I hear shouts from my left and I whimper, helpless as boots run past me, scrunching my eyes closed, but then forcing them open, trying desperately not to cry, or scream. I will my legs to move but there’s nothing, I can feel nothing.
“Go for the hand,” Dimia cries, and then the crowd moves into my view, men and women with torches like Dimia’s, all thrusting at the golem. Dimia fights with them, her teeth bared, pushing the pole at its hand, which appears to be on fire. She wanted to fight, I think wildly, and here she is. There are people around her, joining the fray. She has her army.
I don’t think I’ll be her apothecary though.
For the third time, I see her push the flames into the golem’s outstretched palm, and this time it stiffens. Dimia and the others step back warily. At first nothing happens. Then, without warning, the golem keels over and moves no more.
Dimia stares over its body at me. The she drops the torch and runs to my side. “Errin?” she says, reaching for me.
“Don’t,” I say, trying to smile at her, to reassure her. “Don’t move me. My spine is broken.”
“No.” She stares at me. “No.”
I take a deep breath, and realize I feel calm. “Listen,” I say quietly. “My mother’s name is Trina Vastel. She has the same illness as the Scarlet Varulv. You can look it up. The potion that helped her is called the Elixir of Life. The alchemist I was looking for, the one I thought you were, can make it. If Mama has the Elixir on the nights leading up to and following the full moon, she’s fine. Without it, she’ll hurt you. So if you can get some… Please find her. Please help her.”
Dimia nods, tears falling freely.
“And you were really good at fighting,” I say. “I didn’t think you would be, but you did it. You killed it. I wish—”
Gloved fingers close over her shoulders and she’s moved away.
Replacing her is Silas Kolby.
“You stupid, stupid girl,” he says, looking at me, his mouth pulled into a grimace. “Why did you leave without me?”
“You left me,” I say, looking into his amber eyes. “Unwin saw you.”
“And you listened to him?” Silas looks down at me, his eyes bright. “I never would.” He shakes his head. “I never would,” he repeats.
“We have to get inside,” a female voice says.
He nods without looking away from me. “I’m going to lift you.”
“You can’t.” The same woman speaks again. “Silas, her back is broken. It would be cruel.” She lowers her voice. “She’s not going to make it.”
“Yes, she will.”
There is a pause; the air seems to ripple.
“You can’t mean…” The woman appears in my sight line, dark-skinned, dark-haired, carrying a small thin sword in each hand, and her mouth is a line of disapproval. Her eyes widen as she looks down at him, determinedly not looking at me, and I realize with a jolt that I recognize her.
“Yes, I can,” he says.
“Silas, she’s not one of us.”
He turns around, and though I can’t see his face, the way the woman recoils tells me all I need to know about his expression. When he turns back, there are tears catching on his white eyelashes.
“It’s all right,” I reassure him.
“It will be,” he says. He doesn’t blink, staring fiercely ahead as he carefully slides his arms under my broken back. I can’t feel his arms as he scoops me up and holds me close to his chest. I’ve never been a fan of pain, but this is worse. This nothingness. I feel as though I might fly away at any moment.
“Let’s go,” he says, and his voice is firm.
I look up at him as we move, but he keeps his eyes fixed ahead, his mouth a line of concentration. From the corner of my eye I see Dimia walking next to him, looking down at me, and I smile, faintly, but it’s enough for her to do the same. My gaze slides to the buildings either side of us; we’re back in the merchant quarter. We pause outside one of the houses and I look up to see the crossed circle again, realizing we’re outside the salt merchant’s house. Again that niggling feeling comes. I recognize it and I try to remember where I know it from. A book? My lessons?
Then we begin to move again, passing through a doorway and