This was not how Palamedes Sextus had imagined his afterlife. Actually, despite being a necromancer himself — and knowing full well, that other necromancers loved to raise the dead in whatever way they could — he had hoped to not have an afterlife at all, that they would just leave him be. That his ghost would ascent and he’d have peace.
Of course — his death starting as his life ended — his afterlife was pure chaos.
The short eternity before they managed to bind his soul to a construct (and thank you for that, Nonagesimus. Thank you a shit ton), he spent hovering around Camilla, except for that short while he was graced by a visit from Dulcinea. He’d contemplated haunting Gideon’s ass, just for the sake of it — when she sacrificed her life, her soul for Nonagesimus, this clever plan turned into a very stupid plan. Hanging about a world-class necromancer like Nonagesimus, when she just became a Lyctor was like asking for trouble.
So he didn’t. He hovered over Camilla, tried to comfort her. His own sadness was less intense and without the painful edge he remembered. Just like every other feeling was muted compared to what he remembered.
Everything was a bit hazy as a ghost. He wasn’t bound to his former human schedules or worries, so he only paid half the attention he probably should have.
Nonagesimus hadn’t been unconscious for long and Gideon’s body was barely even dead when the first ships descended. Before the Undying King’s men even opened their shuttle doors, Camilla was dragging Gideon away with her.
Not caring much what happened, Palamedes followed Camilla down a hall and into one of the hidden quarters.
Admittedly, for a necromancer with background in medical sciences, Palamedes really should have paid more attention because next thing he knew, Gideon was gasping for breath, Camilla hovering over her. Alive. Her soul was back in place, he could see that.
What that meant for Lyctor Harrowhark of the Ninth House, he did not know.
When Gideon was strong enough, Camilla and her made their way back outside. The men of the Undying King had left but by some miracle there was a functional shuttle still sitting on the platform.
Gideon was silent again. Palamedes had hoped for some entertainment, as bad as Gideon’s jokes were. She seemed withdrawn and, shortly after landing on Sixth, her and Camilla’s paths separated. Palamedes didn’t care enough to question why.
He stayed with Camilla. She carried on, even though she still seemed incredibly sad. On days she was crying, Palamedes tried to put a hand on her shoulder in comfort. He had the feeling she felt it.
Sometimes he talked to other Sixth House ghosts, just for something else to do, other than the oppressive sadness surrounding Camilla.
One day, Camilla boarded a shuttle. Naturally, Palamedes joined her.
With no small amount of surprise, he stared out of the window when they descended at their destination. Camilla actually had taken a shuttle to the Ninth House.
Loudly swearing, Palamedes chastised himself for not paying at least a little more attention to his surroundings.
There were two figures standing in black billowing cloaks at the docking station. With the blink of the eye, he zapped to stand with them, and watch Camilla’s shuttle dock. No doubt, the figures were Harrowhark and Gideon. Upon his arrival just next to her, Harrow tensed slightly, indicating his arrival had not been unnoticed.
Gideon turned her head to Harrow in question who only shook her head slightly. Palamedes realized they were holding hands, which was what probably alarmed Gideon of Harrow’s tensing. He grinned. They were looking good. Healthy. For once, Gideon was without makeup.
Camilla’s welcome was swift and taken into Harrow’s quarters quickly.
Palamedes, his own vow to pay more attention forgotten already, went to check out the place.
It was dark on this planet. How people lived here was beyond him. Not that he saw many living. The planet seemed to be inhabited mostly by the dead. Considering the low level of light, he wasn’t surprised at how pale both Gideon and Nonagesimus had seemed wherever the paint didn’t cover their skin, when they first arrived on First.
When he came across what was probably the Locked Tomb, he was astonished to find that, apparently, it was locked for the living as well as the dead. Including ghosts. He couldn’t satisfy his curiosity. The Tomb was impenetrable.
After this swift blink-of-the-eye death was when chaos really descended.
It was like being displaced without consent. Displacement like floating, as a ghost. There wasn’t anything to properly touch, no cold or heat. No pain. Only muted emotions.
So, admittedly, he may have screamed because suddenly, there was feeling. It was like something was tugging at his non-existing gut, tickling his brain and suddenly his voice had a sound again and he snapped his eyes open.
