Red Death

by Jeff Altabef

  “Those blue flames are a sign from the heavens!” Fintan shouted for the benefit of the entire search party. “We must investigate!” He spurred his horse forward.

  “And then we get some food,” muttered Cormac, and his horse snorted its agreement a second later.

  Fintan raced toward the blue streaks. He doubted they had anything to do with the heavens, but he needed a story to tell in the Feasting Hall and this might be a good one. Or at least it would be a good place to start a story. He could make it more interesting if he had to.

  The flames disappeared, but still he raced in their direction.

  “The flames are gone, Fin!” Cormac shouted over the sounds of the galloping horses. “Let’s go back to the Stronghold.”

  “Not until we see the blue ashes.” Fintan urged his horse onward. The forest peeled away, replaced by a meadow. He spurred his horse faster, and then he saw Gemma run into the clearing.

  “Look!” He pointed to his sister. “The heavens have truly given us a sign!”

  His spirits soared as the search party cheered. Visions of his welcome back at the Stronghold as a hero danced through his imagination. Finally, he had bested Dermot, and he felt as if he were flying.

  As they raced forward, two strangers garbed in unusual clothes ran into the clearing after Gemma.

  “Surround them!” ordered Cormac.

  The deafening sound of the horses’ hooves filled the air until they surrounded Gemma and the two strangers.

  Gemma sprinted excitedly to Fintan’s horse, shouting at him, waving her hands, a wide smile on her face.

  Fintan had no idea what she was saying. He never bothered to try and understand her, finding her language tedious.

  Shoving her behind his horse, he studied the two odd-looking newcomers. “What do you plan on doing with that toy?” He pointed to the small crossbow aimed at his chest.

  The boy pushed the girl’s hand down, and the weapon pointed safely to the ground.

  The girl spoke for both for them. “My name is Aaliss and this is my brother, Wilky. We are peaceful travelers.”

  The horses anxiously danced in place around them, snorting heavily from the hard gallop and the tension in the air.

  “You’ve captured my sister and now you say you come in peace?”

  Aaliss hesitated as she skittered her gaze across the horses, and finally said, “We found Gemma and brought her here to safety. We did no harm to her.”

  Cormac laughed. “She lies! It’s clearly written on her face!” Cormac might not be book smart, or really smart in general, but he had a talent for reading people.

  Fintan had no doubt he was right about the girl, and neither did the rest of the horsemen. A general murmur of agreement echoed from the others.

  “What are we to make of these two—a skinny boy and a girl with a man’s haircut? Perhaps we should run them through and leave them for the wolves?” Fintan’s horse danced and seemed to whicker at the suggestion, while the other horses tightened the circle around the siblings, making escape an impossibility.

  Fintan basked in the glory of the moment. No one could deny this accomplishment, and he had many witnesses.

  “Why don’t you come down off that horse, so we can settle the matter between us?” Aaliss slung the crossbow over her shoulder and unsheathed her short sword.

  He roared with laughter. “Look, she threatens me with her toy sword. She might be crazier than my sister.”

  She waved the blade at him and encouraged him to dismount. “We’ll see how crazy I am.”

  Gemma tried to jump between them, but Fintan shoved her back and toppled her to the ground. She uttered her gibberish, but he didn’t pay any attention to her.

  Cormac seized Wilky with a rough hand and brought his longsword to his neck. “Drop your toys, and I won’t hurt him.”

  A drop of blood trickled down Wilky’s neck and onto his steel.

  The strange girl narrowed her eyes. She looked as if she wanted to lunge at Cormac, but the blade he pressed against her brother’s neck held her still. Steel kissed skin, and a slow red trickle meandered onto the boy’s shirt.

  She dropped her sword and her crossbow, holding her palms out to show them she had no more weapons. “Harm him and I’ll kill you.”

  Fintan wasn’t sure why, but a cold shiver knifed through his body.

  ***

  The Viper watched from the shadows, quietly cursing under his breath. The rabbit ran right into the arms of the Butcher Tribe. He was so close to finishing her, just a heartbeat away before they burst into the clearing.

