Nature and Blight

by Matt Rogers

  Chapter 33: Clearview’s Vision

  The Siege (Castle Nirvana)

  The interior of the room was warming to the senses. He knew peace and love were its components. He dreaded informing them of his knowledge.

  “They have drilled a well. Blight uses a carcass to poison our water.”

  The others looked on with astonishment. What had been accomplished should not have been possible.

  “Are you sure, Hawkeye?”

  He chose his words cautiously. The one who asked was a force of his own.

  “Yes, General, I am. Longshot viewed the shaft himself. They have bored to water level. It’s what’s causing our dilemma.”

  The players in the room were the best of the realm. They were everything others aspired to be and appeared in various clothing. One of them wore a robe.

  “They bore through rock?”

  “Yes, Councilor.”

  “Then they had help.”

  “Yes, Councilor.”

  Clearview’s gift was not one of divination. He could not see the future any more than an Ogre could count to two. What he had was better.

  “They have an Elfin.”

  His mind was logical. He saw reality through clear lenses. It was not always a gift. Sometimes it was a curse.

  “Buy this book!”

  “Why?”

  “It will show you the way to financial freedom!”

  “How?”

  “Buy the book and find out!”

  He obviously didn’t buy the book. Logically there was no way a person who’d gleaned the secret to success would share it with the masses. If everyone obtained success then, by definition, no one did. If all were equal how could success be measured? It didn’t mean he didn’t take something away from the encounter, though.

  “You have what we in the medical profession like to call a predisposition to heart attack.”

  “Oh my God! Is it dangerous?”

  “Yes, a heart attack is a dangerous event.”

  “But I don’t feel bad.”

  “You won’t. The symptoms will not appear until it is too late.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Take these pills for the rest of your life.”

  He’d gone into the new sciences. They were all the rage. They were also highly profitable.

  “So, I just drink this once a day and I will ward off the plague?”

  “Yes, but you must never miss a dose.”

  The idea hit him like a thunderstorm. Give people what they wanted. For a price, of course.

  “This will save me from the deadly disease?”

  “Yes, but only if you take it every day. If you fail to remember then nothing can save you.”

  The best part of the racket was the results. He dealt in warding off death. If he were unsuccessful who could point out the fact?

  “My husband died.”

  “Yes, I heard, I am very sorry for your loss.”

  “But you said the medicine would prevent the illness.”

  “It will, but for some people the dose must be higher. Come, I will re-prescribe your proper amount.”

  “Will it cost more?”

  “Yes, but for you I will make an exception. I will only charge half the current rate.”

  He’d developed a reputation. He was the man to visit if one wished to avoid the ailments of life. He was young, prosperous and hopelessly in love. She’d entered his office with a question.

  “My child is sick. Can you help him?”

  She’d left with his heart.

  Her name was Donna Benbrook. She was slight of height, pale of tone and the most lovely creature he’d ever seen. She was also married.

  “My husband is away. He is a soldier in the King’s army. We are not very happy.”

  He learned a lot from listening. He could spot truth within seconds and formulate the reason why some people lied. The differences were minute but important.

  “I need some more sleeping formula.”

  “You’ve already used the last batch?”

  “Um… no, I spilled it. Can I please have some more?”

  Most people lied to further their interests. Some people lied to further another’s.

  “Do you have any more of that pain remedy?”

  “Are you still having headaches?”

  “Um… yes, they just won’t seem to go away.”

  He wasn’t a fool, he could very well see with his own eyes a certain segment of the population walking around in a haze, oblivious to their surroundings, doped up on the opiates he prescribed to others, others who passed his prescriptions along to an addicted public. If he would’ve cared it might have made a difference.

  “How much do you need?”

  “How much do you have?”

  He was living the high life. Everything within reach. Everything, that is, except the one thing he wanted most.

  “How is your boy?”

  “He’s fine, thanks to you. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

  He knew. He dreamt of her every night. His every waking moment was filled with thoughts of him and his adorable Donna living happily ever after in a cottage by the lake whispering sweet nothings in each other’s ear and laying together till the end of times.

  “My husband is returning.”

  Unfortunately there was one who stood in the way.

  “Are you still unhappy?”

  He’d been on the receiving end, privilege to information others would find confidential.

  “Yes, ours is a loveless marriage.”

  He saw the opportunity and ran with it.

  “I can help with that.”

