Page 168 of Alchemised
The fundamental design was a classical celestial star correlating to the eight planets. Paladians loved things in sets of five or eight. The only exception she knew was pyromancy, which the Holdfast Suncrest was modelled after. Which used seven.
The use of the notation carved into Ferron’s skin was like using an alchemical formula to express a literary concept. It wasn’t unheard of for alchemists to write with alchemical symbolism and symbols, particularly in textbooks as a way of restricting information to the educated, but Helena had never seen the method applied to a functioning array. Each of the eight points had a distinct concept using combinations of symbols. Helena parsed the meaning slowly.
Calculating, Cunning, Devoted, Determined, Ruthless, Unfailing, Unhesitating, and Unyielding.
It made sense that an array on a person couldn’t be a typical transmutation formula, but the idea of forging traits into a human was horrific. If it worked, it would carve Ferron down into these eight compounding qualities, potentially erasing everything else about him.
He would have kept healing at least until the metal had been welded into place. The lacerations were all interconnected to make the array continuous. Given the way Ferron reacted when she offered to knock him out, he’d probably been conscious the entire time.
Her fingers trembled, and she laid her hand over his. His skin was cold and papery thin.
She wanted to close the wounds, but there was too much interference channelled through the incisions. It would kill any new tissue.
If she could get him healthy again, then his body might work with her to close them, but that would take time. As much as it had taken for him to reach that point.
She used her vivimancy to remove the dead tissue and then went to her satchel, rummaging through her supplies for the little medical kit she’d repacked. She debated running to Headquarters, but it would take too long.
She sorted through what she’d foraged that morning, trying to think of what would be useful.
Sedatives and transmutational interference didn’t work, but topical treatments might still have an effect. They would at least prevent infection. She’d make a transdermal salve with a prolonged release. Shiseo would be sure to have ideas.
She gnawed her lip as she pulled out a salve she’d made with her willow bark, tapping her fingers on the lid, wishing she had something with opium in it. It would do for now and keep the wounds clean until she came back.
She coated the incisions with the analgesic, emptying the entire jar, and then placed gauze over each one, sprinkling dried sphagnum over them to keep the wounds acidic and prevent infection, before swathing his back in bandages.
She knew she should wake him, but he was exhausted. He could use the rest.
Reaching out tentatively, she tucked his dark hair back from his face. His features were sunken, hollows in his cheeks, temples, and eyes, all that eerie youth gone.
He looked broken.
She fidgeted with her nails, wishing there was something else to do, as she fought back the storm of emotions in her chest. She was so accustomed to resenting him, to seeing him as a threat to her and everyone else.
She thought of him flipping that silver coin and telling her what the Eternal Flame needed for the attack. He’d known he’d be punished.
His rambling, barely conscious comments about purposefully provoking another commander to gain control of a new district: She’d brushed them off, attributing them to ego and stupidity. He’d been building up to this all along.
He could have made it a trap. He could have spent the last several months drip-feeding the Eternal Flame inaccurate information to execute a perfect sabotage. Instead he’d given them more than they’d dreamed they could achieve in a year, knowing he’d pay the price.
And he’d thought she’d known. The thought gutted her. That he’d thought she knew and had abandoned him to this.
She touched his temple, leaning closer, searching his face. “Why are you doing this?”
When she couldn’t justify keeping him unconscious for any longer, she laced her fingers through his hair and woke him as slowly as she could so that the pain wouldn’t hit immediately.
As he was regaining consciousness, she took his nearest hand, careful not to shift his shoulder as she started massaging the palm and worked slowly to his fingertips, knuckle by knuckle, her resonance seeking out every bit of tension and knotted muscles.
Her father used to massage her hands like that, even before Paladia. Every night. An alchemist’s hands were like a surgeon’s, he’d said, they had to be taken care of.
She knew Ferron didn’t need it. It was only meaningful to her, but it was all she could do.
The instant he became conscious, she could feel the tension radiate across his body. His eyes snapped open, his pupils contracting with pain. His fingers spasmed against hers, but he lay there unmoving, and so she kept working along his fingers.
His eyes weren’t quite focused yet.
“What did you do?” he finally asked.
Helena wet her lips. “I drew out all the infected blood and removed the dead tissue, then applied an analgesic salve to the incisions and got you bandaged. It’s not the most effective treatment, but I think it’ll help until I can make something better back at Headquarters. I—I can’t close the incisions yet, but I might be able to eventually, once you’re stronger. If you can recover some first.”
