Excerpt from Final Word
“Yes, Colonel,” said Lumari, excitement building in her breast. “You see, our research into barbarian alchemy and druidism has suggested that the breath captured from a dying man holds certain properties we would explore further.”
Vessio scowled. “What properties?”
Lumari hesitated, wondering if the man would believe her. Elenore was the one to answer. “Revivification of th’ dead.”
“What?”
“We believe that it has properties which may enable us to alchemically revive someone who has recently died,” said Lumari.
“You heard this from that captured shaman?” asked Vessio, still frowning. “He made such claims? Sounds like superstitious nonsense to me. I’m surprised the two of you were taken in by that sort of wild talk.”
“Yes, normally we would dismiss such savage boasts, sir,” continued Elenore, grinning and rubbing her plump hands together with relish. “But it’s more’n jus’ talk. We had ourselves a real demonstration.”
Vessio looked appalled, his mouth open, his eyes narrowed. For a second, Lumari believed she and Elenore were about to be thrown out of the command tent. But instead, the colonel placed his palms flat on his desk, an invitation to continue.
“The old shaman you captured, Lugah-Pash,” offered Elenore.
“The one with the necklace of boar tusks?” Halibor said with lip curled. “With his tongue split down the middle like a serpent’s?”
Elenore smiled at the man. “The same. He was captured with a bag of ritual items an’ druidic elements. One was a treated sheep’s bladder, plumped out like a balloon. We were examinin’ the cache, with ol’ Lugah-Pash trussed up nearby, and one of the legionaries with us pulled out the stopper and the bladder deflated. The shaman let out a wail like we’d goosed his momma with a pike. Lumari took the thing from the ranker an’ re-stoppered it.”
“This bladder supposedly contained the breath of a dying man?”
“Yes,” said Lumari, taking over the story. “Our translator seemed very spooked by the shaman and our conversation with him, but he said he’d heard of such things as a boy, before he joined us.”
“The translator was?” Vessio inquired.
“Unagah,” said Lumari.
“Died of dysentery last month,” said Halibor, matter-of-fact. “Wouldn’t let Belu’s priest heal him. Bloody primitive.”
“Unfortunately, yes, he died,” agreed Lumari, sorry for the loss of the lad. Barbarian though he was, Unagah had been the most genial of the allied nomads at their disposal and her preferred translator when questioning captives as part of their research. “They call the substance dahbalak, which translates as ‘final word.’ When we expressed our skepticism to Lugah-Pash – not unlike your own – he said he could demonstrate, if there was enough of the stuff left in the bladder. We took precautions. Our two rankers untied the shaman but kept their weapons on him, to stay any sudden aggression. He had us bring him one of the stray dogs that hang round the camp. He strangled it in front of us.”
Vessio held the back of a hand to his nose as though repelled by an unpleasant odor. “Really, Miss Lumari. Most barbaric. You allowed him to perform this pagan ritual in my camp?”
“In the interest of science, yes, Colonel, we did. He insisted we inspect the corpse, to make certain that it was indeed dead. We made our inspection, and both Elenore and I were satisfied; the animal was most definitely deceased. The shaman cradled the corpse in his lap, closed his eyes and muttered some incantation, perhaps prayers. He inserted the stoppered end of the bladder into the dog’s mouth and closed its jaw and lips around it. Then he squeezed the bladder tight.”
Lumari pantomimed the shaman’s gestures, then paused for effect. The colonel bit, his eyes wary. “What happened?”
“The animal jerked up,” she whispered, raising her hands in an abrupt, theatrical gesture, knowing that Elenore would be pleased by her showmanship. “It struggled from the shaman’s lap, and staggered about the interrogation tent, head lolling, whimpering and yipping.”
“Scared the piss outta the legionaries,” laughed Elenore.
Lumari put a hand on Elenore’s arm to quiet her before continuing. “I’m sure you can understand why we’re interested in obtaining this substance, Colonel.”
Vessio grimaced. “It sounds like necromancy to me…”
“Aye, logical t’think so, sir,” Elenore interjected. “An’ if it was one of our sorcerers who had done this thing, I’d agree. But as far as we know, the ‘sorcery’ of the Korsa is just rustic alchemy. Both Lumari and I doubt Lugah-Pash’s prayer had anything t’do with the effect the substance had.”
The colonel sat up in his chair, his expression serious. “Bring me this animal raised from the dead.”
Elenore and Lumari exchanged a glance. “Uh, it’s dead, sir,” Elenore answered at last. “Again. One of the soldiers got spooked when the poor thing got close t’him and skewered it. The shaman claimed it wouldn’t have lasted long anyway, given how little of the dahbalak was left in the bladder.”
Vessio bit his lower lip and rearranged an oiled curl on his head that had fallen out of place. “You spoke of us not being wasteful…”
“Yes, Colonel, sir,” Lumari responded, having reached the crucial moment. “Legionary Fulsa must die, per army regulations—”
“An’ the laws of Marcator,” interjected Elenore helpfully.
“—but we can salvage something from this unfortunate affair. Indeed, it may lead to revolutionary alchemical discoveries.”
“You wish to capture Fulsa’s dying breath.”
“Yes,” said Elenore. “However, hanging and beheading are right out, as their very nature would preclude—”
Halibor emitted another harrumph. “I don’t see why a man’s last breath should be more special than his first, or any other in between for that matter.”
Before they could respond, Vessio shook his head. “Miss Elenore and Miss Lumari,” he began, tenting his fingers with his elbows on the table. “While I appreciate your pursuit of knowledge at the ragged edge of the empire, this request is most irregular and, frankly, distasteful.”
Lumari saw the stern disapproval on the colonel’s face, felt their golden opportunity slipping away. The words came pouring out of her. “Colonel Vessio, the potential applications for an army medicus, its use in battlefield medicine – it would be criminal for us not to explore the properties of this substance.”
“We have priests who can heal wounds!” barked Halibor.
“How many?” shouted Lumari, nostrils flaring, staring down the sour man. “Ten? A dozen to serve an entire legion? Imagine every legionary trooper with a bladder of the stuff on his person, ready to come to the aid of a mate fallen on the field. Or a medicus, carrying a bagful of them in his kit. What might this do for a legion’s mortality rates?”
“Sir,” protested Halibor, along with an exaggerated eye roll. But Lumari could see the colonel’s gears turning, considering the benefits she suggested. She imagined him tallying columns of numbers that were men’s lives. As he did so, her own mind danced with thoughts of the experimental trials she would conduct if they got hold of the stuff...