Chương 112: Slurry

First, we gathered up the dry ingredients in the tub. Bone chunks and feathers. It filled the bottom of the basin. Next, Sage poured in the tiny vial of clear liquid. It hit a bone, instantly dissolving the marrow and creating a puff of sizzling steam.

"You're telling me this isn't going to hurt?" I asked, glancing skeptically at her.

"It will. But I will keep my lips sealed, and I won't make a noise."

"How will we know if you go unconscious, then?" Anchor asked.

"You will know," Sage replied.

"Your job is to stop me before that happens."

"How?" I asked.

"Jostle me. Shake me. Something." She paused.

"We are running out of time. Pour in the healing potion." Brawl leaned over the edge of the drawer and dumped out the healing potion jug into the bath, right on top of the clear liquid. It spread, creating a two-inch deep pool at the bottom of the basin. Whenever it touched a bone chunk, it dissolved the marrow out, absorbing black and brown flecks.

The liquid bubbled and swirled in the basin, and a swell of pressure rolled off it, building in the back of my mind and pressing down on the top of my neck, as if trying to collapse my spine.

"How strong is that?" I breathed.

"Altogether, the mixture should be a Gold-tier immersion," Sage said.

"I should have combined the ingredients in the right way."

"How's this going to help?"

"The more powerful the immersive bath, the better it will reforge your body. There is also, however, a higher risk. But if I do it right, I will reforge better connections to my legs." She tapped her upper thighs, where her legs began. They were made of twisted vines and branches, and as far as I could tell, they stretched all the way up to her hips.

"With a better connection, I should be able to control these legs for a short period." I tilted my head.

"Weren't they once a part of Morph?" Sage glanced at her forest golem, then nodded.

"When we bonded, he thought he could save me. He implanted a shard in my old, paralyzed legs, and it eventually overgrew my original legs. Neither can move yet, but these have a chance to. With a strong enough immersion and enough reforging, and with my body remaking the connections I lost."

"I'm…not going to pretend to understand how it works," I said.

"You said we don't have much time. So go." Sage pushed herself out of Morph's arms, then dragged herself over to the basin. She took a deep breath, then dropped herself in, landing on her back, arms pressed against her sides. It was barely large enough for her legs to flop out straight in front of her, and there was no way any of us would've fit. By now, the slurry had turned greenish-brown, like leaf mulch and shredded grass, but it still steamed.

It didn't smell like anything until she touched it—then the most vile scent I'd ever experienced wafted out of the basin. Something like burnt meat, vomit, and a punctured intestine all mixed into one. Sage's jaw clamped shut tight, teeth pressing together. Her eyes opened wide, and she let out a muffled yelp. Veins of glowing green energy pulsed beneath her skin. The slurry spread, sloshing up over her arms and covering her body.

There wasn't enough to fill the basin and cover her, but it was like a very wet dough, now, and it moved as though it were conscious. It clung to her skin, eroding the outer layer wherever it touched. Blood and muscle merged into the slurry.

"Is that—" I chewed my lip. That had to be intentional. It was close to what the other Path-walkers had described. Dark liquid streamed out of her pores, which stank like sulfur and rot and made a pool beneath her. Her back arched, and she writhed in the basin. Liquid poured into her lips, but she kept them sealed—not even a whimper of discomfort. It probably came with experience, given all the horrible injuries she'd absorbed the pain of.

"She's killing herself," Anchor grumbled.

"I hope you have a backup healer."

"We'll be fine," I said, leaning over the basin. I didn't have anything on me to poke her with, but her convulsions were slowing down. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

"If we lost our healer, Brother, they may remove us from the training program," Brawl said.

"I'm not worried," I replied. I rushed over to the nightstand and picked up a bundle of unlit rushlights.

"You should be," Anchor said.

"You're relying on luck."

"Or the knowledge that she can pull this off," I countered.

"She's desperate, brother," Brawl told me.

"People do weird things when they are desperate."

"She pulled off a miracle with healing the messenger," I said, hoping I was right about this.

