had with Elric, Ing-Radi, and others, he'd never found a concrete link between the healing tasks that needed to be done and the spells that were cast. And so he'd been unable to successfully translate any healing spells into his language of equations. Healing spells were the most complex of any used by mages. In Ing-Radi's case they were songs she hummed with barely any variation in volume or pitch. Her explanation for how they worked was equally obscure. You must understand the damage. You must find the shape of what needs to be done. And you must become that shape. In her case, the shape was the shape of sound.
Galen could accomplish the first step, understanding the damage. But he didn't know how the necessary healing actions could comprise a "shape," or how he could become that "shape."
In the past, when he had tried his uncertain translations of healing spells, none had any significant effect. If this was to be his last act as an apprentice mage, he would try his best to do what was required, to at least in some small way undo the horrible wrong he had done.
He took a deep breath and cleared his mind. He visualized Elizar's arm, the damage the organelles had shown him within it. He visualized the healing that needed to occur-the nerves, the skin, the capillaries. He searched for a shape to the healing, a sound, a word, an equation. He imagined the microscopic organelles moving about. Like the chrysalis, like the implanted tech, they were organic technology, a hybrid of the biological and the electronic. He visualized them providing chemicals to block neuronal signals, stimulating particular cells to divide, gathering and liquefying dead cells. He felt no echo within the chrysalis, no sense of an order being received and carried out.
He was simply breaking