Griffin's Destiny

by Lelsie Ann Moore

  “I’ll need your assistance, healer,” Raidan said as he stepped over to the body and pulled back a fold of the heavy shroud, revealing the dead man’s face.

  “Of course, milord,” the old man answered. “I have specimen jars, salt, vinegar. Just tell me what you need.” He hung the lantern from a hook embedded in the ceiling, then turned to wait upon the prince, who stood gazing with pensive eyes at the waxen features of the corpse.

  “This is a man who’s been struck down in the prime of his life,” Raidan said.

  “Just so, milord. ’Tis a tragedy.”

  “Help me carry him to the table.”

  While Raidan managed the head and shoulders, the old healer took the legs and feet. Together, the two men wrestled the corpse onto the table, where Raidan pulled the sheet away to reveal the entire body.

  “I like the design of this dissection table,” he commented as he dropped the shroud to the floor and pushed it aside with his foot.

  The old man squared his bony shoulders and grinned. “I designed it myself, your Highness. The top is glazed ceramic, and you see here, these channels along the sides? Perfect for the drainage of body fluids. I also put drains in the floor…”

  “Yes, yes, very impressive,” Raidan cut in. The healer gulped and fell silent. “I need to get started now,” the prince added. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

  “I can hang your cloak on the peg by the door, Highness. I also have an extra apron if you would like,” the old man offered meekly.

  “Thank you, yes, and light another lantern if you have one.” Raidan eased his satchel off his shoulder and let it slip to the floor. As the healer scurried to comply, the prince continued his preliminary examination of the corpse. All the telltale signs of the plague were present—purplish swellings under the jaw, a blackened, protruding tongue, hemorrhage from eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

  No doubt I’ll find blood at the anus as well, the prince thought.

  “Jashen,” the healer said.

  “What?” Raidan threw a sideways glance at the old man.

  The healer pointed to the corpse. “His name was Jashen. Jashen Hosha. He was a farmer. Owned a decent-sized spread just south of here.” The old man sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know what his poor wife’s going to do. Two little ones and a third on the way.”

  Raidan rummaged in his bag and withdrew a small leather case. He eased it open and removed a pearl-handled scalpel. “Has the woman no other family to assist her?” he asked, brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully cut into one of the swellings, releasing a gush of black fluid.

  “Suka is a northerner,” the healer replied. “She’s got no family anywhere near Tono, sad to say, your Highness.”

  Raidan laid down the scalpel then reached into his bag for a collection spoon and vial. Careful not to allow any to come in contact with his skin, he scooped a small amount of the black fluid into the vial and sealed it.

  Over the next hour, he and the old man worked in silence. It seemed only fitting they do so, out of respect for the deceased. To Raidan, the dissection of a body must always be done with reverence, for only through careful examination, using the logic of science, would its inner workings be revealed, and by extension, the mind of The One.

  After collecting the samples he needed, Raidan washed his hands in a basin provided by his host, then helped the old man replace the corpse in its niche. He stowed his specimens with care in his satchel, then fished out a small leather pouch. He upended it and three coins—two gold and a silver—clinked onto his open palm.

  “The gold is for the widow. See that she gets it. The silver is for your trouble, healer.”

  The old man nodded and folded the coins into his gnarled fist. “Thank you, milord,” he murmured, bowing deeply. “It has been an honor to assist you.”

  “Let’s hope tonight’s work yields some answers. The fate of our people could depend on it.”

  Raidan lifted his bag to his shoulder and collected his cloak from the peg by the door. He then followed the old man back up the tunnel to the outer entrance, leaving the dead farmer to rest in the chilly darkness.

  ***

  The following morning dawned gray and cool. Fat clouds, heavy with rain, scudded by overhead, carried north on stiff winds from their birthplace over the western ocean. Raidan sat on a bench in the shelter of the inn’s large covered porch, wrapped in his cloak, impatient to be away.

  Out in the inn’s front yard, the prince’s entourage bustled back and forth, readying their horses for departure. Raidan sighed irritably and rose to his feet.