  The idea was simple. Remove the obstacle and receive the prize. His instructions were specific.

  “Pour this in his drink.”

  “What will it do?”

  “It will reignite the love of those who lost it.”

  He waited in anticipation. His dream would come true. If one stood in the way of his every desire then one would need to die so his love could prevail. Everything was going according to plan. Until it didn’t.

  “Doctor!”

  He woke with her memory fresh in his mind. A glorious feeling filled with laughter and delight.

  “Doctor! Are you in there?”

  He opened the door to a stranger. A stranger he knew everything about.

  “Please hurry! It is my wife, she will not awaken!”

  He ran with dread, knowing the truth but refusing to believe. When he looked reality raised its head. He had done the unthinkable, the incomprehensible, the immoral. She had done what he asked, delivered the dose to the one who needed it most.

  “Please help her! She is my life!”

  He learned a truth that terrible morning.

  “I am so sorry, she is dead.”

  Sometimes the cure was worse than the malady.

  “Councilor?”

  “Yes, My Queen?”

  “What is your advice?”

  They had been debating what to do. The well Longshot spied upon was in the rear of Blight’s encampment. They’d already discarded a mounted attack. They might be able to plug the well but would find it impossible to return. The numbers needed to reach the destination were such they would put the castle’s defenses on perilous grounds. The cost of victory would be the price of defeat. They could not afford to lose very few let alone the amount needed for a successful attack so they were exploring over other scenarios, ones with a semblance of hope.

  “Can Goliath reach the well from here?”

  The Giant was one consideration.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes” came his thunderous reply.

  “Okay, give it a toss.”

  The boulder thrown was of proportionate size to fill the hole. They would first need to remove the carcass but were attempting to ascertain if the Giant could then stopper the shaft afterwards.

  “Did I throw it far enough?”

  The one he asked had the best
eyes on the wall.

  “Um… no, but you hit some Trolls. Made a nice puddle out of them, too.”

  The Giant was not happy. He didn’t like pulverizing Trolls. He didn’t enjoy pulverizing anything. But Mother Nature asked so he responded and the greatest Skee-ball event the world ever saw took place in her realm.

  “What about that one?”

  “Um.. nope, just some Orcs that time. You know, you’d think they’d see it coming?”

  Hawkeye wasn’t exactly enthused either. Now, he didn’t particularly care if some Ogres or Orcs happened to get flattened by a boulder but he wasn’t all too keen on watching it take place.

  “Yuck!”

  “What?”

  “Um… that one kind of hit at an angle.”

  “So?”

  “Well, it sort of removed a head.”

  “A head?”

  “Uh-huh, yep, a head. A Troll head to be precise. And it appears Troll torsos go on living a little while longer when their heads are removed.”

  “Huh?”

  “It ran around and spurted Troll juice on everyone.”

  “Yuck!”

  “Yep, that seems to be the word for it.”

  After exhausting a few large boulders it was discovered Goliath could not reach the well so they stopped squishing monsters and returned to discuss other considerations.

  “Can we boil the water?”

  “Yes, that’s what we’re doing now but we’re eventually going to run out of firewood and Mother Nature needs to reserve her powers to help with the fatigue situation.”

  The prospects were looking dim. Somehow they needed to alter the situation. If the water could not be decontaminated they would either perish or admit defeat. Defeat was not an option for some in the room. They owed her everything.

  “Is there a doctor in the house?”

  He didn’t move, he couldn’t, he was indisposed with depression.

  “Please, somebody, fetch a doctor! My child is dying!”

  The sickness had come with the weather. The bitter cold kept people indoors, the same air circulated through various lungs, the microscopic pores infected the weakest of them. The children were particularly susceptible, their immune systems insufficient against the disease.

  He sat still as others ran amok. He was not of the world. He was preparing for the other. He merely needed courage to go through with the deed. The bar seemed a logical choice. Alcohol had the effect of dulling the senses and, to him, a dulling was the prescription he desired.

  “You ready for another?”

  “Yes.”

  The bartender nodded, reached for a bottle and filled the decanter with liquid oblivion. His eyes watched as his mind wandered. He’d killed her. He didn’t mean to, he meant to kill the other. It didn’t matter. She was dead and he would soon follow. Everything was going according to plan. And then it didn’t.

  “Doctor?”

  The man was vaguely familiar.

  “It’s me, Robert Benbrook. Donna was my wife.”