There was a scream. He realized it was him. He tried to stop and it felt like he actually was able to close his mouth again.
Three faces were looking at him with wide eyes. Camilla, Gideon, Nonagesimus.
They were looking right at him. It was somewhat disconcerting and unsettling.
Suddenly, Camilla grinned and arms were thrown around him. He could feel them. He tried to flex his non-existing fingers, and realized he felt those, too. He lifted them, and there were hands coming into his line of vision.
Sudden understanding that they had somehow resurrected him, put his soul in a construct, Palamedes clasped his new-found arms around Camilla. Emotions were crashing around him, sharp and suffocating.
His vision got blurry, and he realized he must be crying. He had almost forgot about tears. They had seemed so useless.
Gideon was grinning at him, saying "Hey, Sex Pal."
Palamedes figured, that this was the perfect time to test his vocal cords. He groaned and was pleased that he could. Gideon grinned even harder.
"I will haunt your ass forever and a day, Ninth."
"You’re invited to, I have a lot more jokes to tell", Gideon laughed. He saw that even Harrow’s painted face was adorned by a small smile.
"I cannot win, can I?", Palamedes sighed. It felt good to be able to do this again. The fact that he was even able to feel this detailed fueled his respect for the Reverend Daughter. The amount of work that must have been put into this construct was unfathomable — and he was a necromancer, that had to say something.
"Nope", Gideon answered.
Camilla gently pulled back and there were tears in her eyes. This time, they were happy tears and he was glad about that.
"We have a job for you", Nonagesimus voice pulled him away from his thoughts.
"Excuse me?", he said after a while. "Did you — did you honestly just resurrect me. To use me as a cheap work force?"
"Also to test, if I could actually resurrect you. How are you feeling? Everything working properly? As far as I can tell, everything should be in its rightful place, and your ghost should be tied in, properly."
Palamedes didn’t know what to say. On one hand, he got to be the first one Nonagesimus resurrected. That was an honor. On the other hand, he got to be the first one Nonagesimus ressurected.
"I am not only a cheap work force, I was also your test subject number one?", his voice was higher than usual. Come to think of it, the fact that his voice sounded the exact same as before his untimely passing was impressive and spoke of Nonagesimus’ talent as a necromancer and Lyctor.
He shook his head because he really didn’t need those distractions. Cam pulled him into a sitting position, keeping their hands entwined.
Nonagesimus scoffed, "I know what I’m doing. It’s not like I would have done this if I were unsure!"
"And we’re very happy to see you", Gideon cut in, gently elbowing Nonagesimus.
"Hmph", was all Palamedes had to say to that. He turned to look at Camilla some more.
"I haven’t left. I was with you, all the time."
She smiled, "I know. I’m grateful for that."
Abruptly, Harrow got to her feet, "Griddle, let’s go get you some food."
Palamedes wasn’t ready to take his eyes off Camilla but very promptly, his stomach started to grumble.
Gideon got up without complaint, "I’ll send someone to bring you guys some food."
With that, Camilla and him were alone.
The job, as it turns out, was as a freaking doctor. How Ninth didn’t have any doctors, Palamedes didn’t know. He didn’t have all his necromancer abilities anymore, being pretty much a walking corpse himself. But he still did have his knowledge and capable fingers.
"Cheap workforce", he said again.
"Come on, you know you were bored."
"Yes, Ninth, I might have been. But I was not even consulted on this. And I know Nonagesimus has been aware of my ghost being around."
"Well, true but this way you get to enjoy a lot more of my puns."
"I enjoyed your puns when I was a ghost. That way, I could at least haunt you."
"The positive side, Sextus, is that you can haunt and prank her, like this", Harrow put in.
Gideon gaped, "Harrow, I distinctly remember being your cavalier. You definitely have to be on my side here."
"Do I? I am certain you have to be on my side, Griddle."
"I changed my mind", Gideon rounded on Palamedes. "How about you haunt her. She’s the one who brought you back."
Behind her veil, Harrow’s eyes seemed to spew acid in Gideon’s direction.
"However this may be", Nonagesimus changed the subject back to Palamedes’ least favorite topic. "We have to save the empire. The Ninth House does not currently have a doctor, but an increasing amount of sick living. I do not wish to be the ruler of a skeleton squad."
