He could feel the magic in his veins, bubbling, multiplying, bursting out of his fingertips. He sealed the door with a powerful ward using the momentum, his ears hummed, his heart bumped so hard there was a slight chance it would stop: just like Markolf's. The rage made his magic move faster, leave his blood as if beckoned out by a knife. Did it count as blood magic? There wasn't time to dwell into theories. Thanks to his ward, Irene's hands were free to enhance the immobilizing spell on the students. He did the same with the Onturians, reached into their minds with magical tendrils, a soft humming tuning them to his own, lulling. He couldn't feel Markolf's mind, his essence was still there somewhere, lingering, his spirit too. He remembered Adela's experiment, would it work? It had to. It wouldn't be the first time he defied death, he might as well try.
He focused on the magic currents around him, always changing and swirling around the College, towards the Ocean. Spirits felt different. A tingle hovering over Markolf's dead body, something disrupting the magic around it: that had to be him, it felt fresh, uncorrupted, he was still there. He focused all his magic towards his spirit, tethering it with invisible threads. The adrenaline in his veins augmented his power, but it wasn't enough. He needed Koldo's wand. "Irene, can you fly the remaining knights to the Alley? Over there, near the inn," Jo's grandmother's inn.
He would pick Markolf up, keep his spirit tethered to its body with magic, like Adela's hummingbird. His body was dead, the connection was just as strong as he could make it. It was all highly experimental, if he managed to pull it off —why was he so excited? He had to be concerned, distressed, his soon-to-be ex-boyfriend was dead and he had to bring him back, to, surprise! Kick him in the gut with the news. Fun, it was going to be so much fun. Irene nodded, she could do it. Of course she could, she was better than she gave herself credit for. They walked, avoiding the firedust lampposts, hiding in the shadows. The hovering knights made a rattle over their heads, their armors weren't exactly made of cotton, but the city was asleep, the windows closed, protected from the fog. The city guard wouldn't bother to make rounds near the college that night, given that the Onturian Knights were posted at its doors. Luckily. It wouldn't be long until Adela managed to lift the wards on the front doors, they needed to hurry.
The alley behind the inn was dark, as usual. A lonely light on the second floor, probably Wyn, was the only sign of life at that time. The curfew had killed the inn's late-night business, it seemed. He instructed Irene to leave the knights on the floor, by the trashcans, sitting, as if they'd dropped there after a night of heavy drinking. He couldn't task her with keeping the magic flowing between Markolf and his spirit, it was hard, draining, and delicate. Also, incredibly illegal: he was about to make a revenant, sort of. But Irene didn't need to know, did she? It was better that way. If he got caught, she would be entirely innocent.
"Irene, I need you to do something for me, will you? Can you throw a snowball to that window? My arms are tired from holding my, huh, fainted friend you see," he coughed.
"Would you like me to hold him instead? I'm stronger than I look," she fumbled with her fingers.
"Look, my boyfriend is shy. He doesn't like it when strangers shake his hand or hug him, he would die if he'd know a girl touched his rear while he was out. Would you like that?" it was a lie. Markolf wasn't shy, at all, but something told him Irene had personal space issues. She'd relate.
"I get it. I'll do it, but look, I'm not very good at focalized magic, ok? I'll probably end up bursting the window. Fair warning, I guess?" she bit her cheeks.
"I'll take the risk," Laurentius sighed, dramatically. "Now, please? I think I heard Adela's angry screaming, or was it a seagull?" he smirked. The girl giggled, her shoulders relaxed. She held onto her staff, briefly, channeling magic to conjure some elemental ice.
A perfect ball of snow hit the window square in the center, gracefully, melting upon contact. A nice trick, elegant. A messy mat of black hair peeked through the window: Wyn.
"The fuck are you doing here, Laurentius," she whispered, angrily. "Whoa. Is that? Wait, I'll open the door, don't move," he heard the window closing as he felt Irene's gaze upon him. Puzzled, was one way to put it.
"I know: she's a handful, that one, a little wilding, I call her: a thing of the forest, untamed. But she's my wildling," he smiled.
"Is she your," she paused, her hands busy tangling with each other. "daughter?"
