How can a Mushroom Mage be a healer?

Simple. She can’t.

“Marjorie! We could use some more mana ointment over here!”

The witch pulled her nose from her notes, adjusting the mushroom she used as a hat as she rummaged through her reserves. With as many as her arms could carry, she pushed past the curtain that separated her office from the rest of the medical tent. The water mage who had called her, Jane, sighed when she saw the amount she was carrying, opening a large and empty drawer in the cupboard she stood by labeled “mana ointment.”

“Really? If you have enough free time to make hundreds of those ointments, then I really should appoint you as a front mage.”

Majorie waved her now free hands. “Oh no no, really. I specialize in research and tool development anyways, it wouldn’t make any sense to put me on the front!”

Jane sighed again, shaking her head. “You know full well that her highness wouldn’t have appointed you to the tents near the front lines of this war if you weren’t capable of saving lives. You’re not just here for research, so don’t go pretending like you’re useless.”

She went silent, rubbing her arm. Just as she was making her way back to her office, a soldier with a cut on his brow burst into the tent, breathing heavily. The two witches immediately went into focus mode.

“How many?” Jane demanded.

“Three injuried, four deceased.”

The mood was grim, but there would be time to mourn once the war was won.

“Marjorie, arrange seven tables. Tend to the deceased, I’ll handle the wounded.” She turned back to the solider. “Bring them in as quickly and carefully as you can. And get yourself a seat, I’ll heal you next.”

He began to protest, but Jane’s disapproving glare silenced him swiftly. He turned his head back out of the tent and issued orders to his men, the influx of patients rushing Marjorie to move faster.

Curtains separated the injured from the deceased, and as Marjorie closed the curtains with the dead to her back, her mood changed. She apologized to Jane in her mind, before facing the bodies.

First, she collected the dog-tags bearing their names. The names read “Kalo,” “Yvon,” and “Hanson.” She wrapped the chains of the necklaces around her hand, before arranging the tables the dead lay on into a triangle formation, trapping herself in the middle. With her magic, she planted an invisible spore in the ground and provided it with the amount of mana necessary to grow to the height of the tables, sitting on her knees with it as her stool. Finally, she clasped her hands together, their names between her palms, and, closing her eyes, she began the ritual.

Her coat which resembled a trypophobic’s nightmare, started releasing thousands of spores, all flocking to the corpses as Marjorie guided them with her magic. They planted themselves in every wound, every opening, until thousands of dormant shroom species were embedded in each corpse. Then, at her command, they grew at alarmingly fast rates, ripping apart the bodies as they used the dormant mana within them to grow faster and stronger. When she opened her eyes, the mushrooms almost breached the roof of the tent, each of them practically oozing with power.

Majorie harvested this power, cutting and collecting the mushrooms from the corpses and shrinking them to fit in her bags, taking a bite from each one to fuel her mana for the day. This was how a Mushroom Mage operated. And it was for this very reason it was a taboo practice.

“All done here, Ms. Jane,” Marjory called, leaving the partition to enter the main hub of the tent. Jane herself emerged at nearly the same time, giving her a nod.

“Good. Now, I have to go meet the suppliers near the supporting line’s borders. You’re in charge till I get back.”

Marjorie nodded, a grim look settling in on her as Jane left the medical tent. Again, she internally apologized to her colleague, before looking to the soldier with the now bandaged brow wound sitting on a stool outside the partitions that concealed the injured. Marjorie internally apologized to him, as well.

She approached him, the soldier fully taking her in for the first time, slightly grimacing at her strange attire. “What was your name, sir?”

“William,” he responded. She held his face in her hands, pretending to inspect his bandages, just as he realized: “Wait…’was’?”

Just then, she kissed his forehead, planting a spore in his brain that bloomed and consumed his frontal lobe, killing him quickly and painlessly. He went slack, drooling as she leaned him against the wall behind him. She unclipped his dog tag and added it to the others in her hand, before entering the partition that held the other injured. She repeated this process to the already sleeping patients, most likely put to sleep by Jane’s magic to ease their healing. Made her job easier.

The newly dead began to sit up, stretching their broken limbs that were being quickly stitched together by growing fungi. They stood, lining up in front of Marjorie as she fixed their appearances so nothing was out of place. The soldiers were now immortal, if no longer human, and as the only Mushroom Mage left unexecuted, Marjorie was the only one capable of this feat.

As the soldiers departed to continue fighting on the front line, she couldn’t help reminiscing on when she first received her orders, and why she was doing these treasonous acts in the first place. From under her dress, she pulled a locket out, opening it and holding the photo up to her face.

“Don’t worry, your highness.” Marjorie strengthened her resolve, looking out the half-open tent flap to the world outside. “No matter how many die at our hands, your kingdom will never fall. I’ll make sure of it.”