  He breathed deeply and looked toward the heavens. Jacob wanted him to continue; he felt it in his blood. The hunt had become more difficult, but Jacob would find a way to help him. Jacob’s way wasn’t always easy, but it was always right.

  Yes, he would have to spend time amongst the Soulless.

  Still, my sword will taste the rabbit’s blood. It will just take more time, and be even sweeter because of it.

  ***

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  Chapter 18 – Eamon

  Eamon had spent the entire day certain that Gemma had fallen victim to some horrible end. As the hours wore on, his imagination turned ever darker, until he pictured a pair of demons feasting on her body. Upon entering the Stronghold, he had heard the good news and raced to Gemma’s room, where he flung open the solid oak door to find Gemma and Jillian sitting on the edge of the bed in the small room. He inhaled for what seemed like the first time all day and brushed shaggy brown hair from his eyes.

  “Are you okay?” The simple question left much unsaid, but his tone filled in the rest. He scrutinized his sister, looking for signs of harm or injury, and found none.

  Gemma jumped from the bed, darted forward, and flew into Eamon’s arms for a tight embrace. “All is well.”

  Still pink and wet from a recent bath, she wore her favorite green dress, the one with dozens of different flowers sewn on it that looked as if a rainbow had been mixed in a pot and poured over the fabric. Gemma embroidered flowers on all her clothes, her stitches impeccable and the colors always bright.

  Eamon glanced at Jillian, who shook her head, and he got the distinct impression that all was not well. He trusted Jillian way more than Gemma.

  He gently pushed his sister away from him. “What happened to you? Where have you been?”

  She spun in a tight circle—the small room had little space for spinning. Just enough existed for the bed, a night side table, a small dresser, and dozens of dried flowers she hung on every inch of the walls and from the ceiling. Gemma’s room was unique, just like her.

  Once she finished the circle and faced Eamon again, she spoke in her special language. “I’ve seen so many different things. Beautiful things! Scary, dark ones too.”

  “Start at the beginning, Gemma.” Jillian sounded tight. “Tell Eamon where you went.”

  “Oh, it was wonderful. I traveled the entire Witch’s Woods. There’s a wide river at the end. The water gushes, making white crests, and the roar is so loud it’s hard to hear your own thoughts. And there’s an underground tube to a far away land.”

  “What underground tube?”

  “It’s a bit smelly, but it goes on forever. No colors, just a big circle in the ground that’s lit by strange white light. No flames or candles, just light. The tunnel travels under the water and connects to the land beyond.”

  “A circle in the ground? Could you take me to find it?”

  She shook her head. “No. There’s this door that vanishes into the forest. I stared at it for a long time, but I’d never find it again, unless the Eyes were still there, but I don’t see how I could find the Eyes even if they were still there.”

  “There were eyes by the door?”

  “Oh yes, big unblinking ones. The tube connected to these rooms. The walls were smooth and filled with more weird light and metal boxes with words and numbers that glowed.” She frowned. “Other people were ther
e also. I don’t know what tribe they came from, but they were sad and hungry until Wilky gave them the round bread.”

  Eamon glanced at Jillian, who tried unsuccessfully to hide her grin behind her hand. Realizing the tale would only become more bizarre, he settled on the bed next to her. “This is some story.”

  “Oh, it only gets stranger,” quipped Jillian. “Tell Eamon about the message.”

  “That’s the best part. Wilky gave me this message especially for you. He said that it’s not too late. He’s discovered a cure to the Red Death. You just have to help them find the ingredients.” Gemma spun in another circle, laughing. “It’s really good news.”

  “He knew my name.”

  “Yes, he did. Isn’t that weird? He’s really nice but a bit peculiar.”

  “He’s the peculiar one?” Eamon chuckled. “Did he happen to mention what he needed to make this cure?”

