The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels)

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The Alchemy of Chaos: A Novel of Maradaine (Maradaine Novels) Page 32

by Marshall Ryan Maresca


  “Well, what is it doing?” Jiarna asked. “The energy is feeding into the building itself.”

  “Oh, she’s getting it,” Cuse said. He was chuckling maniacally, while blood kept coming from his mouth.

  “He could use medical attention,” Phadre said.

  “I am not getting him a Yellowshield,” Kaiana said. “Now what can we do?”

  “Nothing,” Jiarna said. “The energy is already flowing, and some sort of reaction is happening in the—”

  “It is definitely getting hot in here.”

  “Iron and limestone. The reaction is . . . it’s being sustained by the numina flowing from here, but it’s already linked. We can’t disrupt the link just by moving the wagon out of here.”

  “And you can’t move the devices themselves out of position,” Kaiana said. “I tried. But what can we do?”

  Phadre and Jiarna looked at each other blankly. Finally Phadre said, “We would have to break the link of the numinic flow.”

  “But there isn’t a good way to do that,” Jiarna countered.

  “Maybe with dalmatium?”

  “No, those storage batteries likely use a dalmatium compound, plus some sort of release catalyst. That’s really ingenious.”

  “Thank you,” Cuse gasped out. Kaiana kicked him in his broken ribs.

  “We are going to die,” Kaiana said. “Everyone is going to die unless you come up with some way to stop it, block it, disrupt it—”

  “Redirect it!” Phadre said.

  “Yes!” Jiarna shouted. “The numina is going to flow out, so if it’s sent somewhere other than the building’s foundation . . .”

  Cuse whispered out a taunt. “There’s no way to do that.”

  “Well, practically, no,” Jiarna admitted.

  “What do you mean, practically, no?” Kaiana asked. She was now soaked in sweat, as was everyone else, and she wasn’t sure anymore if it was the heat or raw panic.

  “I mean that, in theory, it could be done, but—”

  Phadre stepped in. “In theory, if you had a way to draw the numina off its current path, you could funnel it to a new target, far away.”

  “Right, but there’s no way we could do that,” Jiarna finished.

  “Why not?” Kaiana asked.

  “For one, we don’t have anything we’d need.”

  Kaiana wanted to scream. She hadn’t done this much, come this close to quit without a fight. “What would it take? This place is filled with storage, maybe there’s something—”

  “Kai, I’m telling you, it isn’t even—”

  “Just tell me!”

  “Fine,” Jiarna said. “You would need something that could overcome both the catalyzed dalmatium compounds and the synergetic reaction with the iron and limestone. The only thing I can even think of that could do that is—again, theoretically—napranium.”

  “Napranium?” Kaiana asked. Could they be that lucky?

  “Two sources of napranium, ideally,” Phadre said. “The second some distance away to receive the redirected numinic flow.”

  “Preferably somehow attuned to each other?” Delmin offered weakly, the slightest smile crossing his face.

  “Well, yes, and given how extraordinarily rare napranium even is—” Phadre started.

  Cuse cackled. “You might as well ask the saints themselves to stop it!”

  Kaiana gave him a smack and opened up her shoulder satchel. She pulled out the rope and handed it to Jiarna. “Here. We’ll be sending it about a mile away in Aventil. Do we need to aim it somehow?”

  The entire group was dead silent, faces in complete shock.

  Finally Jiarna managed some inarticulate gibbers.

  “Imminent death if we don’t do this,” Kaiana said.

  “Right, right,” Jiarna said, taking the rope. “Of course, someone will have to be conduit. I . . . I don’t know what that will do to them.”

  “I can try,” Phadre said, stepping over to the cart. He held his hand a few inches from the rope. “I mean, it’s me or Delmin, and I don’t think he’s in any condition to do it.”

  “You’ll need something—someone—to anchor you,” Jiarna said. “I’ll be right here.”

  “Good, because . . . oh, to blazes with it.” He wrapped his hand around the back of her head, and kissed her. Jiarna, for her part, responded eagerly.