"Creators, me? A father?" he forced himself to suppress a laugh. It was ridiculous. "I'm too young and handsome to be a father. She's like a little sister to me, annoying, always stealing my valuable trinkets, my pocket money," he sighed, " I'd die to protect her," he whispered. Wyn would tease him mercilessly if she heard him speaking like that.
The door opened, letting the warmth of the kitchen out. "Come in, guys," Wyn's raspy voice was even raspier than usual up close. "Hello, I'm Wyn," she put her little arms on her waist, looking up at Irene. "Who's the dead guy, Laurentius?"
"He's not dead, just stunned," he narrowed his eyes at her. She pressed her lips, then nodded discreetly. She took the hint, thank the creators. He cracked his shoulder blades, he hadn't realized his back was so tense. Maybe from the dead weight and the stress.
"Right, sorry. I'm just—you woke me up you know? I haven't had a good shut-eye in days. My brain needs a break, I was starting to see things, pink spiders crawling on the walls, crap like that," she yawned. "Look, grandma is asleep, but she'll notice us smuggling a passed out knight to Jo's room. My room, for the moment. Anyhow, she'll be mad if she finds out I'm awake and you're outside during curfew, you know how she gets," she frowned. "She's been a little weird lately, since Jo and Alaric left to, huh," she eyed Irene "explore the Fog Ocean. Don't ask, they're crazy, you don't want to know," she yawned again. Irene yawned too and he had to suppress his own.
"Look, Wyn, remember that staff I left here? The one from Ampuria, the miniature," he winked at her. She caught right up again, smart kid.
"Right. You want me to bring it to you?"
"Please, if you don't mind," he struggled to keep his magic feeding the connection between Markolf and his body. Everything felt far away, his body heavy, his blood thick. "As soon as you can, if you will. I'm feeling a little faint," he smiled, weakly.
Wyn ran upstairs, quietly, and returned to the kitchen just as swiftly holding a small package in her right hand. Koldo's wand was tightly wrapped in linens.
"Isn't that a souvenir? Why do you need it?" He snatched it from her before she had a chance to inspect it.
"It has a rock inside, it has healing-enhancing abilities, and runes. See the runes? There, now please, let me heal Markolf, he's badly wounded," he rolled his sleeves. His spirit was still tethered, uncorrupted.
"He looks dead, Laurentius," Irene put a hand over his shoulder. "He's not breathing. I've performed autopsies, we both attend healing lessons. Laurentius, look at me," Irene's voice was soft, trembling.
"Look. I don't want to get you mixed up in this, ok? You've helped me more than enough, but this could get us both premium seats to the gallows. I have to try, I can't let him die, not like this. He doesn't deserve this," he sighed.
"You don't have to make a revenant," she rolled up her sleeves. "What if his spirit is corrupted?"
"It's not. I don't have time to explain right now, but I know a way to keep a soul's spirit tethered to its vessel. Now I just have to put it back," he rose the wand. Irene stopped him, in a bold move that caught him by surprise. And bring him back to life, of course. But the tattoos in his arm tingled: revealing it would mean revealing his stay in the Faradian Forest, how did that wretched ink know about that? His cheeks burned. He'd have to play dumb.
"If you don't jumpstart his body first, you'll make a revenant. He'll depend on you to feed on magic, forever, if you let him go he'll have to feed on blood. You'll turn him into the very monsters he hunts, Laurentius: he'll hate you for it." Oh, really now? That was brand new information, how absolutely unbelievable, who would've thought? He, the most skilled mage in the college, didn't get to that conclusion? He took a deep breath, the sting in his arm helped. Playing dumb was hard, maybe dying would be better.
"I can't let him die like that," were those tears he felt on his cheeks? He swiped them. Embarrassment and something else, something in his stomach, in his throat: guilt. Markolf was indeed, dead, and chances were, maybe, he had been there to protect him. He knew him, he worried: he was too good. It was like that foolish man to change shifts to the middle of the night, to, hopefully, be able to sneak a peek of him first thing in the morning, when he knew he went to the Inn for breakfast or to the market for fresh herbs. "I wasn't good to him. I used him, he— he fell in love with me, and I used him. I was going to cut it off, I swear, I wanted him to find love with someone who deserved him. He's a good man, you know? He can't just die, not like this. He deserves a second chance," he hiccuped. Irene knew too much now, what was he thinking? He didn't dare to look at her. Maybe he could convince her to leave him alone, heal Markolf's body with Koldo's wand on his own, but... he was losing his strength. He needed her help. He looked at her, she pat his shoulder.