  “Not to me. I saw him talking to his sister, but I couldn’t hear what they said.” Gemma shot her brother a sly smile. “I don’t like her as much as Wilky, but I bet you will. I was too worried about the nasty birds with the big red beaks to concentrate on what they were saying anyway. Aaliss didn’t see the birds at first, but once it was light, you couldn’t miss them. Still the birds were not nearly as scary as the red field of crawling things. That was terrible.”

  Eamon shook his head, raised his eyebrows, and glanced at Jillian. It was a look they sometimes shared when they talked with Gemma.

  Jillian shrugged in response and ran her hands through her hair.

  Gemma continued chatting for a long stretch, during which she relayed a very disjointed account of her travels. When she tired, she lay down on the bed, pulled a quilt decorated with scores of flowers to her chin, and fell asleep.

  Once Eamon and Jillian entered the hallway, he said, “She has a great imagination. I wonder if we’ll ever know what happened to her.”

  “The strange thing is that she believes everything she told us. I can tell when she’s having fun with us, and this time she believes every word.” Jillian’s eyes twinkled. “What if she’s telling the truth?”

  Eamon grinned. “That there’s an underground tube with strange white light and metal boxes with glowing words at the end of the Witch’s Woods?”

  Jillian grabbed his arm, stopped him short, and stared deep into his eyes. She moved in close, and he felt her breath against his lips. “Not that—the cure.”

  Eamon shrugged. His mind had been stuck on the same thing—a cure could save Dermot. Just the thought of it made his heart race. “I don’t know. Her story is so unreliable. How can we trust any part of it?”

  “Yes, but what if...?”

  She went back to check on Gemma, and he continued down the hallway to find Dermot.

  What if this Wilky knows a cure for the Red Death? Is there time to find the ingredients before Dermot succumbs to the disease?

  His mind whirled so quickly, by the time he reached Dermot’s door, his head started aching and he felt dizzy. He knocked heavily.

  “Come in, Eamon.”

  Dermot’s room was substantially larger than Gemma’s, his being the grandest in the Stronghold. It contained a four-poster bed, a giant chest of draws, two large windows that overlooked the Courtyard, and a fireplace. Dermot sat in one of two high-backed wooden chairs, gazing through the windows. The curtains were dark and heavy, but Gemma had managed to stitch her flowers on their border—her way of showing her love for Dermot when he became king.

  “How’d you know it was me?” said Eamon.

  “No one else knocks like you.” Dermot kept his eyes focused on the window and looked drawn and uneasy. “Sit with me before we go to the Feasting Hall.”

  “Did you see Gemma?” Eamon wondered if their sister’s condition weighed heavily on him. “She has some interesting stories to tell.”

  “I did. I was relieved to find her unharmed.” He grinned at Eamon. “Fintan’s tale is quite riveting. It seems to get more heroic with every telling. Soon he will have scaled a mountain, raced through magical blue flames, and fought a rogue band of tribeless men, instead of simply stumbling upon our sister and collecting a boy and girl.”

  Eamon smirked. “Who knew our brother was such a talented storyteller? Soon we’ll have songs written about his great victory.... But what of Gemma’s stories? What do you make of them?”

  Dermot sighed and returned his gaze to the window. “I love her dearly, but I can’t understand her. Not like you can. I catch a few words, but the rest sounds like nonsense to me. Jillian translated a bit, but it’s hard to figure out what’s real and what’s fantasy—a tube in the ground and a moving red field? I’m just happy she’s safe.”

  “What about... the message for me?”

  “What message?” Dermot arched his eyebrows.

  “Gemma says this Wilky left me a message by name, that he’s discovered the cure to the Red Death. I haven’t spoken to him, but....” Eamon looked down. He didn’t want Dermot to see the desperation in his eyes. He so wanted the story to be true, needed it to be true before Dermot’s time had run its course. He knew he sounded foolish even repeating it, but still.... “She said we just need to find the ingredients to this cure and—”

  “That’s something! There’s no cure for the Red Death. It’s what happens when you get old. It’s what has always happened. Listen, Eamon, I have to tell you something.”

  He didn’t like the sound of his brother’s voice, and suspected bad news.