  He remembered what he wished to forget.

  “Please, I need your help. My son has caught the disease.”

  The child again. The one who brought love to his life. The one who brought tragedy with it. The one he’d taken a mother from.

  “I am no longer a doctor.”

  The man looked at him like he was insane.

  “So? It’s not like you forgot everything, is it?”

  He sat for a second then made a decision. He would trade one good deed for the opposite; give life so he could meet death. He rose. He staggered. He fell. He could not even stand straight. He was a failure even with good intentions. Then she entered.

  “You have done enough. It is time to heal.”

  His vision cleared, his balance returned, he moved with a quickness he had not known he possessed.

  “Where is the boy?”

  “At the house. We are fearful of moving him.”

  He ran with a purpose, a need, an urgency. If he could do one thing in life it would be to bring her back. She was beyond his reach. Her child was not.

  “We must break the fever.”

  “How?”

  “Place him in the tub. I will return.”

  The infection was strong, the child weak. He was burning up inside, his body’s response to kill the disease was killing the host. He took a chance. It went against everything they said. He didn’t care. The child would live so he could die.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We must cool the child. He will not survive if his temperature remains the same.”

  They placed the snow in the tub. The child barely noticed. He was in the state of delirium, the final phase, the last act, the choice between life and death. They waited. The time turned to night, the moon relieved the sun, a neighbor relieved the father as he fell asleep in the next room. The doctor never moved. Nothing was different. The boy was still sick, the fever still burned, the doctor still waited. All remained as it was. And then it didn’t.

  “Momma?”

  He jerked awake. He’d fallen asleep in the chair, sitting with hands folded in prayer, silently begging his beliefs were true.

  “Daddy?”

  The man ran into the room. He looked upon the doctor with eyes the color of steel, a forehead etched with grief, a man near the end of emotional tolerance.

  “Is he…?”

  “Yes, he will live.”

  The father broke down in tears. He wept with unashamed joy and begged the doctor to take his coin.

  “I cannot.”

  His time was done. He’d fulfilled his promise and planned on collecting another. He returned to the bar, sat on the stool and prepared for it to be done.

  “What’ll it be?”

  He was ready with an answer. He would try the strong stuff, the aged liquor, the fluid of last regret. He would sit alone, pondering his fate, wallowing in remorse. The boy had seen what he had dreamt. She’d been there all along. She was the reason one lived. She was the reason one died. Everything came full circle. All points lead the same direction. He could think of no reason to change the course of events. Nothing could alter his mind. And then it did.

  “Come with me.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Home.”

  She was there when he needed, never asking anything in return, giving all of herself so he could give his.

  “Can you bring her back?”

  “No.”

  She never lied. She didn’t need to. She held no one’s interest higher than another. She was the giver of life not the bringer of death. She was goodness personified, a light in the night, a beacon of love.

  “Will I ever be whole again?”

  She took time to answer for she was not one to utter things without thought.

  “You will never be fully healed. To do so would be to forget her altogether. You will find peace in time if you give your life to others. She will notice. She is above us all.”

  He thought on what she said. He then asked what was ever on his mind.

  “Will she forgive me?”

  “She already has.”

  He knew not how she knew nor did he care. He knew she spoke the truth and it gave him hope.

  “Mother Nature?”

  “Yes?”

  “Can you cure my sadness?”

  She looked at him with eyes so blue the skies were unable to duplicate. He became lost in her gaze, forgetting time, forgetting place, forgetting everything except one.

  “There is only one cure and I believe you know what it is.”

  He was pretty sure himself.

  “Death?”

  “Yes.”

  He’d been right. He thought so but with her answer he stood justified. He gleaned another truth that day. He’d been right about something else also. Once again she reinforced his belief with her words.

  “I am sorry but sometimes the cure is no cure at all.”

  Councilor Clearview never f
orgot her words and he practiced them daily. If he could not do good he would do nothing. He owed another that much. It was not one he wished to see. He’d never physically harmed another, but he knew where he stood and vowed to make amends. He could never confess for to do so would cause more harm than good. What do you say to a man who lost his love because she’d lost it herself? How do you tell another the reason for his wife’s death was responsible for his child’s life?

  “Councilor?”

  “Yes?”

  “Your advice?”

  He was ready. She relied on him and he would come through. The answer would tax their very foundation but he could not see an alternate vision.

  “We will need to plug the hole from this side.”