"But you are, bone empress", Gideon said.
"Not the point, Griddle. On this Planet are still living people, and they need a doctor. There’s no one I trust with this more than Sextus", she turned to him, "and I therefore wish for you to be my House’s doctor. I will not make you do this — you are free to go back to Sixth with Camilla. She’s also welcome to stay here with you. Please, Palamedes. I implore you. Please, help me."
Underneath her face paint, Nonagesimus looked like she bit into a lemon (even though he wasn’t sure there were lemons on this planet), to have said please twice. It delighted Palamedes. But he also honored and respected her enough, to not laugh at her.
"Camilla?", he asked, turning to the other woman who leaned against a table. "Would you stay here with me?"
"Of course, Warden."
They shared a soft smile before Palamedes turned back to Harrowhark.
"Then we will stay, Nonagesimus. But do not assume I will not haunt either of you, in un-life and death, whenever I see fit to do so."
Harrow smiled at him. "I would not expect anything different from the Sixth."
"I got everything you need right here", Camilla said and dumped a familiar bag in front of his feet.
Incredulous, Palamedes looked up at her.
"You knew they were going to wake me up just to use me as a cheap work force? And you support this?"
She had the audacity to roll her eyes. Palamedes had missed this, if he was being honest. At least she was happy enough to roll her eyes.
"Don’t be like that, Warden. You know very well that you would’ve yelled for your bag one way or another. If only to check your own vitals. Plus, it’s not like you could go a lot of places without Nonagesimus around. At least not, as far as we know."
Without bothering to deny, Palamedes bent down to get the wire, poking one end in his right index finger and the other end in his upper arm, hoping he wouldn’t get something he had dubbed 'feedback'. It usually occurred when you tried to use your thumb to take vitals.
He got lucky. There wasn’t any feedback. His own pulse beat steady through the wire. His blood pressure seemed fine as well.
Despite possessing a new body after having spent a while (he didn’t ask yet how long exactly, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know — there were a few crinkles around Cam’s eyes but those could’ve been caused by worry, too), his ability to feel the hemoglobin and various cells flow by the prick of the needle, was undiminished. It had taken him years to perfect this and he was glad he didn’t have to relearn it.
Pressure and oxygen levels were in frame. Triglycerides were a bit unbalanced, but nothing too problematic. No obviously malignant cells suggesting leukemia1 and no sign of anemia either. Considering she’d only grown this construct out of a single bone, that was impressive. He’d check specific organs later but so far the Reverend Daughter seemed to have conducted an admirable job. Satisfied for now, he took out the wire.
Camilla watched him, expectantly.
"Nothing out of the order", he said.
She grinned, "I didn’t expect it to be. Don’t tell her, you think she did a great job, though. She’s insufferable as it is."
He snorted. "As if her ego wasn’t big enough. She doesn’t need to know that I agree with her that she is, indeed, the better necromancer around here."
"Guess I won’t tell her that, either", Gideon’s voice came from the doorway. She grinned broadly.
Apparently, Palamedes was not as observing as he’d been before his untimely passing, if he didn’t realize the door had not been closed.
"Well, she can still do better. So there really is no need to tell her," he answered, miffed.
"Don’t worry, you big baby. I get the brute force of her insufferableness, I don’t want her to get worse", she reconsidered, "Or well, maybe, now that sex is on the table."
Camilla groaned and buried her hands in her face.
Ignoring her, he picked up his bag. He couldn’t stop him from high-fiving Gideon, when he reached the door.
"Where to, cavalier?"
Gideon mock-bowed theatrically, extending her hands to the left. "Follow me, sire."
He heard Camilla whine, but didn’t wait around for her. She’d follow.
"I want it to be known, that I despise this", he remarked.
"And I want it to be known, that they despise me. So would you please, please, not give them any additional reasons to poison me?", Gideon replied.
Harrowhark and Camilla was standing on either side of Palamedes, with Gideon flanking her Lyctor. Both Cam and the Reverend Daughter snorted, presumably for different reasons.
Nonagesimus’ reason became apparent when she said "They tried before and it didn’t stick. Why do you still worry about that? Plus, they’re too scared of you to try again. And if they did—"
She didn’t finish her sentence but the cold shower running down Palamedes’ back drove home the threat.