  “This morning my eyes flickered red, just for a moment. They returned to brown, but they flickered. It won’t be long until I wake with the Red Eyes. Maybe, tomorrow....” Dermot shrugged—no sadness darkened his face, only acceptance.

  Eamon wanted to question him. Surely he had seen wrong, but to what end? If not tomorrow, then his eyes would turn the day after or the week after that. The gods would not spare Dermot. They were cruel and spared no one.

  “Then I must speak with this Wilky right away,” he said. “Maybe Gemma tells the truth! Perhaps he has found a cure.”

  Dermot grabbed his arm and held it tight. “I don’t fear the Red Death, Brother. When I pass I’ll join Father and Mother in the heavens, where I’ll keep an eye on you and Fin and Gemma. I’ll send messages. Just make sure you’re listening.” He released Eamon’s arm. “Besides, Fintan claims the boy and girl threatened him. It’s a high crime to threaten a royal. They’ll be in the Basement for a long time before he lets them out. They’re his prisoners until he decides their fate.”

  “But they didn’t even know he was a prince. Surely we can make some allowances for their actions.”

  “It makes no difference. Their fate is his to decide.” Dermot glanced back out the window. “I will miss this place.”

  “Derry, this can’t be the end.”

  “All stories end, Eamon, and there are worse fates than death. Come, Brother, let’s get something to eat.” Dermot slapped him on the back and strode to the door. “I’m starving, and I can’t wait to hear the new details Fintan’s remembered about his heroic adventure.”

  Eamon trudged after his brother, but Jillian’s voice resurfaced in his head.

  What if Gemma’s story is true?

  He had to know, and he had no time to waste.

  ***

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  Chapter 19 – P’mina

  P’mina had started to regret her decision to run away as the almost full moon floated high in the night sky. Normally it would have lit the forest, but clouds drifted in front of it, dimming its brightness so only a fraction of its light reached the forest floor. Having never stayed in the woods overnight, she longed for the warmth and safety of her hut as her fraught nerves amplified the forest sounds around her. She became convinced that a pack of wolves was close, until a squirrel ran out from under some fallen leaves, and an owl’s screech made her jump like a small child frightened by a ghost story.

  The Ancient Road stretche
d far into the distance. Built in the time before tribes, no one knew who originally constructed it or where it ended. Still, she clung to a shred of confidence that she had chosen the right way. Her mother had given her the direction, after all, so she must lie just ahead.

  She clutched her spear until her hand hurt as fatigue and doubt clouded her mind. The cold had also started to bite through her rough-spun woolen cloak, which only made matters worse.

  The Ancient Road narrowed ahead of her, as tree branches reached onto the path like dark skeletal arms that wanted nothing more than to grab unsuspecting travelers. The song of a nearby warbler startled her, but when the bird’s song died away, something else replaced it, something bad—a snarling, snapping sound. She spun.

  Two amber eyes shimmered in the darkness, illuminating the vague outline of a firefox.

  The last remaining bits of courage drained from her body as she stared at the wild, angry-looking creature. She stepped back, holding the steel point of the spear between herself and the animal.

  Unimpressed, the firefox grew bolder and trotted toward her.

  She did the only thing that came to mind—she screamed and ran. Stumbling forward in the dark, she churned her legs, and felt as if she were running through a bog. As she raced forward she spotted another set of amber eyes in front of her in the distance.

  Much to her dismay, they noticed her and started toward her, too.

  Without any other choice, she surged forward, but every step brought her closer to the firefox in front of her. Then she saw a path off to her left and, racing even faster, leaped onto the path. Branches and hedges brushed against her on all sides, scratching her face and arms, and she stumbled over uneven ground.

  Both firefoxes ran behind her now, and she envisioned their snarling snouts, long rolling tongues, and rows of razor-sharp teeth. Her lungs burned as she pumped her knees so high they almost reached her chest.

  She smelled the creatures’ sour breath, her heart threatening to explode, but then she glimpsed orange firelight in the distance. The light became her beacon.