~~~~~`
Neal sat at the rough wooden table, burying his head in his hands. "Gods, why is this happening?" Turning to the other end of the room, he stared at the still body of Joren, mottled blots of color marring his chest, arms, and legs.
Duke Baird flipped through books of notes and medical documents, all that had been salvaged from the ruined palace. "I have never seen," he concluded slowly, "such a quick death, with such unique markings." Picking up the limp wrist, he examined the affected areas once more. "I have no idea what this is."
"Could it be an after-effect of Chaos?" Neal asked bluntly. The question had been rattling in his head for the three days after Joren's first visit to the Healer's hut. "A kind of curse or sickness caused by the vindictive Queen?"
His father shook his head. "Alanna has assured us, from the Goddess, that the Chaos Queen was consumed by Mother Flame, and though she continues to exist, she cannot possibly escape that force."
"Then what is it?" Both men turned to stare at the body, which had been vibrant and full of life a mere three days ago.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
That night at the bonfire, Duke Baird stood and clapped his hands. "Citizens! There is a terrible problem." He paused as the small crowd murmered and stirred. "Joren of Stone Mountain was found dead today, in his home, with strange colorful markings of disease on his body. I want every one of you to watch for anything wrong, even just a mere trifle, and report it to me or my son Neal."
Kel, watching at Neal's side, shivered and clung to his arm. "Neal, is it truly that bad?" she whispered.
Sadly, he nodded. "Love, Joren died in three days. If this is epidemic, or even just a small problem..." he trailed off. Neal's face saddened suddenly. "It was not an easy death, but judging by his facial expression, quite painful."
His sixteen-year-old wife stifled a sob. "I hated him before," she said, wiping her tears on her sleeve, "but he changed so dramatically that i couldn't help but like him!"
Many others around her agreed, and so many faces were solemn and weeping that it was a tribute to the formerly unkind young man.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The next morning, a woman was found with colorful dabs covering her wrist. Running screamning into the center of the village, she pounded on the doors of Duke Baird's abode. "Your Grace, please!" she cried, "you have to help me, sir!"
Opening the door and seeing the blot, the healer's face paled and he drew her into the mud house.
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