Mistress of Helena

Chapter 13

The scene was familiar to him, yet uniquely haunting. Harper lay motionless on the table, his usually flushed skin now an unsettling shade of pallor. Stripped of his regular attire, he was draped only in a tattered cloth that barely shielded his modesty, revealing an array of tattoos on his left arm.

One particular design caught Carrack’s attention—a series of interlocking rings resembling chainmail armor. He recognized the emblem: the Nordman’s Ring. It wasn’t just a tattoo; it was a rite of passage. This emblem was the mark of allegiance to a notorious gang in Oren. Each individual circle within the pattern represented an achievement earned in service to the gang. Once the rings connected to form a closed circle, it signified the members’ irrevocable bond to the gang, their loyalty beyond question and their stature elevated. Notably, Harper’s ring was not yet complete, indicating he was just one significant act away from achieving the coveted full circle.

Carrack’s thoughts swirled, trying to bridge the gap between Harper’s past as a criminal and his current life as a soldier. What had driven this transformation? More intriguingly, what was the last step Harper had hesitated—or chosen not—to take? Those secrets now seemed destined to remain locked away as Harper’s spirit journeyed into the afterlife. The gravity of his injuries, combined with profound blood loss, made it astonishing that he had even managed the journey back to the fort. Yet he had, and in his final moments, Harper was said to have murmured cryptic words about “stirring” and “shadows”. Carrack had witnessed enough deathbed confessions to recognize that pain and impending death often rendered a person’s last utterances more a reflection of delirium than clarity.

Carrack’s deep contemplation was interrupted as Alaina entered, arms laden with a tray brimming with instruments. She methodically laid them out beside Harper, then proceeded to bring forth a selection of containers, some vacant and others filled with vibrantly colored liquids. As she examined Harper’s body, paying particular attention to the fatal wound on his abdomen, Carrack’s mind began to wander.

He knew of Alaina’s ritualistic care for the deceased, a surprising task she had taken upon herself not only for the garrison but for anyone on the island who sought her services. Though many commoners hesitated, wary of entrusting their departed loved ones to a mage, Carrack had grown to rely on Alaina. The trust between them was profound, built in part on the gratitude he felt she owed him for granting her refuge. Further strengthening his trust was the word from their former mortician, who’d vouched for Alaina’s actions, deeming them non-suspicious.

Yet, the recent unsettling discovery from the corpse at the bathhouse had nudged Carrack to prudently witness her practices firsthand. Deep within, he harbored no genuine suspicion that Alaina would act nefariously, especially not before his watchful eyes. His presence, he hoped, would serve as a subtle warning. A reminder that he was attentive to her actions and that any deviation from ethical practice wouldn’t go unnoticed. He hoped against hope that this observation wouldn’t unearth anything incriminating. Any such revelation would thrust him into a precarious situation, forcing difficult decisions. With mounting challenges, Carrack realized that he needed Alaina’s aid now more than ever and he didn’t want to have to question her character.

Alaina’s poise was undisturbed, revealing no hint of anxiety under Carrack’s watchful gaze. She meticulously examined the body, her lips moving silently, whispering words that Carrack could not discern. Was it a prayer or an arcane incantation? Her faith remained an enigma to him.

Positioning a large glass container beneath the table, she affixed a wide funnel atop it. With practiced precision, she dangled Harper’s lifeless arm over the funnel, fingertips just grazing its interior. Retrieving a small scalpel, she made a careful incision in the arm’s central artery. As she held it steady, blood began its descent, lazily tracing the contours of his arm before dripping into the awaiting container. Satisfied that none of the vital fluid missed its mark, Alaina’s attention pivoted to a new ritualistic act.

She extracted some leaves from one of her many containers, placing them into her mouth. She chewed and ground them meticulously, transforming them into a pulpy mass. Carrack watched with a mix of intrigue and discomfort as she leaned over Harper, depositing the chewed concoction into the man’s open mouth. With one hand sealing his lips and the other splayed across his chest, she sank into a trance-like state, her visage etched with profound concentration.

In the stifling silence, a sudden change disrupted Carrack’s pondering. The steady drip of the blood hastened, and another sound began to permeate the room—an eerie, muffled cadence. It was unmistakably the rhythm of a heartbeat. Harper’s still heart had been rekindled.

Carrack’s breath hitched, an involuntary response to the startling sight before him. “His heart,” he murmured, eyes never leaving the eerie pulsation of Harper’s chest under Alaina’s hand.

“The heart is the body’s most potent engine. It ensures not a single drop remains,” Alaina said, her voice low and steady, her attention unwavering from Harper’s body.