"Well, that was before I was almost brain-dead and physically proper-dead for a few minutes! We don’t know if I’m still above their tampering!"
There was a hint of panic in Gideon’s voice. Something that Palamedes had never heard before, and even Harrowhark seemed surprised considering the raised eyebrow. "They won’t poison you. They paid dearly for trying once."
Palamedes did not want to know what horrors these ladies did to cause Gideon to panic. But he certainly did not want to get too close to them.
"I repeat", he said, "I want it to be known, that I despise this."
"And I want it to be known", Harrow mirrored Gideon, "That they can still hear you. So please. Keep your mouth shut about what you like and don’t like in front of them, Sextus."
He harrumphed, before starting to cross the open area in the rift, to where Nonagesimus’ great-aunts sat at the table, waiting for him.
Behind him, Gideon said with a petulant voice, "Can’t we just let them die?"
Silently, he agreed. Even looking at them made him want to turn around and hide under a rock. Then again, that’s what most of Ninth made him feel, so far.
He hoped, their voices hadn’t carried. But then, the sounds of the skeletons working in the lower areas still resounded loudly and would cover up most of their hushed conversations.
Nonagesimus’ great-aunts were frightening to say the least. He dreaded the moment that he would have to stab either one of them in the finger to take their vitals. After awkward not-small talk, which Harrowhark interrupted, thank the Emperor, he sadly had to start with the stabbing of evil ladies, who’s fake-eyes homed in on him without any trouble.
What he found was stunning. He hasn’t gotten a lot of details about those two, but it was obvious that they were befallen by the same kind of toxins. Neurotoxins. Those alone would’ve been enough to cause their blindness, but alas, they also showed the same image of necrosis in their posterior ciliary arteries. Even if he had the proper medication available, he wouldn’t have been able to change anything about their condition. Frankly, he was amazed they were still kicking. They probably lived on spite like Harrowhark.
Palamedes Sextus was still young when he decided to go into medical sciences. He was younger than most others in the apprenticeship. But, being one of the few necromancers, he had an advantage. It didn’t hurt that he was smart and had a much greater motivation than some of the others.
Sitting in the hall of Ninth House, praying with the Reverend Daughter2 and her people, his thoughts went back to Dulcinea and his first leukemic patient.
It wasn’t his patient. He’d shadowed the doctor, who’d let him take a closer look. Palamedes had actually come back to the patient later, and asked if he could take another look.
What Dulcinea had described was a familial leukemia predisposition. It wasn’t a common thing and his patient, Naomi Philadelphia, had a different kind of leukemia. The type that mostly occurred in older people and if they got lucky, would leave them live without real problems for years. The kind that would persist, progressing slowly in your bone marrow and suddenly would leave you with secondary diseases like anemia and hypercalcemia, with broken bones and infections.
From what he gathered, Dulcinea’s leukemia mostly seemed to originate from lymphocytes responsible for immune responses and was more acute. It let her live a few years, sure. But she had a family with money that would do whatever they can. He found it incredible, though, that she actually had the same leukemia as Lyctor Cytherea. This meant, she was a direct descendent of her bloodline, mostly undiluted, even after ten thousand years. The chances were so slim. Were Lyctors even allowed to get children? Could they conceive children, after achieving Lyctorhood?
The first time, Palamedes managed to properly define Naomi’s leukemia, was by sheer luck. He’d had another patient right before her, which made the difference in her blood all the more obvious. There were a lot of leukocytes in her blood, not as differentiated as they should have been. There were megakaryocytes and other cells, usually residing in bone marrow.
And most of all, all these cells that just didn’t seem to belong. They all had a weird characteristic to their chromosomes. He couldn’t pinpoint it. They just… seemed wrong. Like they’d tangled up and interchanged, somehow. He called it Philadelphia chromosome. It was like he could feel the change. Maybe it was the different secreted factors.
The platelets were off as well, and the bleeding, where he poked her finger with the wire, didn’t seem to stop for hours. There were a lot of basophils.
She told him, that for the most part, up until recently, she only had symptoms like weakness and weight loss. Leukocytosis — an increased count of white blood cells —, which has only gotten worse by now and anemia had come soon after. By now, she had an enlarged spleen.
