Cyril burst into a thick bush, breaking half the branches, and fell into a ravine. Without letting go of the corpse, he drove his bare ass over the ground, covered with prickly grasses, and stopped at the bottom of the ravine.
Here he finally threw off the mechanic and could catch his breath.
'Fuck.' He swore to himself. 'Everything went wrong!'
Kalim fell next, whining piteously. He grimaced, clutching his shoulder, and breathed like a dog with his mouth open.
"We're lost." Kalim said, and closed his eyes. "No one will come here, everyone is afraid of the forest."
Cyril paid no attention to him. He was thinking how to fix the disaster. Cyril didn't know how information was transmitted in this medieval world. He didn't know if the agent of Fate had time to remember him, or if he could draw a plausible portrait. Acting a fool with a broken watch, Cyril tried to flit around as much as possible and snuggle up to the agents as close as possible, so that they could not remember him.
Of course, he wasn't afraid of the chase itself or the young agent's revenge. If they had been able to finish him off, he would have come to the Bloodhounds' lair and ordered them to shoot. Cyril had already made sure that the bullets couldn't kill him. On the other hand, a mechanic could create a good cannon powerful enough to punch a hole in his stomach.
In order to implement his plan, Cyril had to hide, and the extra attention now only hindered. So Cyril was sorry that he had given chase.
'I could say it was the alchemist's fault.' Cyril thought. 'But blaming others won't get me far.'
"Gurgle." Cyril called suddenly, and the elemental materialized out of the humid forest air.
[Master?] Gurgle asked.
Kalim couldn't believe his eyes. Still grimacing with pain, he closed his eyes again. Had he lost so much blood that he was hallucinating?
The fire above increased, trying to engulf the stable roof. The glow of the fire was enough to make out not only the elemental, but even individual bushes.
"Put out the fire and eat all the corpses down the street."
This time Kalim doubted that he was seeing an illusion. Either that, or Cyril ordered his vision. Hallucination blew a few bubbles in it's watery body and looked at the mechanic's corpse.
"Don't touch this one." Cyril answered the silent question.
[Whatever you say, master.]
Was it Kalim's imagination, or was the elemental upset? It blew a few bubbles and seemed to get lower, but then it took on a brisk form again and floated past the alchemist. The alchemist felt the coolness emanating from the two-meter-high talking puddle.
Gurgle climbed the slope of the ravine, leaving a path of blooming flowers behind him. Kalim watched him go, then turned to Cyril. He wanted to ask a few questions, but then the pain came back. Kalim decided to put the question aside and returned to a more important topic.
Cyril was lost in thoughts again.
"Cyril." He called. "I'm hurt. We need to get home before I bleed to death."
Cyril looked at him and nodded. He faced the same problem as the alchemist. Wanting to remain inconspicuous, Cyril has just released his biggest secret. He hoped that no one would connect the appearance of a hungry elemental with a naked body snatcher, and that the owner of the burned-out stable would hug Ignis, whoever he was, with words like: "a miracle occured!"
He smiled ruefully at his own thoughts, and for a moment thought of his son. In the last New Year, still Kirill that time, an exemplary father and cafe manager, dressed up as Santa Claus to give a miracle to his child.
'He would have liked it here.' Cyril thought. 'There are fucking miracles all around. One herbalist is worth a lot.'
"Your alchemy is cool." He said aloud. "But of course you didn't take the first aid kit."
"First aid kit?" Kalim did not understand. "What is it?"
"Well, bandages, ointments." Cyril shrugged.
"I didn't plan on going to war." Kalim said, and grimaced again. "Help me up."
Cyril rose and held out his hand. Kalim started to let go of the wound to reach out with his right hand, but blood spurted out and he shook his head. Cyril came around behind and grabbed the alchemist by the armpits, pulling him to his feet.
"You wasn't going to war, but took the bombs with you?" Cyril chuckled.
Kalim got to his feet.
"Thank you." He said, looking deep into the shrubbery. "I kept them just in case. Today I experienced it for the first time."