“He’s … alive,” Carrack said, seeking confirmation, but dreading it.

Alaina slowly shook her head, sensing Carrack’s burgeoning unease. “This body no longer harbors a soul. It’s a mere vessel, gradually withering with the contents that remain.”

Carrack attempted to reconcile his emotions with logic. “It feels so wrong, seeing his heart beat.”

“Think of the body as machinery. The heart, its central gear. While the natural mechanism to power it is lost, I can still manipulate it temporarily.”

“So, you’re just manually cranking an engine,” Carrack surmised.

“Precisely.”

He hesitated, then broached another concern. “How can you be sure you’re not inadvertently stirring his consciousness? Could you be resurrecting his soul?”

“Such things are beyond our comprehension, Carrack. Our consciousness, our essence, remains a mystery.”

“But there are those who dabble in … necromancy,” Carrack pressed, the word slipping uncertainly from his lips.

A flicker of distaste shadowed Alaina’s face. “Necromancers have … different methods. Much of their art is mere illusion, a blend of deception and elaborate puppetry.”

Carrack’s eyes narrowed, catching her word choice. “You said ‘much.’ What of the few who are genuine?”

Alaina paused, her gaze distant. “There are some who tread darker paths. Discussing it leaves a bitter taste. Just know that what I do is nothing like that. Harper is gone, and he isn’t returning.”

“How long does this process usually take?”

“Typically? About twenty minutes for an average body. Harper, being slightly malnourished, may take less time. His heart’s weaker than usual. But considering our living conditions, it’s hardly surprising.” She shot him a concerned glance. “Speaking of nourishment, have you been eating, sir?”

Carrack hesitated. “A bite now and then. Things have been … busy.”

Without looking away from her task, Alaina inclined her head toward her own form. “There’s a pocket in the back of my dress. Check it.”

Eyebrows raised, Carrack replied, “A pocket? On a dress like that?”

She smirked. “It’s a practical modification. This might not be the most fashionable dress, but it’s functional. Front, sides, back—pockets everywhere. And be gentle; I’m still wearing it.”

Apologizing for his hesitation, Carrack delved into the pocket, producing a cloth-wrapped lump. Unfolding the cloth revealed a chunk of bread. “You stash bread in your dress?”

“Usually it’s knives—for emergencies when traveling. But today, it’s bread. Keeping it there keeps it warm, more comforting to eat,” Alaina said with a hint of a smile. “Now, do me a favor: eat and remain silent. I need to concentrate.”

He took a cautious bite, the taste and texture better than expected. As Carrack chewed, he observed Alaina, who seemed lost in her work, the rhythm of Harper’s reanimated heart and her own steady breathing filling the chamber. There was a haunting beauty to the scene, a mix of life and death, motion, and stillness. At some point, he felt a peculiar calmness envelop him, a change in his own heartbeat that mirrored the muffled one from the table. Could it be an unintentional effect of Alaina’s magic? The unpredictability of arcane forces was a known phenomenon, and he pondered whether even Alaina fully grasped the scope of her abilities.

The steady flow of blood gradually became intermittent, punctuating the silence of the room. As minutes passed, Harper’s form appeared gaunt, almost mummified, as if life—or at least its liquid essence—had been drained away. Carrack’s eyes were drawn to the prominent tattoos, particularly the Nordman’s Ring. In this desiccated state, the once incomplete tattoo seemed ironically completed, the gaps drawn together as the skin tightened.

“Is this what we’re all destined to look like in the end?” Carrack said as if to himself.

“If you’re lucky,” Alaina replied, stretching her fingers as if to chase away their stiffness. “It’s a grace compared to decaying alone in some forgotten alley or perishing on a distant battlefield, far from home. In my homeland, many can’t even afford the services of an undertaker, let alone a proper burial. They’ve returned to age-old practices, like cremation. Before I left, the skies seemed to have more smoke from funeral pyres than from city chimneys.”

“I guess that’s true.” There was a slow drain he felt in his body as moments flashed in his mind of the bathhouse that were brief, but strong. “Not everyone is so lucky.”

Alaina continued her ritual with Harper’s remains. After sealing the container brimming with blood and moving it aside, she incised the chest. With surgical precision, she navigated the visceral labyrinth, eventually isolating the heart. The squelches and snaps of severed tissue filled the room. The heart went into a jar, surrounded by a rosy fluid. She proceeded with the same diligence for the lungs, liver, and intestines. The brain, though, required a delicate touch. Employing a blade, its tip coated with an acidic compound, she opened the skull.