"I understand. Look, you don't have the strength to heal him alone, and you can't just push his spirit into his dead body. If his spirit is intact, as you say, I can help: I'll trust you with that. I read an investigation from an alchemist, something about electricity, how our bodies react to it," her eyes sparkled, her nose went pink. Wyn got closer to them, alchemy? Studies? Like honey to a little bee. "In theory, everyone has electricity inside them, that's how we can wield elemental electricity: it comes from within us, just like any other magic, not from outside like the textbooks say," she licked her lips.
"I'm listening," he said. Maybe her way would be faster than just plain old healing, and he could hold on a little longer to listen, couldn't he? Wyn had been mildly interested at that point, but the mention of a possible experiment in the kitchen made her bolt right up.
"There's an alchemist in Ampuria who says people can be brought back from the dead, almost instantly, by using electricity to jumpstart their hearts. The tricky part is to make sure their spirits are around to get in, and the bodies must be fresh. So far the alchemist has only managed to char a couple of corpses and rise a few revenants: for the experiment to work they'd need a living subject to willingly sacrifice their lives and be reanimated. But you managed to keep this man's spirit around and uncorrupted, I think we can manage. Maybe," her confidence was waning. He saw her fingers trembling, picking the skin around her nails.
"I saw you throw that snowball: that was precise, it was beautiful. If anyone can put electricity to Markolf's heart, focalized, and not burn everything else in the process: it's you. I trust you, you can do this. Let's, shall we? I'll lend you my tiny staff, just this once. Just hold it and channel the magic within you and around you, like you would with any other staff. It's easy," he handed it to her. She nodded, biting the corner of her lower lip.
"Heal any damage in his body and try your luck with the electricity thing," Wyn whispered, "I don't think it will work if his heart is already crushed by a spell," she added. They both nodded.
He focused on keeping Markolf's spirit around: he couldn't have him turn into a revenant. He could feel his magic waning, his grip loosening, his staff could only channel so much magic. "Are you done yet," he whispered.
"Almost, I think," her voice was level, focused.
Wyn paced between them, observing. The ambers in the fire of the stove and a firedust fixture in need of a shake lightened the room, barely. Koldo's wand glowed in the dimness, turning Irene's skin light blue. Wyn put a couple of fingers on his neck, checking his pulse, perhaps? She nodded. "I can feel it, it's working," she beamed. She checked his nose, "he's not breathing, though, you need to try a little harder," she patted Irene on the back. "You got this, Laurentius' friend," she propped her hands under her chin, resting her elbows on the table.
"His lungs are collapsed," Irene said. "He'll die again without oxygen. But I've got this," she smiled. She looked confident now, she was on a roll. She placed her hands over his chest, the wand glowed. Markolf's chest rose once, twice. He was breathing.
"The wand," he asked. He held it tight, as tight as his fingers managed to. He could feel its power gathering on his fingertips, one last push. He focused on the spirit, reeling it towards Markolf's breathing body. It didn't need much guiding, it knew where to go, he could feel the eagerness in its energy.
The three of them gathered around Markolf. There wasn't a giveaway, nothing, not a sudden surge of energy, not a weird cold running up their arms. They shifted their weights on their feet, staring at each other. Had it worked? Laurentius approached him, poked him on the cheek, softly. Markolf groaned, opened his eyes, blinking lazily. Then he sat like the table was on fire, looking around him, frantically, checking Laurentius' face for answers, perhaps.
"There will be a lot of explaining to do," Wyn said, running for the pantry. "Those kinds of explanations go better with a glass of brandy, not that I would know, I'm a kid, but, hey," the sound of glass and a metal tray disrupted the uncomfortable silence of the kitchen.
When she came back with the drinks, Laurentius downed two on a row. By Ontur's puffy cheeks.