Athera stared down at the little emerald. It had been inlaid into a silver band flexible enough that the user could wrap it around injured limbs.

“Do you think you can do it?” Tarquin asked softly.

Athera sighed and flipped down one of the extra lenses on the pair of goggles Sylvie had lent her. “I have to.”

“What if you can’t? Geralt is…well, you’ve seen him.”

Athera set her jaw and adjusted the catalyst before her. The gemstone didn’t shine as she knew it should, and with the extra magnification, she could make out tiny fissures along the gem’s surface running somewhere within it. It was ready to shatter.

“It’s too weak,” she muttered. Out of the corner of her eye, she could just make out Tarquin, seeming to deflate.

“So there really isn’t anything we can do,” he said softly. “Maybe we could send someone to steal another one.”

“No,” Athera said immediately. “They’ll be spotted immediately after taking this one. I just…I just have to figure out a way to make this work.”

“And how are you going to do that?” Tarquin sat down across from her. Through the google’s magnifying lenses he seemed distorted. She took them off.

“I don’t know, Tarquin,” Athera said softly. She glared down at the emerald, but it was hardly the gemstone’s fault. Even if she had a brand new catalyst that had never been used, it would take a massive gemstone to fix whatever was happening to Geralt. She barely knew standard alchemy, let alone how to heal someone!

A soft cough sounded and Athera glanced over her shoulder to see her brother standing in the doorway.

“Any luck?” he asked tentatively.

“Not yet,” Athera admitted. Nestor nodded, but never let his eyes meet hers.

“Thanks,” he mumbled before retreating.

Athera almost called out for him to stay, but she couldn’t think of the right words.

“He’s avoiding me,” she muttered.

“He’s had a rough couple of weeks,” Tarquin said, obviously trying to sound soothing. “Give him some time to adjust.”

Athera nodded half heartedly. It wasn’t like she could expect much more of Nestor. Especially when the first time he had seen her, that had been enough to send him running away. She shook her head, there would be time to address that later. She needed to focus on helping Geralt.

The catalyst gleamed up at her, just as fractured as it had been moments before. Athera tore off the goggles as she imagined Geralt lying in the infirmary. He had taken a turn for the worst in the last couple of days. Where his sleep had always been fitful and feverish, he now spent most of his time eerily still and breathing shallowly. He didn’t have time for them to get stuck on something as simple as a weak catalyst.

“Hey,” Tarquin said, looking up from the sandwich he was eating. A copy of the cucumber sandwiches from Skystead that he so enjoyed. “Let’s take a break, ok?” He motioned for him to follow her and Athera reluctantly did.

They had set up the meager alchemy station in the engine room, which was usually kept running on low in order to heat the ship against the increasing chill of the late autumn air. It was quiet, and warm, but she hadn’t realized just how stuffy it was until they stepped back into the hallway full of fresh, if admittedly cooler, air.

“We should get some food,” Tarquin decided.

“You just ate.”

“Yeah, and I’m still hungry.” He started for the head of the ship and Athera reluctantly followed. It was also where the crew that wasn’t hiding somewhere in Skystead usually stayed, but her growling stomach agreed with Tarquin’s sentiment.

“I haven’t taken the griffins out today,” Athera realized as they stepped inside. Poor Cedar had been so patient the last couple of days, spending half of his time crammed in a room that had been set aside for the griffins, and the other half just outside the ship. They had yet to get Leather to go in.

“We can take them out for a flight after we get something to eat,” Tarquin said.

Athera hesitated and then shook her head. A pot of stew was boiling over a tiny hearth fire and she poured herself a cup from it. “I have to focus on the catalyst. If something happened and we were outside, I could never forgive myself.”

“Yourself or what it would make Nestor think?” Tarquin asked pointedly. He bit into an apple that was most likely stolen. He glanced around before lowering his voice. “There might not be anything you can do, not in the state he’s in.”

Athera swallowed. “What if you take the griffins out this afternoon? I can go on a longer flight this evening.”

Tarquin sighed. “I’ll take Leather, but let’s take Cedar and Tallis when I get back.” He slipped out and Athera watched through the large windows that overlooked the clearing as he began to saddle Leather. He really had gotten better dealing with the creatures, particularly with the stubborn hippogriff. They took off in a flurry of white and black feathers, leaving Athera alone with her soup.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” a light voice said just as Athera was nearly done eating.

Sylvie grabbed an apple from the bowl and settled down across from Athera. “You’ve got the look,” she said.