As she held the brain, examining its intricacies, Carrack felt hypnotized. It was an organ he’d never observed so pristinely in person.

“It looks so … otherworldly.” Carrack’s voice was hushed as he inched closer. “Given everything else in the body, this stands out.”

Alaina carefully settled the brain into a jar before answering, “It’s a bit strange, isn’t it? Your brain trying to make sense of a brain. While it may look unassuming, it’s the most mysterious thing our bodies possess.”

“Do you believe we’ll ever fully grasp it? Understand its every intricacy?”

A wry smile crossed Alaina’s lips. “I think we’ll demystify every chemical interaction within us, predict the weather’s every whim, and perhaps even voyage amongst the stars. But this,” she gestured to the jar, “remains an enigma. I don’t think we’ll ever truly comprehend it.”

“Why do you feel that way?” Carrack inquired.

She paused, eyes distant. “Just a hunch.”

“What exactly do you do with these organs?” Carrack inquired.

Hesitation shadowed Alaina’s features. “I study them,” she admitted reluctantly.

Carrack’s brow furrowed. “Study?”

“In this setting, it might seem out of place, but—”

“What’s truly out of place,” Carrack’s voice rose with a mixture of confusion and anger, “is your secret examination of human remains without informing me. How long has this been ongoing?”

“Ever since I began. Your previous overseer never raised concerns, so I presumed you approved.” Alaina’s voice wavered.

Carrack wrestled with his emotions. Anger? Betrayal? Perhaps both. He paused, gathering himself. “Elaborate on this ‘study’.”

“I explore potential medicines, remedies,” Alaina began, her voice trembling under his stern gaze. “I analyze the effects of various compounds on the organs, seeking treatments tailored for specific ailments. In essence, my aim is to better comprehend the human anatomy, which in turn refines my methods of treating injuries or illnesses.”

“And after your experiments?”

“I incinerate them,” she replied firmly. “Retaining such materials is dangerous. They could harbor diseases.”

Carrack’s frustration was palpable. “Yet, once again, you omitted informing me of a potential contagion breeding right under our feet?”

Alaina’s regret was evident. “My apologies, Lord Carrack. If you wish, I’ll cease immediately.”

He exhaled deeply, pondering. “If your work benefits my people, continue. But I need assurances—full transparency. Is there anything else you’re hiding?”

This question was more profound than Alaina realized, as Carrack subtly hinted at Harrier’s grotesque condition. She seemed momentarily lost, gauging Carrack’s expression. “There’s nothing else you need to worry about,” she assured.

But Carrack’s patience had worn thin. “Then explain Harrier’s corpse!” he demanded.

“Harrier?” Alaina’s eyes widened.

“We found him. Thieves tried to consume him. But inside … everything was blackened, mutated. A repugnant stench. What did you do to him?”

Alaina’s lips parted, but for a moment, silence reigned. The weight of Carrack’s words seemed to anchor her, pressing the air from her chest. She clutched the table, wrestling with herself internally, while Carrack observed, waiting to discern truth from deception.

After an agonizing pause, she murmured, “I was pressed for time. You wanted the body at once. Handing it over intact would’ve been a feast for miscreants. So, I chose to make it … less palatable.”

“How so?” Carrack pressed.

“I introduced a concoction—Necrosa—a substance that initiates decomposition in organic matter.”

“So, you accelerated his decay?”

“In essence,” she conceded. “Necrosa would’ve gradually rotted him. But I … enhanced its strength.”

Carrack’s mind raced, imagining the myriad of disasters narrowly averted. “So, by sheer chance—”

“What chance?” she interrupted.

He grimaced. “That only some dope fiends tried it. Had it reached its intended recipients, they might’ve sold it.”

“Sell a body?” Alaina’s disbelief was plain. “To whom?”

“Likely, the teamsters.”

She looked horrified. “To consume?”

Carrack shook his head grimly. “No. They’d mince it, mix it with regular meats, and distribute it as a stew. They boast about how they have a hidden cache of food to explain why they have the ability to make such a stew, but it’s all a over to mask the fact that they’re serving human flesh.”

Her face paled. “How can you be certain of this?”

“It’s a well-guarded secret,” he replied darkly. “Now, within these walls, only you, Weiss, and I know.”

“So you feared that—”

“If that body had entered the food chain, we’d be dealing with catastrophes.”

“How do you know this?” Alaina pressed. “Their agenda? And how can you tolerate it?”

“I don’t.” Carrack’s voice thickened with emotion. “They informed me to prevent any confrontations. Their aim? Feed the masses and maintain a semblance of order in our absence.”