"I think she can handle one more." Anchor and Brawl looked at me skeptically, and I winced. This was their shot to really make a difference. We'd pushed through the ranks of the sapper trainees, moving as quickly as we could and ascending. And now, from their view, I was about to throw it all away? I'd probably be angry too. After this, though, I could sort it out. We had to make sure she lived. As her writhing slowed down, I poked her shoulder with a rushlight.

She flinched, the dough-slurry coating her rippled, and she kept shifting. I had been expecting to touch something solid, as if the slurry had only melted away the surface level of her skin, but the rushlight pushed in until it reached bone, and even then, the bone was flexible. Her legs were much the same. The liquid coated the intertwined vines, filling it with paste while eating away at the plant-like material and remaking it. Morph stood beside the basin, leaning over it, his wooden hands clasped together.

He didn't say anything, but his amber eyes watched us intently, and I got the sense he wouldn't tolerate us slacking.

"You know, you could lend a hand too," I told Morph.

"Hold her head." Morph didn't move.

"Her head keeps slamming back against the basin," I insisted.

"Hold it so she doesn't hurt herself. We're going to help her." Morph chittered, then reached out with his wooden arms and held her skull, preventing it from slamming down too hard.

"Good golem," I said. By now, I was pretty sure Sage couldn't have screamed even if she wanted to. The slurry curled around her lips, reforging her cheeks and face, and it eroded her neck, reforging her voice box. The process continued for an hour. I handed a rushlight to Brawl and Anchor, in their reluctance, and they helped me give her a nudge whenever she stopped moving. It usually worked. Just one more jostle to remind her about the outside world. The slurry splattered.

I usually pulled back before any could get on me, but it wasn't perfect, and once or twice, a glob landed on my hand. I shook it off before it could eat away at my skin, but a touch of the ancient, powerful maegen was still present. Much like the maegen and the aspect from the Subtle Man's Presence, it popped on the surface of my skin, trying to enter, but failing. As the night pressed on, the slurry grew less viscous.

It lost volume, incorporating its material into her skin and helping her rebuild what it had dissolved earlier. Its colour shifted, too, becoming more like flesh. When her skin began reforming, and patches of it shone through the slurry, she stopped moving. I poked her again. She didn't move.

"Now you've done it," Anchor said.

"She's not moving. I told you so."

"Now's not the time to gloat," I said.

"Come on, Sage." Discarding the rushlight, I reached in and gave her shoulder a shake with my bare hands, ignoring the tingle of the maegen. It built into a burning sensation. She twitched, but that was it.

"She's not unconscious yet. Come on. There's still a chance—""There's too much maegen," Anchor said.

"It's probably overwhelming her."

"Probably?"

"I'm no druid. I don't know how this works." I narrowed my eyes. Too much maegen?

"Anchor, use your perception. You can sense the maegen, can't you?"

"As a tingle. A pressure. Nothing more."

"Tell me where the pressure is gathered. Brawl, pull your sleeves down and use your chainmail to guard your hands. Keep shaking her, let her know we're still here." Both of them did what I asked. Finally, Anchor said, "The pressure is gathered the worst at the front of her neck. That's where the maegen… seems stuck." I chewed my lip. It was stuck? Obviously, I could absorb maegen and move it without actually taking it inside my body. I could help. I reached out, hand hovering above her neck.

Morph's head shifted toward me again, and he growled. I snapped, "I'm trying to help her, you possessive tree. Don't swat me." Morph didn't. I sank my finger into the slurry of liquid around her neck for a few seconds, until the maegen's burning grew unbearable, then ripped it out. Green mist swirled around my fingers, but it refused to enter my body, and I didn't try to force it. I debated where to put it for a few seconds, but there wasn't time.

I pressed it down on her stomach, where it had the best chance of doing something useful. The green mist sloughed off my fingers, racing into Sage's body, and in a flash, the rest of the slurry absorbed into her body. Her muscles reformed, then skin overtop it. No scars, no blemishes, not even a single mole. I gulped. Her face emerged, the slurry sinking into her skin, and her eyes fluttered open. With a gasp, she pushed herself upright. Then her wooden toes wiggled. She said, "I can feel my feet."