Athera raised an eyebrow. “The look?”

Sylvie nodded. “You know, frustrated, annoyed, maybe a little bit angry.”

“Perceptive,” Athera said dryly.

“I’m not wrong.”

“No, you aren’t.” Athera finished her last bit of stew and stood. The last thing she needed was for this girl to point out just how hopelessly lost she was.

“Sorry,” Sylvie said quickly. “What I mean is I can help. It’s something with the catalyst, right? I want to help.”

Athera almost laughed her off. As far as she knew Sylvie had no alchemical experience, but then again Athera herself had known next to nothing just a few short months prior.

“Fine. Tell me what you’re thinking.”

Sylvie flashed a smile at her and motioned for her to follow. Questioning everything she thought she knew about herself, Athera followed. They headed back for the engine room, Sylvie stepping in confidently. The girl was a fence, Athera remembered, she had probably been on the ship plenty of times.

“The biggest problem with that catalyst is that it’s nearly out of fuel, right?” Sylvie pointed at the emerald catalyst, lying limp and useless on the desk.

“It’s going to shatter soon, yes. They don’t use fuel.”

Sylvie tilted her head in consideration. “Then where does the energy come from?”

“It--” Athera broke off. The energy of the catalysts was locked within the gemstone itself--each catalyst would slowly tear itself apart as it broke it down into usable energy. “The emerald itself,” she said at last.

“Ok, so the gemstone is the fuel source,” Sylvie shrugged. “The point is that it’s going to run out, right?” She scooped up her goggles and held the catalyst up to the lens.

“With those cracks? I doubt it could fully heal a cut at this point. Let alone whatever is happening to Geralt.”

Sylvie set the catalyst back down and drew something thin and red from her pocket.

“How familiar are you with gemstones?” she asked suddenly.

“Not very,” Athera said. She would have thought that much had been obvious. Still, the bit of crystal Sylvie held seemed almost familiar.

“I got this from Geralt,” Sylvie explained. “Here, look at it.” she held out the shard for Athera who recoiled.

“You…you what?” she managed. “Sylvie, we don’t know what those do! What if it had hurt him? Or even you!”

The girl just folded her arms. “Are you going to take a look at it or not?”

Athera sighed and took the crystal from the girl. It was thin and jagged and completely unremarkable to her eyes.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to show me, Sylvie,” Athera said as the silence stretched on.

“Look at the light.” Sylvie pushed the oil lamp closer to the crystal and Athera finally saw what the young mechanic did.

Instead of refracting and reflecting the light like a normal prism would, this seemed to draw it into itself like some sort of red void.

“How…” Athera trailed off.

“I don’t know. When we were trying to escape from that prison we found another woman covered in these crystals like Geralt, except hers glowed.”

Athera held the small crystal to the emerald, comparing the way light seemed to be swallowed by it to the refraction and tiny rainbows of the emerald. “It glows when it’s attached to Geralt,” she realized. The faintest traces of an idea began to form as she attached the nodes of the emerald catalyst to the crystal sample. She tapped it to activate the catalyst and a gentle green glow lit up the room moments before the corrupted crystal flashed bright red. Athera pushed them apart immediately, a part of her surprised that the red crystal wasn’t hot.

“It’s taking in energy,” Sylvie said softly. “Just like their catalyst does.”

Athera fought back the grin that was threatening to find its way to the surface. They hadn’t figured it all out yet. “Can I see your goggles again?” she asked instead.

Sylvie handed them over and Athera held the emerald to the lens. Far more fissures ran through the gemstone than before, but she had expected that. She turned her gaze on the crystal. It had dimmed, but she could make out a tiny sliver of light at its core pulsing rhythmically.

“I was thinking you could use it instead of the emerald,” Sylvie said softly. “We have plenty of it and it’s already charged.”

Athera glanced up to see Sylvie’s eyes swimming with hope, almost pleading that it could work. Her heart grew heavier as she slowly pointed at the little crystal shard. The little pulsing core of light had vanished.

“It doesn’t hold energy, it eats it.” Even if Athera managed to remove the emerald and slot this bit of crystal in, she hardly knew how it would react to the casing.

“What if we treat it like an infection?” Sylvie asked suddenly. “We could just cut it out. The little bit I took didn’t seem to hurt him.”

She paused as she pictured the flush or red crystal at the base of Geralt’s neck. “They’re beneath his skin and too close to arteries. Cutting into him would likely kill him.” The bit of crystal she had seemed to glint mockingly up at her. Why did it look so familiar?