Palamedes had dubbed this first phase chronic phase. The one where hypermetabolism of the leukemic cells and bleeding occured, he called accelerated phase, because the whole disease seemed to progress a lot faster.
Shortly before her death, the number of not properly differentiated blast cells had basically exploded in her blood. He’d sat there for a while, counting, before calculating with time and blood pressure, how many of these cells he came across. It were over one hundred thousand cells per a single microliter.
She died, shortly after. He was devastated. Naomi’s soul visited him, once, thanking him. Telling him not to give up and he could still help other people.
He came up with an idea, but, being the youngest, it took him years to be heard.
The first time he managed to take out a few of the unhealthy cells and by pure force of will, change them to healthy cells with the ability to attack the other unhealthy cells in the body (he called it a transplant), was the time he envisioned himself to revolutionize the medical world on Sixth at the age 14.
But, the way first experiments tended to go wrong for everyone in the scientific world, his experiment failed. Camilla had been supporting him, lucky him. Without her, he would have given up right then and there.
Instead, he tried again and failed again.
He adjusted parameters, changed certain parts of the process.
This time, it looked like the patient’s health was going for the better again, before deteriorating all the more rapidly.
He had blamed himself for this person’s death and it took Camilla and Dulcinea to keep him from quitting his profession, telling him there were so many other people he actually could help.
A year later, another leukemic person came to the medical institution. With his consent, Palamedes tried again. Some more tweaking, even transplanting the cells into a mouse first. Everything seemed to be working alright and Palamedes conducted the transplantation a week before leaving for the First Planet. He had high hopes. Only that the patient didn’t get better.
Until he did. But Palamedes had never heard of that, until now.
He was proud, sure. But it hadn’t helped him to heal Dulcinea, in the end. And he found it unfair, that he got to live, thanks to Harrowhark, while Dulcinea didn’t.
Not that he thought, Dulcinea would appreciate this place. It was necrotic, dying from the inside out. There was osseous matter everywhere, he could feel it, even if he usually didn’t use it. But the planet itself was dying. The Locked Tomb seemed to be the center a black spot spreading outward like cancer.
Harrowhark seemed to know it, as well, from the way her eyes drifted to the blackness from time to time, when she thought no one was looking.
"What in the Emperor’s name do you think you’re doing?" Harrowhark’s voice was cold. Palamedes didn’t care. She couldn’t afford to drop him dead, either way.
"What does it look like I’m doing, Nonagesimus?"
"It looks like you’re about to prick my finger."
"Exactly. I see, your eyesight is in full health. Good. That means I can focus on your blood pressure now."
"And why would you do that?"
The Reverend Daughter tried to take her hand back, but she was too exhausted.
"Because you are struggling to even get your hand out of my grip. Because you’re not only a Lyctor but have been an incredibly stubborn necromancer, living on spite and fumes for probably — in my medical opinion — years."
"I will not be your test subject."
"You don’t have a choice."
"Griddle!"
"Hey, no, keep me out of this. He’s got a point. If I had a mirror, I’d hold it up in front of you, cause you are drenched in blood. This stuff belongs inside you, Harrow, not outside." Gideon was sitting on the ground next to Harrow. Her leg was bouncing, letting on that she was nervous.
"I hate you two. I will end you."
"I’m sure, you would", Gideon said, exasperated. "If you could. You can get to that, when you’re feeling better."
Palamedes used their argument as a chance to stab Nonagesimus’ finger with his wire. She didn’t even realize it, busy glaring at her cavalier.
"Honestly, how you haven’t died of anemia and oxygen depletion yet, is beyond me", Palamedes muttered.
"As you said, fumes and spite", Harrow answered weakly. "And considering I’m a Lyctor, it would be very surprising if I died."
"Well-", Gideon began, but Palamedes tuned them out.
Harrowhark’s system was magnificent. There was no other word for it.
He hadn’t been able to focus on much besides her blood pressure and oxygen saturation, the last time he got her into his fingers, all those years ago on the First.
He wasn’t sure, how much of this was uniquely her, and how much of this was due to being a Lyctor.
Since her being a Lyctor was also bound to Gideon, some of this may be found in her as well?