  What is taking so long? Where is my horse?

  He paced along the length of the porch, attempting to rein in his temper, self-aware enough to know that lack of sleep contributed to his ill humor. An outburst now would be undignified and unfair.

  “My lord prince!” Raidan’s aide Kasai trotted across the yard to the porch. He sketched a quick bow. “Your horse has a loose shoe,” he explained between quick breaths. “The inn has no on-site blacksmith, so someone’s been sent to the next village to fetch one.” The man bowed again. “I’m sorry for the delay, your Highness.”

  Raidan cursed. Kasai kept his gaze fixed on his boots. Raidan took a deep breath. “I know this isn’t your fault. These things happen. It’s been a hard week for all of us. How long do you think it’ll be?”

  Cautiously, Kasai looked up. “I can’t say for sure, my lord, but the village is not far and the stable boy left right away. It shouldn’t be too long. Perhaps you’d rather wait inside where it’s warmer?”

  Raidan nodded, temporarily mollified. He followed Kasai back into the inn’s common room and commandeered the most comfortable chair while his aide called for service.

  A few moments later, the innkeeper herself appeared and scurried over, wiping her hands on her apron as she approached. A cloud of worry surrounded her like a fog. Raidan’s eyes narrowed. The woman bowed and asked, “What can I bring you, your Highness?”

  “A mug of your best beer,” the prince responded, then asked a question of his own. “Mistress, even a person with no Talent at all would be able to see quite clearly how troubled you are. I hope neither I nor any of my people have been the cause of your discomfiture.”

  The innkeeper, a solidly built woman with silver-streaked black hair, briskly shook her head. “Oh, no, my lord, no!” she exclaimed, eyebrows raised. “You’ve been most gracious, my lord, no trouble at all…” Her voice trailed off, and Raidan sensed she was barely holding herself together.

  “Tell me what has got you in such a state, then,” he prodded in a gentle tone. The woman’s hands flew to her mouth and fat tears leaked from her clear, brown eyes. She stifled a sob, gulped, then whispered, “It’s my oldest boy, sir. I think he…he’s come down with the plague!”

  Raidan rose to his feet. “Take me to him,” he commanded. “Kasai, go fetch my bag.”

  “Straight away, my lord!” Kasai replied and rushed to obey. Without another word, the innkeeper led the way through the kitchen into the family’s living quarters, Raidan hard on her heels.

  The boy lay in a small darkened bedchamber, buried beneath a mound of blankets.

  “Mistress, please uncover a window. I need light to work,” Raidan ordered. The innkeeper opened a shutter to allow storm-gray light into the room. Raidan approached the bed, but he needed no visual confirmation to tell him what his nose had already made clear. With gentle hands, he peeled back the layers of blankets to reveal the sick child.

  “What is your son’s name, Mistress?” Raidan asked.

  “Tanshi, your Highness,” the innkeeper whispered.

  “Tanshi, can you hear me?”

  The boy moaned and his eyes rolled beneath closed lids.

  Kasai entered the room, carrying Raidan’s satchel. He handed over the bag without a word, and backed off to stand at the foot of the bed beside Tanshi’s mother.

  Raidan’s eyes traveled over the boy’s body. Tanshi ha
d been a robust lad on the cusp of manhood. The prince noted the telltale signs of the plague, but as of yet, there appeared to be no hemorrhage. Raidan took this as a hopeful sign. Of the many plague victims he had seen over the last week, those that did not bleed went on to recover. Still, the boy was desperately ill and could fail at any moment.

  His exam complete, Raidan replaced the blankets, then turned to face the mother. “Tanshi does have the plague, Mistress, but there is cause for hope.” The innkeeper listened attentively while Raidan instructed her on her son’s care and the proper dosage of the medicines he planned to leave. “Above, all, you must wash your hands after you have finished with your son. It is very important.”

  The innkeeper looked dubious, but nodded her head. “I will, my lord,” she replied.

  Raidan handed her several vials, then repacked his bag.