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Sylvie glared at the little crystal. “So there’s nothing we can do?”

“I…” Athera trailed off as the image of another crystal, red and buried into the base of the neck of a stone figure flashed through her mind. “Actually Sylvie, I think you were on the right track.”

“About cutting it out?”

“No, about reversing the energy flow. In the alchemical guild they were working on a new type of catalyst that they could recharge. I thought that they were using rubies, but what if it was this?”

“And you think you can make one?”

“Maybe,” Athera looked up from the crystals to meet Sylvie’s gaze. “But if I’m going to do this, I need you to keep Tarquin distracted when he gets back.”

Sylvie’s eyes narrowed instantly. “What are you planning?”

“I’ll let you know if it works.” Athera fought to keep her tone even, but she was almost certain Sylvie could hear her heartbeat in her throat.

“Athera…” Sylvie said slowly.

“Please. It’s Geralt’s best chance.” It would also be their best shot against Alaric if she got it to work.

Sylvie didn’t say anything, but she disappeared, leaving Athera alone with her alchemy kit. It would have to be enough.

Athera swallowed and flipped one of Sylvie’s extra magnifying lenses down on the goggles. Were those fissures in the red gemstone? She frowned and held it up to the light, no…the faintest bit of light had formed a network throughout the gemstone. As she watched, it pulsed, sending tiny bits of light racing through it like a heartbeat. They were fading though, growing darker with every pulse.

Athera grabbed the dagger that was standard with most alchemy kits. Its tip was dulled on purpose, the blade itself was sharp. Before she could talk herself out of it, she pressed her thumb to the blade. It hurt less than she had anticipated, but when she put the knife back down, tiny crimson beads of blood were already welling up in the wound.

She reached for the crimson shard of crystal and found herself hesitating. Although she knew she was imagining it, the steady pulse of the crystal seemed hungry.

She grabbed the crystal and pressed it between her injured thumb and forefinger. Almost the instant she did, sharp pain stabbed through her and she couldn’t suppress the gasp of pain. Her heartbeat quickened, pushing all of her energy to the wound and the thing that seemed to be pulling every scrap of energy from her. Athera grit her teeth and tried to force her fingers apart, but they barely twitched.

No! She tried again, but it was like the crystal had bit into her wound, somehow freezing her hand in place and leaving her helplessly bound.

“No, no, no,” Athera muttered to herself. This couldn’t be happening, not like this! With her good hand, she seized the bit of crystal and pulled, wrenching it from her unresponsive fingers.

The moment the crystal was no longer in contact with her blood the violent, pulsing pain faded and she was left panting as though she had just sprinted from Skystead itself. She sank back into her chair, waiting for her heart to stop hammering against her ribs and desperately trying to catch her breath. Even as her heart calmed and she regained control of her breathing, her wounded hand felt numb.

She glanced at it and had to resist doing a double take. Her cut was still bleeding tiny droplets of blood, but now the edges of the wound were a strange silvery white that snaked out in a winding pattern no thicker than a hair’s breadth.

“What?” Athera whispered to herself. She flexed her hand, relief flooding her as it responded. She had more pressing matters to attend to right then anyway.

The crystal on the desk was now pulsing vibrantly, contentedly. Even in the light from the furnace, it shone like a tiny ember, giving off a bit of light itself, and not the weak glowing it had managed when she had first charged it with the emerald.

She focused on that emerald. It would eat itself for energy, but what if another source of energy was available to it? Alaric’s embedded catalyst had been darker than the shard of crystal before her, almost purple in the right light, as though there had been something blue behind it.

The light from the furnace had faded to an ashen red by the time Athera sat back to admire her work. Before her lay the catalyst, still with far too many fissures, but now, in the center fissure that Athera had widened herself, was what looked to be a pulsing ember. Its glow had not faded since Athera had charged it, and it hadn’t cracked the emerald like she had feared it might.

A knock sounded at the door and she started.

“Athera?” Tarquin’s familiar voice called.

She stood. For just a moment, her vision went black and she found herself swaying on the spot. She grabbed the edge of the table to stabilize herself and force herself up straight. It wouldn’t do for Tarquin to see just how weakened charging the catalyst fragment had made her.

The door creaked open just as she reached for the handle.

“Did you fall asleep in here?” he chuckled. He broke off as his eyes locked on her. “Athera? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” she said bracingly. Tarquin stared at her and she reached for the catalyst. “I think I’ve got this working!”

