.”
She could tell he was baiting her. “Do you know what kind of chimaera it will be?”
“Well, given the use of the word ‘train,’ I imagine it will be at least part dog. But I’m not Bennet’s favourite person. Whatever it is, I’m sure to get the worst one.”
The idea of a chimaera that could be trained was horrifying. More and more of them kept appearing. They died quickly, but the deaths associated with them were slowly increasing.
“Could you—kill it?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You think I should kill my gift that I’m being tested with?”
She went hot and cold all over, not sure how to reply.
He was already injured. If the chimaera he was entrusted with were to die, he’d undoubtedly be punished, but—
He caught her chin, tilting her head back until her eyes met his. There was a vaguely silver gleam in them. “If you were me, what would you do?”
“I—” she stammered. “I would see if I could make it loyal.”
“And if you couldn’t? If a monster can’t be made loyal, what would you do then?”
Their faces were close. Helena’s throat tightened, her heart beating too fast.
“I’d look for flaws in the transmutation,” she said. “The splicing isn’t very good, so there are mistakes that could be aggravated to accelerate deterioration. You wouldn’t have to kill it outright, you’d just—speed up the inevitable.”
He leaned forward, so close she could feel his breath. For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her.
“You’re so pragmatic.” The words brushed against her lips.
He released her chin abruptly and stepped away, eyes glittering.
Her cheeks were still hot as she packed up all her supplies, refusing to look at him again.
He spoke just as she was leaving.
“Don’t die, Marino. I might miss you.”
* * *
Vanya Gettlich was a stubby-limbed spinster with small eyes, a large round nose, and sharp ears. The combination, she’d always said, that was the secret to her success as one of the best scouts in the Resistance. No one ever noticed a homely woman.
Generally, scouts didn’t live very long. Months was considered impressive. For many it was far less. Vanya had been a scout for years, crossing in and out of enemy territory collecting intelligence and information that no one else dared obtain.
But when she vanished, everyone knew that she wouldn’t come back. She was marked missing for two weeks before being listed among the presumed dead.
It was a shock when Helena received an emergency summons to the gatehouse after one of the patrols radioed in, claiming to have found her. Gettlich was grievously wounded. They’d verified that she wasn’t a necrothrall, but it was harder to be sure that it wasn’t a lich trying to infiltrate Headquarters using her wounded corpse.
When she was checked for any signs of a talisman, they’d found anomalous forms of metal distributed through her body, including detectable lumithium.
There were no exceptions to the rules. Anyone found with lumithium inside their body could not enter Headquarters without full restraints.
They strapped Gettlich down while she screamed, begging them not to, promising it was her, but Helena was not allowed to treat her otherwise.
Helena had just stepped forward when the doors burst open and Luc entered, threatening to put his own guards in the ground if they tried to stop him.
Lila stood beside him, weapons ready, conflict written across her face as Luc leaned over Gettlich, indifferent to the danger.
“Gettlich,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I’m so sorry.”
Gettlich calmed then. Luc had that effect on people. She hushed his apologies, called him a silly boy. While Helena worked, unnoticed, she gave her final report.
She’d been caught while investigating the new lab near the West Port. The Undying had used her as a test subject there, trying to suppress her alchemy. They’d injected her with metal over the course of days. The experiment was deemed a failure when her organs started to shut down.
The guards ordered to dispose of her had decided to make use of the dying prisoner. They’d taken her out of the building for privacy and left her for dead once they were done.
As Gettlich told Luc all this, Helena verified it. The metal in the blood interfered with Helena’s own resonance, making it blur like static. Her arms and legs were mottled with old bruises from restraints. She was slick with blood from the waist down. She would have died from metal poisoning her blood, but the internal damage was going to kill her first.
All the metal interfered with Helena’s vivimancy too much for her to do anything. She had to keep shaking her head each time Luc begged.
Laudanum was all Helena could offer. Relief until it was over.
Gettlich’s heart kept trying to rally whenever Luc spoke, promising that the Eternal Flame would never forget her, that he’d find everyone who’d hurt her. He’d make them all pay.
The Council had to lock Luc in his quarters to keep him from trying to take his battalion and find the lab. The Gettlichs were an old family. Luc had known Vanya his entire life.
Because of the circumstances of the death, the traditional mourning and cremation processes were suspended. The body was placed in a secure room, still strapped to the gurney, covered with a sheet.
Helena was summoned to Falcon Matias’s office, a drab little room with no decorations except one very large painting of the sun. She always felt cold in any room that Matias occupied.
“The Council has determined that an autopsy on Gettlich is necessary,” Matias said without preamble, his face puckering as he looked at Helena. “You have been selected to perform it.”
“I’m not trained—”
“There are books on the matter. You can ask Surgeon Maier for them,” Matias said, waving his hand.
“Then shouldn’t Maier be the one to—”
“I am told the state of Gettlich is deeply disturbing. You have already seen it, it will do you no harm to see it again,” he said, cutting her off once more. “You will be observed throughout to ensure you take no untoward actions.” His watery blue eyes narrowed. “If you are suspected of any violation of that body, I will have your hands cut off and your soul cursed to sink into the dark fires of the earth. Do I make myself clear?”
He glared at her, sticky strings of saliva visible in his mouth as he spoke. He only imbibed enough water to survive, considering the demands of the flesh as something to conquer. It was a common idea among those of faith, although Matias took it further than anyone else Helena had ever met.