  Kaiana wished she was surprised by that, but it really was to be expected. She couldn’t begrudge either of them, even in the dire circumstances.

  Delmin wasn’t as forgiving. “Enough already!”

  Phadre grabbed the rope, while not letting go of his embrace of Jiarna. His whole body buckled, but she held him up, and then the rope moved, forming a coil around the two of them. Then it glowed bright, too bright for Kaiana to look at. She moved away, over to Delmin, who had fallen over.

  “Is it working?” she asked him, pulling him on his feet.

  “It’s doing something,” he said. “We’ll know soon enough. So will Vee.”

  If he was still alive.

  Magpie was taking her time advancing, presumably to let Bluejay keep pace with her. Both of them looked like they were eager to savor the kill.

  “Somebody help him!” Jutie was shouting from the stage, barely able to get on his feet. His arm was twisted in utterly inhuman ways. “Is there a Prince worth his arm here? You bleeding Knights, Orphans? Someone!”

  No one moved, save Magpie and Bluejay.

  “Or you damned sticks? I see you over there, cowering! Come and take me, but save the Thorn first!”

  Veranix kept his staff in a defensive posture, not that he would be able to hold either of these Birds off. “Don’t bother, Prince. I don’t want anyone else hurt because of me.”

  “So noble,” Magpie said. Her fingers danced along her bandolier, but she seemed to be out of darts. That was only a small blessing delaying his death by a few moments.

  “We shouldn’t drag it out,” Bluejay said. “Not too much. But I owe him some pain.”

  “I charge you to step away,” a voice boomed out. “On your very souls, ladies, you are charged by God and the saints to leave this man.”

  The reverend had come over, arms wide. His face was full of fear, but he stepped forward anyway.

  “This soul is long lost,” Magpie said.

  “As long as you draw breath, your soul can be absolved,” he said. “Please.”

  “Reverend, don’t—” Veranix started. “I’m not worth it.”

  “Every soul is worth it,” the reverend said, stepping even closer. For just a moment, Magpie’s guard softened. The reverend took the opening, and reached out to her shoulder.

  She reacted hard and violent, a palm heel heading for his face. Veranix thrust a jab at her, forcing her to miss the reverend. Magpie shifted and sent a kick at Veranix, and at the same moment, Bluejay swung one of her hoops over her head and prepared to bring it down in a lethal spinning strike. The reverend pulled himself in, as if he intended to take the blow for Veranix.

  And then the world stopped.

  Something else hit Veranix, but it wasn’t a fist, foot, or blade.

  It was pure numina suddenly flooding his body. It came without warning, ferociously, and the raw power of it made everything slow to a halt.

  The world became a still tableau, utterly clear. Bluejay’s blade, inches away from his face. The sweat on Magpie’s brow, hovering on the verge of dripping off her pale skin. The reverend, reaching inside the scrum. In the distance Veranix could see Jutie on the stage, clutching his arm. The Knights of Saint Julian frozen in their dash to help the reverend. The pair of Constabulary officers, pointing at Jutie. Even far off he could see Colin, just coming into the square. Shock and determination on his face, as plain as if he were right next to Veranix.

  The energy was more t
han his body could ever handle, ever hold. It would tear him apart in a moment if he didn’t channel it, shape it. Even with the world frozen, he didn’t have any time to spare.

  With the slightest push—Veranix wasn’t even sure if it was with magic or his hand—he sent the reverend out of harm’s way, into the arms of the Knights. Then he channeled some of the numina, only as much as he could manage to wrestle a hold over, and formed a shell between himself and the rest of the crowd. He didn’t want anyone innocent getting hurt.

  Bluejay and Magpie he kept inside. He wasn’t going to worry about their well-being right now.

  Then he just let it all burst out of him, everything that he had but couldn’t hold, everything that was still careening into him.

  And then the world was light and thunder.

