3 (Corus these days.)
NINE DAYS LATER . . .
It was a nightmare. The city of Corus, which was supposed to be beautiful and fascinating, nearly drowned in death: Throughout the whole town, the sounds of death-hymns could be heard; countless dead bodies were taken around on barrows; the screams of the ill and the cries of the bereaved rang out through streets and houses. Death reigned in Corus and the healers were helpless against the cause.
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"Alanna! Alanna!"
She did not look up, but concentrated on the patient in front of her. It was a boy, about three years older than her, with light-blonde hair and blue eyes that's glassy gaze was fixated on the ceiling. In fact, he looked rather handsome and might've caused the girls to swoon over him. But Alanna knew better.
She knew that this boy would never fall in love again, that he would never laugh again and that he would never again fight with that self-made bronze- sword that was lying in one corner of the room. She knew, because this boy could not stop coughing. Mucus blocked his lungs and cold sweat made him shiver in the overheated room. Sometimes he'd scream for help against demons, which haunted him in his hallucinations. The medicine didn't work. - This boy was going to die before the bell would ring to the daily mass. He was going to be one of the dead they would be praying for. Unless she helped him.
Slowly she began to call on her gift, let it grow until there was a huge ball of violet fire in front of her inner eye. She staggered slightly, but continued nevertheless. Her hands were on top of the patient's breast, where the healing would have to begin. But the very moment, she pulled on her gift to let it flow into the body; someone pushed her hands away from the boy.
If Alanna hadn't been working for the healers the full last three days without more than three hours of sleep, she might've been able to free herself of the grip two strong hands had on hers. But she was exhausted - physically as well as emotionally, from seeing so much suffer. Her weak struggle against the hands didn't help her in any way and slowly she began to hear what the person in front of her was trying to say.
"Alanna! Remember, you are just an apprentice. You are not allowed to do a full magic healing on your own in a case like this disease. And even if you weren't just an apprentice, you couldn't do anything. This boy is going to die. The Black God has already claimed him. The God is strong, but you are weak. Exhausted. You hear me, Alanna? You can't help him. You would die in the progress and nothing could ever bring you back. Alanna! Alanna!"
When the words had finally sunk into her mind, Alanna tried to hold still in the grip of those hands, but realized that she couldn't. Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably and tears were silently running down her cheeks. There truly was nothing she could do. Not in this state of hers anyway. She closed her eyes as though not to let anyone see the despair in them.
The last days had been too much for the girl.
All around her she had seen people dying by a disease no one knew the remedy for, people crying for those who died, people unsuccessfully trying to heal others, and people that prayed for their relatives and friends with all their might. It had been pure suffer and pain that had revealed themselves in front of the thirteen-year-old. And she had realized that she had not been ready for this yet. She felt too young, too helpless. Even her fighting arts could not help her against the almighty enemy: the disease. The situation was overwhelming her and with the many little things that she was allowed to do she didn't seem to archive anything at all. She was useless and that was something she could not deal with.
"Alanna?" A worried voice brought her back to the present.
'Reassure her! Tell her that you are all right!' something inside of her whispered. The voice was strong and Alanna opened her mouth to do what it said, but realized that she couldn't: "I. -I."
If the person hadn't still had a hold on her hands, the fainting girl surely would've collided with the white marble floor.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Has anyone of you found out some efficient method to defeat this strange sickness?"
Duke Baird, the head of healers in the palace asked. It was one of their daily meetings where they would inform each other about everything in connection with the Sweating Sickness, as this was what the strange disease had been named. For the last few days nothing new had been developed, but Baird could not suppress a faint hope when he asked his question.
Slowly each and every healer shook his head.
"Well." The duke tried to smile encouragingly but failed miserably. "As all indications seem to prove the disease to be artificial, a messenger has been sent to the most powerful magicians of Tortall. We haven't received an answer yet. Other news we don't have so far. I can only repeat the warning: do not overtax yourselves in any ways. Your health is needed urgently and we cannot do with completely exhausted or even dead healers.
"I wish you good luck. May the Great Gods bless you."
Pure exhaustion could be seen on the healers' faces as they all answered with a mumbled: "The gods bless you!" Then everyone quietly got back to work or to bed for a short nap.
- "Your Lordship?" One of the healers that had lately come from the City of the Gods came forward to speak to Baird. Her simple brown dress and haircut proved her identity as that of a commoner, although her speech did not betray her.
"Yes?" he asked tiredly and rubbed his sleeves. He'd got a gods-damned headache, which he normally would've healed with his gift. But he could not waste his powers on something as ordinary as this in a time like that.
"We have run out of some sorts of herbs. If you'd give me your permission, I will send my apprentice to get new ones in the Lower City."
He wrinkled his brow.
"An apprentice? Why, we need every single healer - fully educated or not - here at the palace. Why can't you just send one of the servants or the pages?"
"Please, Sir! My apprentice is a thirteen-year-old girl. She had a breakdown just some hours ago - after working incessantly for the last days. I think she needs a short break from all this. A short walk into town and back might not only stimulate her blood circulation but also her will to carry on. I think that she might even break down entirely if we do not give her this break of work."
The duke sighed. A thirteen-year-old girl? The woman was right, she might need a break. After all, what kind of world was this, when children had to watch others die while they were supposed to be helping them? Baird shuddered at the thought what he would've felt like if, at that age, he had had to sit helplessly at the bed of ill, dying people. It was horrible enough now, that he was an adult.
"I agree with you, madam. I give you my allowance."