  “You can wash in the kitchen, sir,” the innkeeper said, anticipating Raidan’s next request. As she led the way back into the kitchen, the woman turned and said over her shoulder, “It’s those dirty hikui, my lord. They’re the ones spreading this plague!”

  Raidan frowned. “We don’t know enough about this disease to blame its spread on any one thing, Mistress,” he replied.

  “Begging your pardon, Highness, but you’ll not convince me!” the woman huffed. “A hikui tinker came calling two weeks ago. My Tanshi spent a fair amount of time with the man’s daughter, against my wishes I might add! Now, he’s sick! No one else has fallen ill. Only my son.” She hovered while Raidan scrubbed his hands in the scullery basin. “I say all hikui should be made to leave Tono, my lord, and I’m not the only one!” Her eyes flashed defiance, as if daring Raidan to chastise her. The prince said nothing; he understood her attitude.

  Okui folk are scared and the hikui make convenient scapegoats, he thought.

  Kasai waited for him in the common room. “The blacksmith is here, Highness,” he said. “Your horse should be ready within the hour.”

  “Very good.” Raidan nodded to the innkeeper. “I’ll have that beer now, Mistress, if you please.”

  The prince sat sipping his beer, mulling over in his mind the report he would make to his brother, the king. His thoughts—dark, grim things—swirled about inside his head dressed in shreds of horror and blood.

  What bitter irony it would be if we manage to repel the Soldaran invasion, only to succumb to this human disease. Surely the Goddess would not allow such a fate for Her children!

  Kasai interrupted his master’s bleak reverie. “Your horse is ready, my lord prince. We await your orders.”

  “Pay our hostess,” Raidan directed as he exited the common room into the yard. The stable lad holding his mount’s reins bowed his head as the prince took charge of the horse.

  When the entire party had mounted, Raidan led the group out of the inn yard onto the road leading north. He frowned at the dark clouds bulking on the horizon, then looked back over his shoulder to see the innkeeper standing in the doorway, her face a mask of worry. Raidan couldn’t help but sympathize with her.

  I have children too, he thought.

  He turned to look at Kasai, riding beside him. “We must hurry. This has taken far longer than I’d anticipated. I want to get back to Sendai by tomorrow night.”

  “Yes, your Highness,” Kasai replied.

  Raidan dug in his heels and his horse surged into a canter. Together, the group of riders raced northward, into the storm.

  ***

  The prince peered through the eyepiece of his scope at a smear of fluid staining a small glass plate and sighed in frustration.

  Nothing!

  The samples he had collected in Tono had yet to yield any clues to the nature of the mysterious essence he knew must be the cause of the disease. He pushed aside the scope and rubbed his tired eyes.

  Could it be my collection methods? I followed, to the letter, the recommendations of Nazarius. No, that can’t be the problem. What about the means of preservation of the specimens?

  He picked up a specimen jar and examined the blob of tissue floating within.

  Perhaps. Vinegar, wine, salt. All well and good for foodstuffs, but for fragile tissue samples? Unfortunately, there isn’t anything else available, unless I incur the considerable expense of buying preservation spells from a mage, which is impractical.

  Could the problem lie with my instruments? Perhaps they are not sensitive enough.

  Raidan gazed at the microscope, a delicate construction of brass and carefully ground lenses. The finest maker of scientific and navigational tools in all of the Arrisae Islands had custom crafted it to Raidan’s specifications. The scope had worked beautifully on other things: the minute structure of a butterfly’s wing, the round disks that floated in the blood of both people and animals.

  No, there has to be some other reason, something I’ve not thought of yet.

  Raidan stood and stretched, then poured himself a glass of wine from the carafe on his work table. He took a sip, then walked to the window of his study and looked out at the small, walled garden below. The carefully tended plants had been the pride and joy of his mother. Taya, his wife, looked after it now. The little garden had always been a sanctuary of sorts, filled with happy childhood memories.

  If only those carefree days could be recaptured, Raidan thought.

  Five days ago, he had stood before the full council and had given his report on the situation in Tono. Afterward, Lady Odata immediately begged permission to return home and the king had granted it. She and her people had departed Sendai that same day.