Not hesitating, he stabbed another wire into his finger next to the one connecting him to Nonagesimus and pushed the other end into Gideon’s arm, carelessly.
"Ouch! What the hell, Sex Pal? You’re supposed to check her out, not me!"
"You’re part of her", was all he said.
After a few minutes, listening in with closed eyes, Palamedes yelled in frustration.
He ripped the wires from his hand and jumped to his feet.
"There’s something wrong with you two!", he yelled and started pacing.
All three women, Gideon, Nonagesimus and Camilla were staring at him.
"We know", Gideon said eventually, "but hey!"
Palamedes glared at her, ripping at strands of his hair.
It took another moment before Harrowhark asked, "To what particular wrongness are you referring?"
"Deep breaths, Warden. Facts." Camilla’s voice was calm.
Right. Deep breaths.
He sank on his knees, trying to collect and sort his thoughts.
"Alright, alright. Facts. Facts that are real and that I know. Cells. Mitochondria are the powerhouse of the cell." (Gideon looked at him like he was going crazy. And honestly, he felt like he was, too.)
He looked up at Nonagesimus who, by now, managed to sit up even if she was supporting herself on Gideon.
"You", Palamedes pointed at the Reverend Daughter, "every cell in your body has been turned to regenerating cells— it’s like cancer but it’s not. It’s like your telomeres don’t get shorter but at the same time, the mutations causing sickness just don’t exist."— now both Gideon and Harrowhark were looking at him like he was talking about extinct First animals they’ve never even heard of — "But that would be to be expected, of a Lyctor— regenerating cells. But there’s something else. And I bet that’s what makes you such a great necromancer."
Nonagesimus eyes narrowed, "And what is that?"
"It’s like thanergy is clinging to your every cells, in your bones, resonating within you. And it seems inverted. Not quite right. No offense."
Her eyes flickered over to Gideon, but Palamedes didn’t see that, too engrossed in his findings.
"I don’t know if this has been there before, or if it came with you becoming a Lyctor. It seems like it’s been there before. And your blood? I have no clue how you can replenish your own blood this fast, without even rehydrating."
Palamedes shook his head. "And you, Gideon. For some reason, there’s also a kind of regeneration happening in your cells. Different to Camilla or me. It’s more of the Lyctor thanergy, not the same as Nonagesimus’. And there’s compounds in your blood. Antibodies, antitoxins. Such high and diverse levels. Your immune system is packed with thanergy but they’re not regenerating in the same way. They do regenerate and heal you, if necessary. But mostly they just seem arrested in the same stage forever. There’s no apoptosis, no necrosis. No senescence. No cell division. I have never seen anything like it. You’re the same but you’re not. Different sides of the same coin."
It was silent for a while.
"Are you telling me", Camilla asked. Blessed Camilla, the only one to actually understand what he has been saying, "that they’re both immortal?"
"I", Palamedes started, staring at her. He blinked. Looked over at the other necromancer and her cavalier. They looked gobsmacked as much as they looked clueless.
"I think, I do", Palamedes conceded.
When Palamedes found Harrowhark and Gideon, one was out like a light and the other was eating.
It spoke to the weirdness of the life they all lived, that Gideon still had an appetite sitting next to her drenched-in-blood necromancer. Palamedes wasn’t sure, the cavalier wasn’t sitting in the same puddle of blood herself.
There was a lot of blood. Frankly, it looked like too large an amount of blood (Palamedes was tempted to collect it to measure just how much).
Gideon seemed unperturbed, but as a medically trained person, he didn’t have the luxury.
He rushed to Nonagesimus’ side, stabbing a wire into her arm.
Staying true to her form, she called him a "fucking annoying corpse" out of her unconsciousness.
He’d be offended if he wasn’t so preoccupied by the ridiculousness that was the Reverend Daughter’s health.
Slanting his yes over to Gideon, he asked, "When did she black out?"
Gideon shrugged, "About ten minutes ago? She should be up and running again in five."
"Are you serious?" Palamedes was aware that his voice was turning shrill. "Ten minutes?"
"Yeah, why?" Gideon narrowed her eyes at him but the confusion didn’t seem to leave her.
"How much blood would you say, you’re sitting in?"
Another shrug.
