Page 60 of Skalterra By Nightmare
With the exception of the scar on my palm, my skin was blemish-free.
“I have an idea,” I whispered. The Skal I’d drank in the alley swirled inside me, warm and buzzing. I focused on it, still staring at my arms.
The first ring of mold rose from my skin near the inside of my elbow. It had a faint purple hue in the flickering candlelight, and its edges crept outwards until it brushed against the rounded edge of a second mold ring.
“Your arms!” Orla cried, stumbling away. “Are you doing that?”
A smile forced its way across my face.
“Penicillium,” I breathed. The mold crawled down my arms, past my wrists and across my palms, itching as it went. “I need it to be potent and transferable.”
I said it out loud as if to speak it into existence. I was in control. If I decided antibiotic mold sprouted from my skin, then itwould, and it wouldwork.Normal penicillium mold needed to be purified to create a usable antibiotic, but I wasn’t making normal penicillium. I was making something better.
The mold reached my fingertips, and my veins buzzed with burning Skal. I turned my palms towards Ciarán and took a steadying breath. When I’d taken my boots off on the steamcart, they’d turned to dust on the floor. This was different. This was somethingliving.
“It will be transferable,” I said again, and pressed my hands against the raw, burnt mess of Ciarán’s chest.
His wound was sticky and hot, but I ignored the lurch in my stomach to focus on the itching mold in my hands. Itwouldwork.
“Is anything happening?” Orla asked. I shook my head.
“I don’t know. I might not be able to get it to—”
A spot of mold bloomed on an unmarred strip of Ciarán’s skin.
“There!” Orla held the Skal bottle closer to the ring, the pale blue light highlighting its edges.
“Antibiotics.” I grinned.
“And you’re sure your mold is better than bloodletting?” Orla asked.
“Definitely, but bloodletting isn’t off the table if he comes after us again.”
Mottled, ringed patterns of purple spread between the wounds carved across Ciarán’s chest. Normal penicillium mold would probably make him more sick, but I’d built this with the intention to heal, and I had to trust that it would.
“Bandages,” I whispered, and Orla reached for the strips of her cloak she had prepared. I tried to ignore how clammy Ciarán’s skin felt as I rolled him onto his side while Orla pulled the makeshift bandages tight around his back.
When we’d finally finished and double checked that Ciarán was still alive, we leaned against the window to survey our work. Orla sipped at a flask of leftover water while I rubbed at my arms. The mold had receded now that I didn’t need it, but the body alterations had left me feeling dizzy and drained.
“Do you think he’ll stop hunting us now that we’ve helped him?” Orla asked into her water flask.
“You know more about Grimguards than I do.” I was glad Ciarán had stayed unconscious, though he was in for a real treat when he eventually woke up covered in mold. “Thank you, Orla. For not killing him. And for helping me, even after what his people did to your mom.”
Her shoulder shifted against mine as she sighed.
“It’s what she would’ve done too, to be honest.” The candlelight caught the swoop of her nose and sent orange light dancing up her forehead. She smiled at the mention of her mother.
“What the hell is going on here?”
We both jerked our heads up at the voice, and Orla’s water flask shattered against the wooden planks of the floor as she dropped it in surprise.
It could’ve been worse. It could’ve been Galahad or Tiernan. They would’ve killed the Grimguard without asking questions, but that didn’t mean I was thrilled to see Ferrin standing in the open doorway.
15. Negotiation Theory and Practice
Ferrin’s face was unreadable with the light of the corridor sconces at his back. He stood motionless, staring at the unconscious man on the bed.
“That’s the Grimguard,” he finally said. It wasn’t a question, but I answered him anyway.