NINE DAYS LATER . . .
It was a nightmare. The city of Corus, which was supposed to be beautiful and fascinating, nearly drowned in death: Throughout the whole town, the sounds of death-hymns could be heard; countless dead bodies were taken around on barrows; the screams of the ill and the cries of the bereaved rang out through streets and houses. Death reigned in Corus and the healers were helpless against the cause.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Alanna! Alanna!"
She did not look up, but concentrated on the patient in front of her. It was a boy, about three years older than her, with light-blonde hair and blue eyes that's glassy gaze was fixated on the ceiling. In fact, he looked rather handsome and might've caused the girls to swoon over him. But Alanna knew better.
She knew that this boy would never fall in love again, that he would never laugh again and that he would never again fight with that self-made bronze- sword that was lying in one corner of the room. She knew, because this boy could not stop coughing. Mucus blocked his lungs and cold sweat made him shiver in the overheated room. Sometimes he'd scream for help against demons, which haunted him in his hallucinations. The medicine didn't work. - This boy was going to die before the bell would ring to the daily mass. He was going to be one of the dead they would be praying for. Unless she helped him.
Slowly she began to call on her gift, let it grow until there was a huge ball of violet fire in front of her inner eye. She staggered slightly, but continued nevertheless. Her hands were on top of the patient's breast, where the healing would have to begin. But the very moment, she pulled on her gift to let it flow into the body; someone pushed her hands away from the boy.
If Alanna hadn't been working for the healers the full last three days without more than three hours of sleep, she might've been able to free herself of the grip two strong hands had on hers. But she was exhausted - physically as well as emotionally, from seeing so much suffer. Her weak struggle against the hands didn't help her in any way and slowly she began to hear what the person in front of her was trying to say.
"Alanna! Remember, you are just an apprentice. You are not allowed to do a full magic healing on your own in a case like this disease. And even if you weren't just an apprentice, you couldn't do anything. This boy is going to die. The Black God has already claimed him. The God is strong, but you are weak. Exhausted. You hear me, Alanna? You can't help him. You would die in the progress and nothing could ever bring you back. Alanna! Alanna!"
When the words had finally sunk into her mind, Alanna tried to hold still in the grip of those hands, but realized that she couldn't. Her whole body was trembling uncontrollably and tears were silently running down her cheeks. There truly was nothing she could do. Not in this state of hers anyway. She closed her eyes as though not to let anyone see the despair in them.
The last days had been too much for the girl.
All around her she had seen people dying by a disease no one knew the remedy for, people crying for those who died, people unsuccessfully trying to heal others, and people that prayed for their relatives and friends with all their might. It had been pure suffer and pain that had revealed themselves in front of the thirteen-year-old. And she had realized that she had not been ready for this yet. She felt too young, too helpless. Even her fighting arts could not help her against the almighty enemy: the disease. The situation was overwhelming her and with the many little things that she was allowed to do she didn't seem to archive anything at all. She was useless and that was something she could not deal with.
"Alanna?" A worried voice brought her back to the present.
'Reassure her! Tell her that you are all right!' something inside of her whispered. The voice was strong and Alanna opened her mouth to do what it said, but realized that she couldn't: "I. -I."
If the person hadn't still had a hold on her hands, the fainting girl surely would've collided with the white marble floor.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
"Has anyone of you found out some efficient method to defeat this strange sickness?"
Duke Baird, the head of healers in the palace asked. It was one of their daily meetings where they would inform each other about everything in connection with the Sweating Sickness, as this was what the strange disease had been named. For the last few days nothing new had been developed, but Baird could not suppress a faint hope when he asked his question.
Slowly each and every healer shook his head.
"Well." The duke tried to smile encouragingly but failed miserably. "As all indications seem to prove the disease to be artificial, a messenger has been sent to the most powerful magicians of Tortall. We haven't received an answer yet. Other news we don't have so far. I can only repeat the warning: do not overtax yourselves in any ways. Your health is needed urgently and we cannot do with completely exhausted or even dead healers.
"I wish you good luck. May the Great Gods bless you."
Pure exhaustion could be seen on the healers' faces as they all answered with a mumbled: "The gods bless you!" Then everyone quietly got back to work or to bed for a short nap.
- "Your Lordship?" One of the healers that had lately come from the City of the Gods came forward to speak to Baird. Her simple brown dress and haircut proved her identity as that of a commoner, although her speech did not betray her.
"Yes?" he asked tiredly and rubbed his sleeves. He'd got a gods-damned headache, which he normally would've healed with his gift. But he could not waste his powers on something as ordinary as this in a time like that.
"We have run out of some sorts of herbs. If you'd give me your permission, I will send my apprentice to get new ones in the Lower City."
He wrinkled his brow.
"An apprentice? Why, we need every single healer - fully educated or not - here at the palace. Why can't you just send one of the servants or the pages?"
"Please, Sir! My apprentice is a thirteen-year-old girl. She had a breakdown just some hours ago - after working incessantly for the last days. I think she needs a short break from all this. A short walk into town and back might not only stimulate her blood circulation but also her will to carry on. I think that she might even break down entirely if we do not give her this break of work."
The duke sighed. A thirteen-year-old girl? The woman was right, she might need a break. After all, what kind of world was this, when children had to watch others die while they were supposed to be helping them? Baird shuddered at the thought what he would've felt like if, at that age, he had had to sit helplessly at the bed of ill, dying people. It was horrible enough now, that he was an adult.
"I agree with you, madam. I give you my allowance."