His expression morphed to one of relief. “Really? How?”

Right. That question.

“Nevermind that,” Athera said. She stepped towards the door and stumbled.

Tarquin grabbed her before she could topple over. “Athera! What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I’m fine. Come one, we’ve got to--”

“This isn’t nothing. You can’t even stand up straight.” Tarquin glanced at the catalyst in her hand and the soft reddish-brown glow that was coming off it. He reached for it and Athera almost snatched it away before letting him take it from her.

“Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” he said softly.

Athera sighed and managed to push herself out of his grasp. Mercifully, her legs cooperated. “That catalyst was never going to survive long enough to heal Geralt.”

Tarquin just stared down at the pulsing glimmer of red in the center of the emerald. “How?” he asked finally.

“I realized that the gemstone Alaric was using on his gollum wasn’t a ruby,” Athera said, trying to find some way to explain. “It was easy--”

“It was easy?” Tarquin asked in disbelief. “Look at yourself, you look ready to fall over.”

A shred of anger flared in her chest. “Do you want to fix Geralt or not? This is the only thing I can think of to help him! It should have just enough energy to heal whatever Miriam did to him.”

She strode for the doorway, ignoring the dark spots flickering at the edges of her vision.

She didn’t have the catalyst. She realized it as she threw the door open, but Tarquin’s steps behind her told her he was at least following.

Geralt was lying in the center of the room when Athera pushed the door open. Nestor and Sylvie were settled in the corner while a couple of other pirates were talking in hushed voices on the other side of the room.

Sylvie’s eyes widened when she got sight of Tarquin trailing Athera and she shot an apologetic glance at Athera.

Athera shrugged, she had kept him away long enough for her to at least finish the thing.

Geralt made a strange choking sound and everyone in the room froze. His crystals still had a faint glow to them, but it seemed like they had faded. Geralt himself was sickly pale. The thin veins of crystal were clearly visible just beneath his skin and his own veins seemed darker and wrong, as though the life blood in them weren’t receiving the proper oxygen.

He drew in another ragged breath and the pirates Athera didn’t recognize relaxed. She frowned. How long had he been like this?

“Tarquin,” she said, hoping her voice sounded surer than she felt. “Let me see the catalyst.”

He handed it to her wordlessly. His gaze was fixed on Geralt, lingering over the pulsing crystals that had spread to just below his collarbone.

“What have ya got there?” one of the pirates asked.

“Catalyst,” Athera said shortly. Where should she even put it? Normally these were supposed to go on top of or next to a wound, but the crystals coated nearly half of Geralt’s body. She settled with a spot just above where his heart should be. If she could purge anything, Geralt’s heart would be a good place to start.

“You’re going to fix him?” another one of the pirates asked. Even Nestor and Sylvie, who knew very well what the catalyst looked like, had perked up.

Athera didn’t reply, she couldn’t. What if she was wrong? What if this just made things worse or even killed him instead?

“Come on, everyone out,” Tarquin said gruffly as he folded his arms.

“But if she’s about to heal him, I want to be here when he wakes up!” one of the pirates protested.

“She’s not going to be able to do anything with all of you distracting her like this. Go. Everyone out.”

The group left reluctantly, Sylvie and Nestor following them at a bit of a distance.

“Thanks,” Athera said as she busied herself with rearranging the catalyst. It was best to have it touch bare skin, she remembered, and…something. Why had none of the books focused on medical alchemy?

“If this is really his only chance might as well make sure things can go as smoothly as they can.” His voice was oddly flat and Athera swallowed down a rush of annoyance.

“It’s our best chance against Alaric too. We need to understand what he’s doing.”

“By copying it?”

She finished adjusting the catalyst. Among the brighter red glow of Geralt’s crystals, the emerald seemed muddied, nearly brown instead of the vibrant green it had started out as. She tapped it and a soft green glow began to light up the room before a flash of red overtook it. The catalyst grew brighter, now a muddy red light against the fading red of Geralt’s own crystals.

Those crystals flickered weakly. One of the large ones’s flared up suddenly and shattered with a tiny pop and a brush of red crystalline shards.

“It’s working,” Tarquin said softly.

Athera nodded breathlessly, but then the glow of the catalyst began to fade and Geralt gave a low groan. A new crack that she could see without any goggles formed across the surface of the emerald. The tiny shard of red crystal in the middle had stopped glowing completely, leaving the emerald to start breaking down just as it normally would.

