~~~~~~~
The healer, Nealan of Queenscove, the sole occupant of Fort Corus, tapped his fingers. "Anyone?" he cried aloud, as forcefully as he could possibly make his voice. "Anyone!"
A sob broke his throat, already sore and bleeding from the weeks of mourning as his friends slowly succombed to the Chaos plague. And Kel...he couldn't think about that right now, or he would simply collapse where he was standing.
"Too quiet!" There's no one else, he thought wildly, no one at all. "Is there no one else?" The shout tore his throat painfully, and Neal nearly choked as a trickle of blood ran into his parched mouth. He closed his green eyes, rainbow hands shaking dreadfully. "Is there no one else?!"
The cry, backed with raw, emerald magic, made the earth tremble beneath his feet, and even the men tending docks in Carthak raised their head to listen for a moment before continuing there monotonous work.
The woman sitting in the grand Palace in Carthak City, holding her sleeping baby in shaking arms, sobbed as the words echoed in her head. "I'm sorry, so sorry," she whispered, blue-grey eyes spilling over onto the child's soft, pink skin. She firmly shut her mind off from all magic, both animal and human. "I'm so sorry."
The Healer bowed his head, the Wildmage's own words echoing in his head also. "Alone," he murmured. Walking calmly to his desk, littered with hastily scribbled notes, Neal sat in the squeaking chair and sadly regarded the blank parchment sitting in front of him. "What else to do. There must be something, or I shall go mad."
And he lifted his pen, the makeshift, runny ink for once obediant. During his remaining hours, he decided, I shall be useful. I will write a short history of the Chaos death, the Fort, the occupants...He closed his eyes, and two pale tears ran from his eyelashes to his chin.
Maybe it would make a difference, perhaps it wouldn't. But he would finish before the awful end, and take his last sleep with the woman he loved, still lying in the unbearably quiet Healer's Hall.
~~~~~~~~~
The Goddess knelt over the shallow graves, her pale hand gently touching the lovingly piled dirt. "This is so terrible," she whispered, perfect skin stretched taut with pain. "It was our fault, brother."
Mithros, his bright armor shining in the sun, bowed his dark head. "It was," he boomed, before reaching the paper-strewn desk of the healer. Lifting the stack of vellum in his large hand, the god flipped through the pages, carefully, as to not hurt the documents.
Gainel waved his white hand, allowing the earth to open for a moment as the Snake carefully deposited the three bodies into the hole. "Such a horrifying moment," he commented quietly, in the god's minds, "I cannot imagine something so strong that could wipe out this country."
Mithros snorted. "It gives you plenty of dreams to work with. You know all the neighboring countries will dream of the plague spreading."
The dream-king smiled wanly. "I suppose so. But it was I who was correct in creating the barrier around Tortall, so the Chaos wouldn't spread. It would have killed anything still alive to purify this land."
"Still," the Goddess said quietly, "They couldn't escape. And no one could help them." She paused over the bodies of two mortals, one lying on a cot, the other sitting on a chair next to her. "A shame."
"He's the healer, who wrote this." The god lifted his hand, holding the sheaf of parchments. "Finely detailed, an accurate historical record of this...tragedy."
"What are we going to do with it?"
"We'll send it to Carthak. They'll do something useful with it, the Wildmage will see to it." The gods slowly dispersed back to their Realms, leaving the empty country void of life. "When they are all gone, we shall lay our hand upon this lonely bit of earth."
~~~~~~~~~~
theres another cahpter yet. okay? don't give up on me.