The Alchemist by Paolo Bacigalupi

head off, eventually.” He turned to Jaiska “As soon as he’s done thrashing, gather up the balanthasts. And don’t be so stupid as he was.”
    “What about his body? Should I take him to his wife?”
    “No. Dump it in the river with the rest.”
    I was too far gone to panic. Bramble stilled my heart.

7

    Having your flesh burned with blue flame is not my preferred method to awaken, but it is a great improvement over death. 
    Another gust of flame washed over me. It burned through my blood, blistered my lungs, tunneled about in my heart, and dragged me back to life. I writhed in the heat, trying to breathe. Another blast of flame.
    And suddenly, I was coughing and wheezing. My skin burned, but I breathed.
    “Stop,” I croaked, waving weakly for mercy, praying I wouldn’t be scoured again. I opened my eyes.
    Pila crouched over me, a fantastic jeweled balanthast in her hands. Jiala stood beside her, worried, clutching at her skirt.
    “Are you alive, Papa?” she asked.
    I pushed myself upright, shaking bramble threads from my arms. Pila looked me over, brushed me with a gloved hand. “He’s alive enough, child. Now hurry and get our things. It’s time for us to run.”
    Jiala nodded obediently and ran out of my workroom. I stared after her, astonished. How she had grown! Not a small child at all, but tall and vital. So much change in the two years I had been imprisoned. Pila continued to brush away the singed bramble thread. I winced at her touch.
    “Don’t complain,” she said. “Blisters mean you’re alive.”
    I flinched away from another round of brushing. “You found my body, it seems.”
    “It was a near thing. I was expecting a coffin to arrive. If Jaiska hadn’t been decent enough to send word of where you’d been dumped…” she shrugged. “You were nearly tossed into the water with the rest of the corpses before I found you.”
    “Help me stand.”
    With her support, I made it to my feet. My old familiar workshop, but altered under Pila’s influence.
    “I had to replace much of the equipment,” Pila explained as she braced me upright. “Even with your instruction, it was an uncertain thing.”
    “I’m alive, though.” I looked at her balanthast. My design but her construction, noticing places where she had made changes. She held it by a leather strap that she slung over her shoulder. “You’ve made it quite portable,” I said, admiring.
    “If we’re to run, it’s time we did.”
    “More than time.”
    In the hall, our last belongings were stuffed into wicker baskets with harnesses to hold them upon our backs. A tiny pile of essentials. So little of my old life. A few wool blankets, food and water jugs. And yet, there also, Pila and Jiala. More than any man had any right to ask for. We slung our baskets, and I groaned at the weight in mine.
    “Easy living,” Pila commented. “Jiala could carry more than you.”
    “Not quite that bad, I hope. In any case, nothing that a long walk won’t fix.”
    We ducked out into the streets, the three of us together, winding through the alleys. We ran as quickly as we could for the gates of Khaim, making our way toward the open fields. Inside, I felt laughter and relief bubbling up. My skin was burned, my hair was matted and melted, but I was alive, maybe for the first time in almost twenty years.
    And then the wind shifted and a cloud of smoke blew across us. One of my own infernal detectors, now standing sentry on every street.
    Jiala lit up like an oil lamp.
    Pila sucked in her breath. “She was only treated yesterday. The magic still shows. Normally I kept her in, after Scacz spelled her.”
    Quick as a cat, she swept a cloak over Jiala, smothering the blue glow. And yet still it leaked out. Jiala’s face shone an unearthly shade. I picked her up and buried her face in my chest. She was heavy.
    “Don’t show your skin, child.”
    We slunk through the city and out into the fields as darkness fell. We went along the muddy road,