by White, Gwynn
Thousands of wailing, shrieking, and shouting citizens blended with thunderous rumbles in an ungodly lamentation. The stench of death mingled with the aroma of disturbed human waste rising from the rotting city sewers.
Packs of mangy dogs feasted on the recently deceased lingering at the edge of the crowds. The soldiers chased them, blades waving, but the muts were brave in their bloodlust, and fearless in their pursuit of fresh meat. Soldiers cut and stabbed the hounds, and the animal’s dying shrieks frightened children clutching at their mother’s boil covered chests for comfort.
Each deafening clap of thunder alleviated the horrible city sounds. Toxiv prayed for the lightning to hit closer so she might lose her hearing altogether, but alas, she would heal again anyway.
The sounds inside the temple were just as miserable. The healers were unable to heal some of the men, and their families wailed as they said goodbye to their loved ones. Thirty or so soldiers paced the room. Some clutched daggers, staring menacingly at the line of afflicted least their desperation turn to rebellion.
One of the healers passed High Priestess Toxiv complaining about her workload.
‘These are your people,’ Toxiv snarled at her, ‘Where you do not work, they die. Is that what you want?!’
The young healer, about eighteen years, cowered before the high priestess. Although Toxiv disliked raising her voice, it irritated her when young healers wailed ungratefully about their terrible lives. The girl would live for two lifetimes, without sickness, fatigue, pain, suffering, or fear of death. To complain was selfish.
The supplies of men’s lustre, a medicine used to arouse a man’s appendage, dwindled. The green sap, while not rare, took days to brew into a digestible, medicinal solution.
Wives, daughters, and caretakers raised their voices as the healings slowed. Using the men’s lustre meant waiting an additional quarter hour for the concoction to works its way into the body’s system.
For every person they healed, ten more pushed their way into the temple. The city’s population of about twenty-five thousand would be impossible to heal in one or two nights, but the disease progressed so quickly they had to try.
Night settled and the rain continued its steady melodic pattering against the temple’s glass panes, pipes, and steel. Thick humid air amplified the smell of decay. Yet Toxiv gave more to the behaviour of those not afflicted. Their agitation put others on edge as they shifted and paced like a caged animal, anticipating the hour when the Death Plague came for them.
Staring out into the night, Toxiv feared the horrors the darkness would bring.
A soft chanting started in the temple square. ‘Heal us, heal us, heal us.’
Toxiv ducked into one of the back rooms to swap her luxurious cloak for one old and tattered. She brushed strands of brown hair across her face to obstruct her golden eyes. Back outside, she moved into the rain beside Hawrald. The giant like soldier towered above his comrades, sword in hand, scanning the crowd with a menacingly glare to deter trouble makers.
‘Soldier,’ Toxiv said, catching a whiff of unwashed body musk. ‘Our supplies of the…medicine for arousal are running low.’
‘And?’ Hawrald replied.
‘Before tomorrow it will be gone. Without it many won’t be healed.’
He turned, eyebrows dipping low. In his muddy gaze she observed the familiar glimmer of hardship, not for the past, but for the days to come. ‘Tell me what I should do, m’lady.’
‘Men with lucid minds can be coerced to participate without medicines, but of what I see, those are a minority.’
‘Aye. But they ain’t the worst lot, are they? The worst are about dead.’
Toxiv smiled coldly. ‘Soldier, shouldn’t we prioritise men like yourselves? The king’s guards protect us. Those faithful to the crown must maintain order.’ In a lower voice she said, ‘The time is coming when they will realised we cannot heal everyone—’
‘Then I’ll cut ‘em down,’ he said, almost growling. ‘Like you just said, death’ll find ‘em anyway.’
Smack. A rock the size of a fist connected with Toxiv’s face, busting her cheek open causing blood to spray across Hawrald’s face. He didn’t move.
‘My father is dying!’ said the attacker. ‘And you stand there, healer, flirting with handsome soldiers.’
Toxiv wiped her face with her sleeve, licked the blood off her lips and threw off her tattered cloak. ‘I am the high priestess!’