"Well, personally", Palamedes said, "I’d say about three liters minimum."
"So?"
"So?", he parroted flabbergasted. "You do realize that she should be barely clinging on to life? Should need days and at least one transfusion to be up to better health?"
"Well, she is a Lyctor."
"Believe me, I have a feeling that this is not solely due to her being a Lyctor. Because there’s about four liters of blood in her again already! This is scientifically inexplicable!"
Gideon got up, "I’m sure you remember that necromancy is more along the line of magic than science. I don’t know how you would describe immortality scientifically. 'Cells' and 'smite-o-chonderia'3 is what you mentioned once, I think? Plus, we’re from the Ninth. Since when have Harrow and I ever done anything scientifically explicable? We love to contradict."
Palamedes wanted to claw out his hair, but had to concede, that maybe Gideon had a point. He probably shouldn’t look at either of their vitals if he wanted to stay sane. It just bugged him so much, the way these girls defied everything he had ever studied.
Small mercies, that the other people on Ninth seemed to be relatively more human in that regard. Not that there were many living people around anymore. He didn’t dare ask where all the younger people were. There were things on Ninth you just didn’t question, like the lack of children and the Locked Tomb itself.
As a kid, just starting to find an interest in medical sciences, Palamedes had found a very old tome in the largest library of Sixth House.
It’s been brittle to the touch and he was given gloves to touch it and ordered to stay in low light when reading it.
Compared to what they taught him and the other students, the humans from times past seemed to have been very well educated. He came to the conclusion that, since necromancy became a thing, the healing of living people became somewhat irrelevant or at least less of a focus. Instead, their souls were trapped, their bodies puppeted and their deaths celebrated.
He didn’t know what to make of it. Dulcinea didn’t deserve to suffer just because humanity had lost their ways, forgotten their heritage and failed to improve their treatments.
In another old book, barely readable anymore he had read a line that stuck with him. "Progress for the sake of progress must be discouraged. Let us preserve what must be preserved, perfect what can be perfected and prune practices that ought to be prohibited."4
He thought the wrong kind of progress had been stopped and wondered who was responsible for choosing.
Sextus has never seen an atrocity, a monstrosity like this thing.
He could feel the pull of cells, even without having 'plugged in' into its system.
So many foam cells. Cells that were originally designed to eat other cells, transformed into fat-containing beasts.
The actual creature mimicked what most of its cells looked like.
It had a barely-human stature, something that would pass as legs and arms. What would be skin on a normal human being, was bloated oily-looking pustules and fat-oozing blisters.
What wasn’t foam cells was necrotic cells, functioning despite themselves. The true work of a Fourth House necromancer. Necrotic cells spasming around poor excuses of vessels. The fact that there was some kind of heart-beat detectable was a miracle. Palamedes would have expected each cell to be working alone, all just there and being steered by the necromancer. The fact that this made up an actual organism was incredible. He would’ve been intrigued if it wasn’t so disgusting.
He did the only thing he could, which was running away from that thing, with a healthy side of praying for Gideon and Camilla to win the fight they were about to embark in and an even healthier side of cursing Harrowhark.
If he said he hadn’t been practicing, Palamedes would have lied. Big time.
Harrowhark may have resurrected him and he owed her. But he was still his own person and he didn’t bow to a Ninth House Brat. Not even the Reverend Daughter. He liked her, yes. But he wouldn’t cater to her every will.
And he wouldn’t stop practicing his own necromantic abilities that weren’t healing anyone.
This particular trick, may very well heal someone. At least in reverse.
Closing an aneurysm, coaxing a level to taking on its original shape, reversing a rupture would be more difficult than what he was about to do. He got off easy, he supposed.
Concentrating, without any direct access to the body ten feet away, he felt around for the cells, the pumping of a heart, the blood shooting through veins.
There it was. The aorta, pumping along, smooth muscle cells contracting almost in accord with the heart.
Slashing his finger through the air, he imagined ripping a hole into the artery. It ruptured easily. He could feel it. Instant aneurysm, he cheered mentally. The best thing about this was, the guy wouldn’t even realize what hit him. When he would eventually succumb to his symptoms, Palamedes would be far far away, without anyone else being any wiser.