Kalim smiled contentedly. He had carried these phials with him for a long time and even forgot about them, but today he managed to test alchemy in battle. Kalim was happier than ever. He really proved that his science can kill enemies. If only he could convince the king of that…
The fire above became noticeably weaker, then went out. Cyril could hear the owner of the house and the unknown Ignis having fun. Horses neighed and a faint voice muttered something about Fate, but Cyril didn't care about them again.
The elemental had done its job and was on its way to devour the captain first, then feast around the workshop.
Kalim took out a new match and struck it in the gloom of the forest. If he could revive the corpse, it would be another victory for the alchemists. As far as he knew, mages could still raise the dead, creating mindless undead from them, but no one had ever revived a human.
"I'll apply some herb to stop the bleeding." He said in a confident voice.
Kalim's voice was stronger now, no longer the whine of a petulant baby.
"I told you you were a herbalist." Cyril chuckled.
Kalim laughed. Cyril was right, because right now the alchemist couldn't do anything without a bunch of grass. He was laughing so contagiously, giving in to a sense of elation and victory, that Cyril couldn't help but laugh too.
The trip was not easy, both received a portion of stress, so a simple, sincere laugh helped to relieve the tension. A minute later, Kalim returned to the edge of the ravine with a burning match in his hand and a bunch of herbs.
Cyril watched as the herbalist sat down next to him, put some leaves in his mouth, and began to chew. He stuck the match in the ground between himself and Cyril. After chewing the leaves, Kalim spat the resulting mess onto his palm and finally removed his hand from the wound.
Blood spurted from the wound, but Kalim pressed the wound with the mess of leaves. The green color quickly changed to purple, and the mess turned into a kind of jelly.
"This will hold the blood for a while." Kalim said, then grimaced. "But it doesn't help with pain."
"Don't tell me about pain." Cyril chuckled. He took an oil lamp, passed it to Kalim, who lit it with the dying match. "Can we go?"
"I think so."
The sky was getting brighter and they had to hurry. Cyril swung the corpse over his shoulder again and gave Kalim a hand. The alchemist grunted and got to his feet. Blood stopped oozing from the wound.
'The dawn is quick here.' Cyril thought.
"That way." Kalim said, and they both started down the path to the right.
Cyril clutched a crumpled sheet of an old map in one hand, and held the corpse in the other. He looked at the thick trees and thick bushes and couldn't understand one thing.
"You know." He said. "When I was collecting herbs for you that time, I didn't notice that the forest was alive. It's still not moving very much."
"That's because you weren't paying attention." Kalim smiled. He had long since removed his hood and was looking around with the air of a connoisseur. "The forest lives and moves slowly, but if you make it angry, it can wake up. During the war, the forest killed a lot of people. I think it's resting now."
"How do I make it angry?"
Cyril knew that the gun idea might not work. The resurrection potion might be as much a dream as the philosopher's stone and not work.
'Well, as far as I know, it was just an idea, a metaphor on Earth.' He thought. 'We didn't even have magic.'
Cyril knew that even if the potion worked, there was no guarantee that he would be killed by heavy artillery or crushed by a train. All this had to be checked.
'So just in case, consider the option with ents.'
While he was thinking, Kalim kindly listed ways to anger the forest.
"You can cut down more trees, trample down more grasses, kill a couple of animals." Kalim shrugged.
"Start a fire."
"Right." Kalim nodded. "We'll turn here."
They turned onto another path, and Cyril caught a glimpse of the city lights ahead.
'If no one enters the forest because they're afraid,' Cyril thought, 'then who trod these paths?'
He wanted to ask the herbalist about it, but Kalim looked at his naked body and asked a question.
"Not a scratch on you, Cyril. You see in the dark, break down a strong fence with your bare hands, enter the forest without fear, command an elemental. Who are you?"
The alchemist's face was curious, but Cyril didn't see the fear in it, as he had before the recent chase.
"I don't know yet." He said, and shivered in the cold. "A week ago, I was a simple man. Long to walk?"
"About ten minutes, I think. This is one of the trails leading to the slums."
Kalim pulled his hood up again as they emerged from the forest into a street that smelled of fish and mud, and the thick trees closed in behind them.
"I fucking want to get dressed." Cyril grumbled, stepping into a cold puddle.