The man gasped, bowing his head. ‘Forgive my anger. Forgive me!’ Tears streamed down his cheek. ‘Please! My father is dying.’
‘Want me to kill ‘im?’ asked Hawrald.
‘No,’ she replied softly. ‘My face will heal. The pain already subsides.’
‘Figured you could take a few knocks,’ he said, eyeing her with a smirk.
She sniffed. ‘You have no idea.’
Toxiv stepped forward, raising her voice. ‘Those close to death are already prioritised. If I permit your father to push his way to the front, then that will be unfair to all those lined up behind you.’ Perhaps if she spoke of fairness it would keep social order, but already from her periphery, people shuffled restlessly.
The rock thrower created the first act of rebellion.
‘He might be dyin’,’ the rock thrower said, ‘He ain’t woken in hours.’
‘Our physicians walk among you checking the afflicted. They are trained to recognise the true signs of death. You must trust us!’
‘Yeah. Shut up!’ another guy yelled at the rock thrower. ‘Wait your turn.’
The rock thrower raised his fists. ‘Come ‘ere and say that, maggot.’
The confrontation turned violent, making Hawrald scoff. More arguments sprung up. The wall of tension held back by the soldier’s show of force broke its banks, tumbling into an anarchy of conflict. A woman shrieked as when one man stabbed another. Everyone stopped to watch the stabbed man clutch his chest and fall to the ground.
‘Bring that man in for a healing,’ Toxiv ordered Hawrald. The soldier strode towards the crowd, making people dart away.
‘Any of you who are fighting will be denied a healing, or worse, we’ll execute you on the spot!’ Toxiv shouted.
Hawrald snatched the blade from the attacker, and threw it far away from the crowds. ‘Arrest him.’ He carried the wounded man back to the temple for immediate healing.
‘Control!’ Hawrald ordered his soldiers who dispersed into the crowd to make arrests.
‘They can’t make us wait!’ A gaunt looking man shouted.
Toxiv cringed. Here we go, she thought.
‘I don’t want to die, do you?’ the gaunt man continued. ‘If we all work together we can swarm the temple and take the healings, the king said so himself. They can’t stop us. We’re thousands!’ He picked up a rock and pitched it high into the air where it smacked against the larger of the temple’s stained glass windows cracking the pane.
Others gathered rocks and threw them. Hawrald stepped out in front of Toxiv, the rocks clunked against his armour.
He turned his head. ‘Bigger rocks this time.’
‘Hrmm,’ she said. ‘You’re underestimating me.’
‘My apologies,’ he said, stepping aside.
Another round of rocks bruised Toxiv’s body, making her rage. She stole Hawrald’s dagger, walked up to the edge of the crowd, feeling her skin itch with healing.
Dagger in hand, she entered the angry crowd without fear, slashing at men who, during their own pathetic fights, trampled the dying. Toxiv tired of saving men from their gloomy, gutter side existence. They chose to be heartlessness and violent rather than compassionate, so why should she or any healer keep them alive?
No more did she feel pity. The healers would serve themselves first from now on!
‘Form a line in front of the temple!’ Hawrald shouted to his men. Behind her, the soldiers raised tall shields, shoulder to shoulder, forming a barricade at the entrance.
A young man covered in bruises and b
oils beat a woman six feet from Toxiv. ‘Stop!’ she commanded him, and he turned his attention to her, threatening her with his blade. ‘What are you going to do, whore?’
Toxiv raised her arms to the side, exposing her chest, inviting him to strike. The man laughed at her surrender. As she faced the night sky, she beheld the dazzling stars wondering if the gods would intervene.
Fire blazed in her stomach as the man stabbed her guts. She stumbled backwards, bleeding profusely, struggling to draw breath. Itching flared at the wound site.
‘Want another?’ he snarled. ‘If not, then heal me, healer.’
Toxiv turned her head, sneering at him. ‘Weak.’ She straightened.
He laughed, took three steps forward to stab her again, but this time she pulled him into her, absorbing the entirety of his blade. She kissed his cheek then sliced his kidney from the back. His muscles tensed against her. Lungs seized.