  Yesterday, a rider had arrived from Tono with a message from Odata—the Soldaran Army advanced northward at a leisurely pace, as if deliberately mocking the elves. Keizo had remarked that since the humans brimmed with such confidence over their superior numbers, they apparently felt no need to hurry.

  Tonight, he, Keizo, and Sen Sakehera planned to meet privately in order to finalize the war plans. All was essentially in readiness. The army was assembled and the Home Guard in place. Only the role of the mages remained to be finalized.

  Keizo had insisted on using mages, and after some serious thought, Raidan had agreed. It made sense. Very few humans were capable of wielding magic, and those that could did not command the same force and power as even a modestly trained elven mage. From what Raidan knew about human magic, most of it seemed based on little more than superstition, illusion, and outright trickery.

  Magic would give them a badly needed advantage, serving to counterbalance the elves’ lesser numbers.

  A sharp knock on his study door interrupted the prince’s train of thought. “Come!” he called out.

  The door swung open and a page, dressed in the livery of the king, stepped through and bowed. “Your Highness! Princess Jelena begs you to come right away. The king has fallen ill!”

  Raidan’s heart froze.

  The half-full glass slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor, spilling wine across the mats in a blood-red spray.

  The prince bolted past the startled page, through the deserted rooms of his apartments and out into the corridor. He didn’t stop running until he reached the king’s bedside.

  Breath heavy with fear more than exertion, Raidan stood gazing down at his brother, who lay pale and sweating in the bed he shared with his Companion Sonoe, the telltale swellings already beginning to appear under his jaw.

  “It’s the plague, isn’t it?”

  Raidan looked into the eyes of Keizo’s daughter, her stricken face so like his brother’s, Raidan wondered how he could ever have doubted her paternity. His niece sounded more like a scared child than a grown woman. He nodded and Jelena dropped her head into her hands.

  Guilt, like a landslide, rolled down upon the prince, threatening to overwhelm him.

  This is my fault! I must have brought the plague back from Tono somehow!

  Keizo had expressed serious misgivings about allowing him to pursue his inquiries, but Raidan had insisted, charging Keizo with backw
ardness in wanting to cling to magic rather than accepting the rational tenets of science.

  Now, all of Alasiri will pay the price for my arrogance.

  Neither Jelena nor he spoke for a time. The enormity of this disaster was too overwhelming to absorb all at once. Raidan, even with his limited Talent, felt his niece’s despair beating at him like a living thing, raw and wild.

  At last, Jelena whispered, “What are we going to do?” Her voice quivered with unshed tears. She moved from the foot of the bed closer to Raidan.

  “We have no choice but to carry on,” he replied, fighting for control. “The lives of all our people are at stake. Fortunately, everything is in place. All that’s left now is to execute the war plan.”

  Jelena nodded. “Yes, Uncle, I agree. I wish to ride out with the army, by your side, as I would have with my father.” For the first time since she had arrived in Sendai and had changed all of their lives forever, Raidan felt genuine tenderness toward his brother’s daughter, and pride as well.

  She has proven herself to be a true Onjara, strong and brave, human blood notwithstanding. Was it only a few months ago that I contemplated murdering this girl to safeguard my own ambitions?

  Shame, like a bitter-tongued old hag, harangued him, adding to the heavy burden of guilt already weighing down his soul. Unaccustomed to this particular emotion, it did not sit well with him.

  He rested a hand on Jelena’s shoulder. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather stay here in Sendai with your father and Hatora?” he asked in a gentle voice. “No one would think any less of you.”

  “There’s nothing I can do for him,” she replied, glancing at Keizo then back at her uncle. “Sonoe will stay with him.”

  Raidan shook his head, and when Jelena opened her mouth to protest, he pressed a finger to her lips. “No, Niece. I cannot allow you to leave Sendai, and I ask you to please just listen before you bite my head off. You are not a trained soldier! Your child needs her mother. Think about what would happen to Hatora if you should fall in battle. She’s already lost her father. Do you really think it’s fair to put her at risk of losing you as well?”