“An alliance, then. You’ve essentially endorsed cannibalism for stability,” Alaina observed, her tone neutral. “Pragmatic.”

“I’d imagined you’d see the logic,” Carrack sighed, his eyes weary. “Foeham wouldn’t. While I’m disturbed by the truth, I accept it. The teamsters, with their ‘stew men’, probably saved us from chaos multiple times. Their enforcers also deter any thoughts of an uprising.”

Alaina pieced it together. “That’s why you hesitate to act against the teamsters.”

“Exactly,” Carrack said bitterly. “This accord is fragile, brimming with unspoken terms. In the city, the tension was unmistakable; they served their stew in front of us on the square.”

“And Foeham?” Alaina inquired.

Carrack’s expression darkened. “He’s suspicious, especially after witnessing that spectacle. Not of cannibalism. He’s convinced they’re hoarding food in the dock warehouses.”

Alaina, intrigued, asked, “Are they?”

Carrack shrugged. “Most likely. Not like there’s anything I can do about it, nor want to.”

“Because it would be war.”

“I stay out of their business, they stay out of mine, we all work together, albeit separately,” Carrack said as he leaned forward, his hands rubbing his face. “Alright, we avoided disaster, I’ll take small victories whenever they come. As for this organ studying,” he gestured at the filled jars, “you should have told me—I’m still annoyed by that—but I’m not as furious as I was or thought I’d be. Guess it wasn’t as bad as I expected.”

Alaina looked at him intently. “And what exactly did you expect to discover?”

Carrack searched for the right words. Finally, he admitted, “Something far worse.”

Alaina let out a soft, exasperated sigh. “I suppose I should be accustomed to being seen in such a light. Yet, it’s somewhat disheartening hearing it from you.”

Carrack met her gaze. “It’s not a personal reflection on you,” he said gently. “Everyone harbors a shadow, even saints.”

She turned back to her work, musing aloud. “Quite a worldview—to perceive everyone as a potential monster at their core.”

He nodded. “Indeed, it’s … taxing.” Pausing for a moment, he then gestured toward the table. “So, what are the next steps?”

“I’ll restore him, close him up. By the time I’m done, he’ll appear as though he’s merely resting. He’ll be stored until the next boat departs for the mainland, whenever that happens.”

Alaina returned to her task, meticulously preparing the body. She began filling the vacant spaces, where organs once resided, with a substance that appeared to be mere dirt. In truth, this was no ordinary dirt—it was imbued with enchantments and infused with specific ingredients to fulfill her requirements. Once the cavities were filled, she delicately placed a single seed deep within the mixture and methodically sewed up each incision.

With the final touches approaching, Alaina applied a thick paste inside Harper’s mouth. Carrack watched, an involuntary shiver snaking its way down his spine, as she then sewed the mouth shut followed by the eyes. The action invoked a chilling memory: the mutilated victim from the bathhouse, reaching out in sheer desperation. It was a haunting image, one that Carrack swiftly and deliberately suppressed. Pushing it down into the recesses of his mind, hoping fervently it would remain buried there.

There remained one final miracle to enact, and Alaina had already set its wheels in motion. In due time, the seed buried within the soil-filled cavities would interact with the paste in Harper’s mouth. This would catalyze the growth of a unique array of plants that would burgeon and weave through the corpse’s circulatory system, giving the body a semblance of inflation as if rejuvenated with life. It was a testament to Alaina’s ingenious capabilities, having gleaned this technique from other nomadic mages who improvised with the resources at hand to offer such services. Contemporary methods leaned more toward chemical and synthetic preservations, ensuring a longer-lasting result. Given their current circumstances, however, Alaina’s method was the pinnacle of what could be achieved.

“And that’s that,” Alaina declared, wiping her hands on her apron, her fingers leaving faint stains. “Now, he can be transferred to a cooler chamber. I have several to select from and potentially many more if the rest of this place is ever unearthed.”

Carrack tilted his head thoughtfully. “Slim chance at that. Digging deeper might compromise the fort’s stability. These ancient ruins are already bearing more weight than they were designed to. Perhaps someday when the world no longer needs forts.”

Alaina covered Harper gently with a cloth, a melancholy look on her face. “It’s a pity. There’s likely a rich history buried beneath our feet.”

“Yes,” Carrack’s gaze wandered over the chamber walls, where faded etchings—remnants of forgotten tales or perhaps ancient warnings—were just barely visible. Though he had passed by them countless times, he’d never given them the attention a piece of him felt they deserved. “I bet there is.”