Euphoria rushed up Toxiv’s body, washing her in bliss and elation. That power of killing, of ending his life, made her want more! As the elation subsided, she stabbed repeatedly, maintaining her emotional high until she panted with ecstasy. The man collapsed. Dead.
Toxiv walked back to the temple indifferently, manoeuvring around cots and bodies. She felt Hawrald’s eyes on her as she passed. If men refused to abide by morals and ethics, then neither would she.
As the Lowers grew rowdier, they flung themselves at the soldier’s shields. Rogue archers fired arrows from surrounding houses injuring some of the soldiers.
‘Toxiv!’ cried Priestess Jewlsa from inside the temple where two men had grabbed her, tearing at her robes. Toxiv took her bloody dagger to their throats, killing them both.
‘We’ve nothing to defend ourselves with!’ exclaimed Priestess Jewlsa, climbing to her feet.
Toxiv sought out Hawrald. ‘We need weapons. Knives, daggers, even swords.’
‘King’ll ‘ave me whipped,’ Hawrald replied, then shook his head. ‘Argh, fine. Abyslam!’
The other young soldier appeared, eyes lingering on Toxiv’s face. ‘Yes?’
‘The women need blades. Arm them.’
‘Yes, sir.’
A spear flew over their heads, making them all duck, it entered the temple to pierce the curtain of a healing tent. Fortunately, no one was inside. Arrows followed. Bottles of oil were throne in, followed by torches that set the oil alight.
The people broke through the line, overwhelming the soldiers before Abyslam could get fetch their weapons. A man charged at the high priestess but in a flash, Abyslam severed his head. Blood splattered across her robes. The roaring of angry citizens continued to fill the night air. Glass sprayed across the room as the overhead windows smashed.
‘Shut the door!’ Hawrald said, bringing in fifty men. ‘Shut the temple door!’
Priestess Jewlsa hugged Toxiv in fear as the struggles shoved and heaved to close the thick, oak doors. Abyslam and Hawrald lifted a wooden plank into iron slots, barricading the doors. Bolts were hammered into side slots.
‘Men check the back!’ Hawrald shouted.
‘The gods save us,’ said Priestess Jewlsa. ‘We’re trapped.’
29
King Cevznik
Seated on his throne, King Cevznik struggled to contain his anger. Whining, petty officials demanding coin for this and that. Didn’t they know how valuable his time was? Bored, he admired the jewels of his throne glistening in the sunlight.
‘Majesty?’ his advisor prompted, holding out his royal stamp and a waxed scroll. He pressed the seal down and gave it back.
‘Next,’ he said impatiently.
A child, no more than a boy, approached the throne and bowed low, the ends of his hair brushed the ground. ‘Majesty, I have news from the Lowers. The temple is under attack as the healers closed the doors on the rioters.’
King Cevznik’s thoughts stampeded through his mind. ‘My orders were clear. The priestesses were not to deny healings.’ Anger surged. ‘They flaunt their fancy silks while combing their pretty hair, smelling of rotten incense, and for what? To tease ordinary men into drooling?’
Some of the courtiers and nobles tittered with laughter.
The boy swallowed nervously. ‘I…do not know, My King.’
King Cevznik rolled his eyes, standing.
‘Captain Buckhorn. Come. Bring two thousand armed men. I will investigate this matter myself.’ As an afterthought, he added, ‘I’ll require a scribe.’
‘As you wish, My King,’ said Buckhorn.
A quarter of an hour later, King Cevznik and a troupe of his men rode out of the castle grounds, through the Uppers and into the Lowers. They passed many sick and injured; the sight of unattended, dying men made the king’s blood boil. The healers were spoiled, selfish women who took no husbands, raised no children, and worked no lands. Without skill, they were little more than gilded whores afraid of a little blood and puss.
The army turned east towards the sound of roaring voices. Rows of men threw debris at the looming temple, alight with unattended oil fires. Beyond the mob, soldiers held pushed back with shields.
‘Captain Buckhorn. With me,’ the king ordered. ‘I intend to end this riot.’
‘Sir,’ said Captain Buckhorn, ‘you might catch the plague if you get too close to the infected…’
‘That is why we have healers, soldier.’ King Cevznik drew his blade. ‘Come!’
