Page 123 of Alchemised
She walked stiffly towards the nearest wall, her knees giving out. Her mouth was parched, and her hands shook as an orderly paused and handed her a cup of water.
She was one of the young ones, with bright-blue eyes. New enough to still be eager at her job.
Helena clutched the cup in her hands, staring dully across the casualty ward, the rows of beds, and the piles of blood-soaked clothes and bandages and sheets on the floor. She could feel that same blood on her face and hair. Only her hands were mostly clean. The only thing she’d washed in at least a day.
She pressed her hand against her chest, finding the sunstone amulet under her filthy uniform. The fabric was so stiff with blood, it almost cracked as she squeezed the amulet, trying to ground herself.
“You should have been on break hours ago.”
She looked up to find Matron Pace standing beside her, mopping her forehead with a mostly clean cloth, a chipped cup in her other hand.
The matron’s apron was as blood-spattered as Helena’s, and red-stained wisps of greying hair clung to her flushed, swollen face.
“I didn’t see you on break, either.” Even Helena’s voice shook with exhaustion.
Pace had been in medicine longer than the Paladian Central Hospital had existed. Helena heard she’d been a midwife before the national medical licensing laws came into effect. Women needed alchemy certification to qualify, and Pace wasn’t an alchemist, so she’d become a nurse.
Helena sat, the joints in her hands aching from the constant repetitive flexing. Inside her chest, there was a feeling like a rope pulled taut. She dreaded the thought of beginning to feel her feet again.
“Go rest,” Matron Pace said.
Helena shook her head, her eyes fastened on the door where any new casualties would be brought in. “I should stay in case of an emergency. Is Maier still in the surgery?”
Maier was one of the most accomplished alchemical surgeons Paladia had ever produced. He’d left a hospital in Novis to join the Resistance and keep their hospital running after the Undying wiped out all the field hospitals and clinics.
Maier was a genius surgeon and a hard worker, but also short-tempered, and he did not like women. Unfortunate when the war hospital was predominantly staffed and run by women. He kept to himself and the few male assistants he’d brought with him, leaving the management of the hospital and any dealings with medics, nurses, or orderlies to Pace.
“Marino, there are plenty of accomplished medics here. You’ve worked longer than you should have, go rest.”
Helena watched a sheeted gurney pass, already on its way to the crematorium. “I don’t want to sleep right now. I’ll just dream of being in here.”
Pace sighed. “I don’t know that I should tell you this, but there’s a meeting in session. The Council asked for a report from the hospital. If you’d like to go.”
Exhaustion had dulled Helena’s mind to near incomprehension, but the thought of giving a report in the war room left her numb.
She hated going into that room where everything was reduced to figures and zones of interest. The dead were only numbers in that room.
“Do we have the numbers yet?” she asked.
“Just the preliminary ones.” Pace picked up a file, holding it out.
THE MEETING WAS UNDER WAY when Helena entered the war room. The Resistance Headquarters were based in what had once been the Holdfast Institute of Alchemy and Science. The war room was previously the faculty boardroom; now it was an audience chamber. Spanning a wall was a tiered map of the full city-state, the two main islands, and the mainland abutting the mountains, the levels and water districts all marked out.
Most were coloured black or red, a tide of blood closing in on the blue area centred in the upper half of the East Island. There was a gleam of gold in the sea of blue marking the Institute itself.
The Council of Five sat at a dais behind a long marble table. Two chairs were empty. Falcon Matias sat on the far right, beside him was Steward Ilva Holdfast, a gaunt, grey-haired woman with a large sunstone pin affixed over her heart.
The seat of honour, in the centre, sat empty. It had been weeks since Helena had even glimpsed Luc. Was he still fighting?
The fourth seat was also empty, its occupant standing beside the map, a long staff in his hand. As General Althorne touched parts of the map with his staff, areas which had been black turned red, indicating the active combat zones.
To the far left of the dais sat Jan Crowther, his eyes scanning the room, watching the audience rather than Althorne.
Everyone else was seated in rows of chairs split in the centre to form an aisle. Helena hung back. Those in attendance were all clean, and Helena was covered in blood and other fluids.
“If we continue to push back in the upper trade district, we should be able to press our advantage …” Althorne was saying, indicating a series of buildings near the ports.
“Hold, Althorne,” Ilva spoke up. “We finally have the hospital report.”