“It’s not enough,” she realized. All that energy she had given the crystal, and it had already chewed through it? Soft red light began to fill the room as the glow in Geralt’s chest redoubled.

It needed more. She dug her fingernails into her wounded thumb, tearing at the scab. Strangely, it hurt more than it had when she had initially cut it and the droplet of blood that welled up seemed sluggish.

“Athera, no!” Tarquin said, but she had already pressed her finger to catalyst.

It was as though millions of insects were biting every bit of her. Her thumb grew hot and she sunk to her knees, feeling waves of her energy fleeing her body.

She drew in a shuddering breath just as the red light above her faded. It was working. It just needed a little more.

“Athera!” Tarquin seized her and dragged her away from the catalyst. As soon as her thumb lost contact with the catalyst, she gasped and a surge of warmth went through her.

“What are you thinking?” Tarquin demanded.

Athera ignored him and tried instead to fight her way to her feet. The catalyst was glowing faintly, but even as she watched, that glow was starting to fade. Nearly all of the crystals on Geralt had vanished into fine red dust that coated his chest and neck, but a couple of larger ones still jutted out.

“It needs just a little more,” she said. She stumbled towards the catalyst and Tarquin grabbed her.

“Absolutely not,” he said sharply. Athera glared at him, but it was difficult when there were two blurry versions of him.

“I’ve almost got it! It just needs a little push,” she protested.

Tarquin drew in a deep breath, but he didn’t let go of her. “Not from you,” he said at last. “It’s already taken far too much from you.”

“If I don’t--” Athera broke off as Tarquin stepped over Geralt’s bedside.

“Ok. How do I do this?” he asked.

“Are you sure, it--”

“The only alternative seems to be you trying to kill yourself with it, so yes, I’m sure,” he said curtly. Then he sighed.

“It just needs some blood,” she said slowly. “Just like we saw with Alaric.”

“Lovely little abomination, that,” Tarquin said under his breath. He took one of the sharp prob ends and pricked his finger with it. A bead of blood welled up in the wound immediately that he regarded at for a moment before pressing it to the catalyst.

Tarquin gasped out and the glow of the catalyst grew brighter. He stumbled, sinking down to his knees in an effort to not fall down. His skin started to go ashen, but Geralt’s was brightening, regaining a bit of its normal hue.

The last couple of crystals shattered in a flurry of red sparks, but Tarquin didn’t pull away. He was staring at the catalyst, transfixed with an unblinking stare.

“That’s enough, Tarquin,” Athera said. “You can let go now.”

He didn’t.

Panic seized her and she grabbed his arm, forcibly pulling him away from the catalyst. It was like he was glued to it, his muscles rigid and the veins in his neck beginning to bulge.

“Tarquin!” she said again. He glanced at her that time, but didn’t move.

Athera grabbed the catalyst this time, she wasn’t strong enough to move Tarquin on her own. The thing was hot in her grasp, almost enough to burn her, but it pulled away freely.

The instant he was no longer touching it, Tarquin blinked and looked around the room as though he had just woken up.

“Are you alright?” Athera asked.

“Fine,” Tarquin said. His gaze fixed on the catalyst and he glared at it. “That thing is not natural.”

“No,” Athera agreed. She tucked the catalyst back into her pocket, safely out of sight.

Behind her, Geralt coughed.

“Where…what?” he asked groggily. He shivered, but he was tracking their movement with his eyes and was no longer that horrible pale color.

“How are you feeling, mate?” Tarquin asked.

Geralt stared at him. “Where are we?” he asked finally. He touched his chest and looked at the faint red dust that was stuck to his fingers. “What is this stuff?”

“We’re back on the ship,” Athera said.

Geralt regarded her with his head tilted. “The crew?”

“We can go get them,” she said. She stood and black spots danced in her vision before she managed to steady herself. She held out her hand for Tarquin and pulled the blacksmith to his feet.

“What is wrong with you two?” Geralt asked. He was struggling to sit up and pointed an accusing finger at them. “You look like you’re both a short walk from Death’s doorstep.”

“We might be,” Tarquin said. He moved for the door, swaying slightly.

“What is going on?” Geralt demanded. He started to fight his way to his feet.

“Oi!” Tarquin called into the hallway. “He’s awake.” A couple of the pirates from earlier appeared in the doorway.

“Geralt!” One of them said with relief filling her voice. “It’s so good to see you up.”

The pirate gazed at them in confusion. “I’m happy to see you too, Aurelia. Now will someone please tell me what’s going on?”