  Chapter 26

  COLIN ROUNDED THE CORNER to Cantarell Square, but the place was already in a state. People were running and panicked, and a few Constabulary were working their way over to the stage. There was a Rose Street Prince screaming on the stage—Jutie. That’s where the sticks were going. But that wasn’t even the center of action in the square. That was in the far part of Carnation and Bush, in front of the Trusted Friend.

  Veranix was there, with two Deadly Birds moving in on him.

  Even if Colin ran at a full sprint, he wouldn’t be able to save either of them, let alone both.

  He still went in. It was the only thing he could do. He had failed his vows to both of them. These boys were his to look out for, and they were both going down at the same time.

  Colin didn’t get more than three steps when the world lit up. Veranix became imbued with light, which expanded off of him in a deafening blast.

  Colin found himself on the ground when his eyes and ears cleared. He quickly pulled himself up and started running again. The people in the square were now all in disarray, most of them on the ground, but no one truly hurt as far as he could tell. He wasn’t hurt.

  But where Veranix had been there was now only rubble. The Trusted Friend had collapsed.

  Colin doubled his sprint, passing by the dazed crowd. He reached the fallen awning of what had been the Trusted Friend, and fought to get it off the ground. As he strained, another pair of hands joined him. The reverend.

  “Put your back in it, Prince!” he shouted.

  With a strain, they pushed it off, to see Veranix and the two Birds lying unconscious on the ground, nowhere near as injured as they should have been.

  A thin sheen of violet light was draped over the three of them, but then vanished once Colin touched it.

  “A miracle,” Reverend Pemmick whispered.

  “The miracle is getting him out of here,” Colin said, while a plan formed in his head. He grabbed the cloak off of Veranix, as well as the bow and the staff. “I’m going to put it on you, Rev.”

  “Son—”

  “Reverend,” Colin said, putting his hand on the priest’s arm. “I swear to you on the saints and Rose Street that I will take whatever charge you put against me, but I beg that you get him to safety.”

  “But why—”

  Colin pulled him closer. “I say this under Absolution, hear? He is my cousin. Hold that with sanctity.”

  The priest nodded. “I will want to speak more later. Come to my chambers below the church when you can.”

  Colin threw the cloak over his shoulders and pulled up the hood. People were still getting their own bearings in the square; the only ones truly on their game were the sticks.

  The sticks grabbing and ironing Jutie.

  Colin glanced back at Veranix as the priest picked his limp form up. He was out of arrows. The only arrow left was in the one Bird’s leg.

  Colin pulled it out, which woke the Bird up with a scream. Not that he cared.

  He drew back the bow and took a shot at the stage. Of course, he only hit one of the set walls, having barely ever fired a bow before. That got the sticks looking at him.

  “Thorn victorious!” he shouted. Hopefully no one was paying enough attention to notice the discrepancy in height, build, and clothing.

  The sticks did take notice of him, and shouted for someone to grab him. Colin gave a glance back at the reverend, taking Veranix out of the square. At least he’d saved one of them. But he was in no position to save Jutie without getting caught himself, with the Thorn’s gear at that. Too much risk for himself, and for Veranix. He had to run.

  “Nobody catches the Thorn!” he cried out, and ran down an alley. One that would, conveniently enough, with a couple of turns, lead him to the back entrance of the sew-up.

  The whole time he prayed that Jutie never saw that he had abandoned him.

  The light surrounding Phadre and Jiarna dissipated, and they collapsed to the floor. Footsteps came from down the causeway, and Kaiana grabbed the rope before anyone else spotted it.

  “Is it over?” Jiarna gasped. “Did that do it?”

  “The energy is gone,” Delmin said. “We’re . . . we’re all right.”

  Phadre didn’t speak, but just fell over onto Jiarna.

  “No,” Jensett moaned. “It’s not possible.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” Kaiana said as she shoved the rope into her bag. She saw him struggling to take something out of his pocket, but she wasn’t about to let him try any further tricks. She grabbed his wrist and yanked it out, squeezing it with all her strength for extra measure. He cried out—whimpered, really—and she hauled him onto his feet. He wasn’t capable of standing, as she had broken his knee earlier, so she leaned him against the cart and used his own belt to tie his hands behind his back.