Captain Buckhorn gestured to some nearby soldiers and the ten of them formed a circle around King Cevznik. Confident in the skills of his men, he rode boldly into the throng, horse crushing one man’s skull.
‘Maintain the circle around the king!’ shouted the captain. ‘Dispense justice on the rioters!’
Spears and blades cut down the desperate people, their bodies slashed open, spilling their guts while King Cevznik stood amongst them, a central pillar of justice for all. The king hacked and sliced at the rebels, slaughtering them like beasts until they scattered and the panicked remainder were finally driven off. Only the diseased remained.
King Cevznik flicked the blood off his blade and smiled with satisfaction. ‘Make sure the peasants remove these bodies before they rot,’ he said to Buckhorn. ‘Throw them out of the city as a warning to others… or hang them on the walls, I care not.’
‘Yes, sire,’ said the captain.
The king strode up to the temple door and thumped on the wood with his gauntlet and roared, ‘Open in the name of the king!’
The sound of scraping wood came from the other side as a barrier was raised. Slowly, the battered door swung open.
‘My King,’ said the high priestess evenly. ‘We appreciate your assistance.’ Her expression fell as she examined the bloody scene. Dead bodies lay across the square. ‘How many did you kill?’
‘Only those who rebelled,’ he said. ‘There’s plenty left to heal. I made a difficult decision, the kind ordinary folk such as yourself should not attempt to burden yourselves with. Be grateful you are alive.’ He handed his sword to his captain to be cleaned. ‘Now, High Priestess, if you’d healed these men instead of closing the temple doors, this problem wouldn’t have arisen. I pray you have good reason for doing so.’
The king spotted his faithful royal soldier, Hawrald and gestured to him.
The soldier approached bowing.
‘Go on,’ said the king.
‘The men grew impatient and fights broke out. They overwhelmed the guard.’
‘Hawrald?’ asked the king. ‘Is that true?’
‘Yes, My King.’
‘They struck us with rocks, attacked with daggers and beat the healers,’ the old high priestess continued. ‘If we did not seal the doors, we would have been overrun. Our traditions were not recognised. They shoved and shouted. They—’
King Cevznik folded his arms. ‘You are bloody, but you are well.’
‘We are not stuffed bags for punching,’ said Toxiv, losing her temper. ‘We have a right to protect ourselves.’
King Cevznik did
not appreciate her patronising tone. ‘Scribe,’ he bellowed. ‘Dictate!’
The scribe scuttled forward brandishing quill and ink. ‘At the ready.’
The king paused to consider his words. ‘The high priestess is now under my instruction. It is my duty to protect the healers in desperate times. This riot demonstrates the healers are not capable of defending themselves, or the temple. Therefore, those under fifty years of age will be taken from the Lowers and housed in the castle under my protection. The older, more experienced healers shall remain here under the protection of my soldiers. Men, search the temple basement and attics. Leave no corner in shadow.’
Toxiv’s heart raced. ‘Take the elderly ones, please.’
‘I’ve no use for them,’ the king replied simply, staring down his nose at the scribe’s notes. ‘And then,’ said King Cevznik, ‘the second part of my proclamation is this: all healers in the Lowers, and in all of Senya except those in the Uppers, are now the property of men, and all men may take a healing however they see fit, whenever they see fit. If a healer refuses, a man can enforce his will. If she still refuses, he can seek the assistance of a soldier to force her. This is my royal decree.’
The air fell deathly silent.
‘You cannot be serious,’ shouted one of the temple guards, a devout follower.
‘It is my command,’ the king reiterated, watching the high priestess turn bright red.
Then, she explored. ‘Dog!’
He smiled coldly. Angry women amused him. ‘I am the king, my word is law. Observe.’ He waved his hand. ‘Abyslam. Hawrald. Seize the high priestess.’
Abyslam and Hawrald moved forward, taking each one of Toxiv’s arms, holding her in place. She fought, bit and cursed, but the warriors were strong.
‘Take her to the top of the temple stairs,’ he said, leading the way outside. Citizens were gathering back in the square, tending to the afflicted again.