Page 195 of Alchemised
She barely towelled off before quickly pulling her hair into two braids so taut they tugged at her face. She coiled them at the nape of her neck, letting the pins scrape across her skin as she lodged them into place.
She didn’t let herself look in the mirror until she was done, until there was not a stray curl to be seen.
SHE WAS RESTOCKING THE HOSPITAL inventory when one of the orderlies materialised beside her, placing several bottles of plasma expanders in a box.
“Crowther wants you to meet him at the lifts, right away,” the girl said without looking at Helena.
Helena turned sharply. The girl was soft-featured with soulful eyes, and Helena was certain she’d seen her before, but the girl was unobtrusive enough that she only flickered on the edge of Helena’s memory.
Of course Crowther would have eyes everywhere, including the hospital. Still, it set Helena on edge.
“Who are you?” Helena said as the girl seemed about to slip away.
“No one.”
“What’s your name?” Helena wanted to know who to look out for on the roster.
The girl glanced up, seeming flattered at the question. “Purnell.”
Purnell. She felt she’d heard the name before. She nodded absently. “All right, you can go.”
The orderly hurried off.
Helena finished restocking and headed reluctantly towards the Tower.
Crowther was waiting for her. The lift went down.
In the tunnels, there was a young boy crouched beside the door. Helena blinked and realised it was Ivy, Crowther’s other vivimancer, her hair tucked up under a cap. She looked like a street urchin.
Ivy stood up and threw open the door. The room contained a single figure restrained in a chair, head slumped forward, breathing shallowly.
“Who is this?” Helena asked, wanting to bolt. The smell of old blood and dampness underground made her sick.
“One of the Aspirants sent to Hevgoss,” Crowther said. “Intercepted and brought back, but he’s proving difficult. He’s quite desperate for a taste of eternal life. He’s requiring more persuasion than he can currently survive.”
Helena expected severe burns but found vivimancy instead.
There were no visible signs of torture. No cuts or any external wounds. Instead the corticospinal tract in his spine had been pinched, paralysing him but leaving his sensory nerves intact.
That way, he would feel everything.
Beneath his skin, Ivy had flayed him, using vivimancy to sever the individual layers of skin. Blood had pooled between each one. In some areas, he was flensed down to the muscle.
It was one thing to heal people injured in battle, but healing torture was a different kind of horror.
Crowther did not seem to think that any physical violation went too far in the war against necromancy, so long as the soul was not violated. Based on the tenets of the Faith and the Eternal Flame, there was nothing wrong with the torture of necromancers or aspiring necromancers; flesh was an inferior substance to eventually be consumed by fire anyway. What these people were willing to do to civilians and the Resistance was far worse than anything Crowther did to them.
The prisoner regained consciousness while she was working on his feet.
“I know you,” he said, raising his head. His Northern dialect was thick, the kind that pulled hard on the consonants.
She glanced up. He had wheat-coloured hair and thick stubble across his face.
“You’re Holdfast’s little foreign bitch.”
She looked away again, ignoring him, determined to finish without speaking. She felt marginally less sorry for him now.
“I’m going to tell you a secret,” he muttered while she was finishing his hands. “You’re going to lose this war. No one can stop the Undying. They’re the new gods. Someday I’m going to be one of them. People are going to know the Lancasters.”