  “You’re all right,” Jiarna whispered to Phadre. “You did it.”

  Kaiana took a good look at Phadre. Whatever he had done had had a cost. Shocks of his sandy blond hair had turned white, and his face had become drawn and gaunt.

  “Let’s get him moving,” Delmin said. Now that the energy was gone, he seemed fine. He might even be the one in the best shape of any of them at this point. Kaiana herself was now feeling all her aches and sores, not to mention that gash in her arm.

  The footsteps were now a large, rushing group, which included several cadets, a few school officials, and Professor Alimen. He looked the most disturbed. Kaiana wondered if he had experienced part of what Delmin had, or at least had sensed what Phadre had done.

  “What is going on here, exactly?” one of the officials asked.

  Kaiana, despite exhaustion setting in, dragged Jensett over. “This man is the . . . Prankster who has been attacking the University. He almost caused further destruction to the Ceremony of Letters.”

  “And you caught him, miss?” the official said skeptically.

  “Is that hard to believe?” Phadre was the one who said it, despite still being curled into Jiarna.

  “Not at all,” Professor Alimen offered. “I can confirm that . . . something of a magical nature was occurring here not too long ago. But it appears to have been disrupted.”

  “Magic and science combined,” Jensett wheezed. “Alchemy.”

  “Hmm,” Alimen said. “I have a vague recollection of you, son.”

  “I remember you very well.”

  “Enough,” the official said. “If he’s the one, we’ll take him.”

  Two cadets grabbed Jensett. Another picked the Rabbit off the ground, who was also in no shape to fight back.

  “There are a few more of those around here,” Kaiana said, indicating the Rabbit. “You might need to round them up.”

  The official whistled and gave some of the cadets hand signals, and they went running off. As Jensett was dragged off, he started screaming. “I can tell you who the Thorn is! I know who he is!”

  Kaiana’s heart froze.

  “What’s a Thorn?” the official asked.

  “Some guy in the neighborhood,” a cadet o
ffered. “Sort of a folk hero or something. Constabulary wants to bring him in.”

  “And I’ll tell you!” Jensett shouted, despite blood dripping from his mouth. “Because he’s a magic student here!”

  Alimen stepped toward him, signaling to the official to hold. “Tell me who.”

  “If I—”

  “Tell me now.”

  Alimen said it with such force of authority, Kaiana almost confessed herself.

  Jensett sneered. “Fine. His name is Tyson.”

  Alimen chuckled. “There is no magic student by that name.”

  Kaiana found that she could release the breath that she was holding.

  “I’m telling you, he’s a mage named Tyson!”

  “Take him away,” Alimen ordered, and the officials wasted no time following the directive.

  “Now, Mister Golmin, Miss Kay,” Alimen said, crouching down to Phadre and Jiarna. “You had already received your Letters. There was no need to show off.”

  “Just trying to impress you, sir,” Phadre said weakly.

  “Color me impressed,” Alimen said. “I don’t know if I’d have been capable of dissipating the numina fueling this . . . alchemical reaction. But it seems the two of you have a far greater understanding of alchemy than I could hope to.”

  Jiarna looked like she was about to say something, but then simply nodded her head.

  “And you, Miss Nell,” he said. “You seem to find yourself in the middle of crises.”

  “Lucky, I suppose, sir.”

  “Perhaps of the poor variety,” Alimen said. “But twice now lucky for me, and lucky for all the campus that you are able to handle yourself in such an admirable manner. I will definitely make sure the administration is aware of that.”

  Delmin had helped Phadre up. “Perhaps some lunch is in order for you.”

  “Yes, I think so,” Phadre said.

  “Indeed,” Alimen said. “In fact I believe I will treat you all to one of my favorite little places just outside the west gates. Hardly a sufficient reward, I’m aware, but . . .” He glanced around at the four of them. “It seems someone is missing from our assembly of heroes here.”

 

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