Except maybe Nonagesimus, who was looking at him with a set jaw. Probably annoyed, it was his idea. Good, he thought. This way she wouldn’t tell anyone. Luckily he didn’t steal her show in too obvious a way. She would get to him in small quarters, breaking his bones and turning his intestines inside out.
"How do you have hypertension?", Palamedes asked incredulously.
Harrowhark just rolled her eyes and Cam sighed. He knew why. Because he still questioned the Lyctor’s health at every turn.
"You barely have enough blood in you as it is", he defended his statement. "You should have chronic hypotension."
"Maybe it’s because of me. If I don’t make her heart skip, I make her blood boiling. 'Cause I’m so hot."
"If that was your idea of flirting and your attempt to get back in my good graces, you failed, Griddle."
Gideon sniffed.
Palamedes had never seen her look quite so guilty. He didn’t like it so he tried to lighten the mood.
"That does not explain her high blood pressure. You’re a chronic disease, Gideon. I’m glad, Nonagesimus caught you and not me. And thank the Emperor that you’re not transmissible."
Harrowhark laughed but her eyes softened a tiny fraction when she looked at Gideon (he wondered, when he got so good at reading that stone cold face). She still whacked Palamedes over the head, "Only I get to insult her like that."
Gideon’s shoulders drooped minimally but enough for him to know she had relaxed a bit.
"Maybe you pumped too much water into her, Warden", Camilla interjected. "Maybe that’s why her blood pressure is too high."
"Mmh. Possible. I’ll keep an eye on that."
All three women groaned.
It’s been a while, since Palamedes last saw Cardinal Cardiac. On Sixth, he was a legend and few had the privilege to work with him, much less to be taught by him.
For a peace-loving place, Sixth House had a lot of conflict between scientists and the population that had no particular interest in medicine and the like.
Cardinal Cardiac’s name stemmed from him reversing another man’s heart myocardial infarction. It had been a violent demo that day, but by curing a person in the opposition, the Cardinal managed to calm quite some of the doubting voices against scientific progress.
It helped, that he’d been a priest for years, and one of the best necromancers ever produced on Sixth and Seven.
Palamedes had had the fortune of being taught by him.
Once, he’d seen and felt the man causing necrosis of a mouse’s myocardial cells himself — they mostly worked with mice as living objects. Corpses were bountiful and also quite frequently used for the studies, but the living rarely subjected to being studied.
Palamedes had been able to feel the cells turning necrotic, starting to give in, give up. Cell contents being dumped in the surrounding tissues, proteins and enzymes. He was taught to make out certain enzymes, to define what they were, to distinguish between different lipids. It wasn’t easy but it increased his understanding of the body. Cardinal Cardiac was very adamant in Palamedes’ learning all these things.
Now, Palamedes was grateful for it.
Upon causing necrosis on the mouse heart, Cardinal Cardiac told him to 'save the rat'.
And Palamedes had. He wouldn’t be able to explain it, but he shoved the proteins back where they belonged, gave the cells a kick to behave and they did.
By now, Palamedes had learned more elegant ways to deal with myocardial infarctions, thanks to his teacher.
In one of the old books — it was called 'Bible' — which seemed to be the origin of all religion, according to some books but a conspiracy according to others, there had been a man healing others. People had been scared of him, called him a fraud and sentenced him to a cruel death.
What the Cardinal and Palamedes were doing in the labs, he was sure would be called blasphemous and sacrilegious by most people, despite having grown up praying to the Emperor, the embodiment of necromancy. Because they were scared of what they didn’t understand. That much hadn’t changed, he supposed, and it wouldn’t change in a long time.
1 he had learned to distinguish those because of Dulcinea. It was still a faulty science because he was relying on the amount of undifferentiated cells in blood carrying potential malignancies. But not every malignant cell was obviously undifferentiated. It also limited his ability to hematopoietic related types of cancer. He was working on progress.
2Her parents were there, too. It was disturbing to know, what she’d done to them. But he couldn’t fault her for it. In fact, he would love to get a closer look at her work.
Despite having mended things with Harrowhark, Gideon still avoided these gatherings.
3 Gideon, love, it’s mitochondria. You’re a useless fucking gay but we still love you.
4 Yes, I did quote Dolores Umbridge.