Back From Chaos (24 page)

When Marja shot Klast a look of disbelief mixed with gratitude, he knew that she had been informed of his involvement. He acknowledged her with the briefest of bows.

He watched Brensa make a worried inspection of the deep pocket she had sewn into her gown. He had heard of the rescue and understood the gesture. No-tail lay curled there, apparently unharmed by Brensa’s tumble into Marja. Brensa stroked her with visible relief. Thank Earth the kitten had not tasted the poisoned drink. It would have been hard for Brensa if the kitten did not survive. He saw Marja notice Brensa’s attention to the pocket and give her a wan smile of understanding.

No one outside their inner circle yet knew of Marja’s pregnancy, so in spite of the events at dinner, she stayed as long as was politely expected. When Klast saw her bend to Gaelen and whisper in his ear, he was ready. Klast knew that Gaelen wished to stay longer, for appearances. As Marja and Brensa made to leave, Gaelen nodded slightly, and Klast surreptitiously followed. When the women had safely reached their destination, with the door barred and the guard back in place, he left in search of clues.

~ 51 ~

ENTER DEATH

The worn, grey wagon, pulled by a swaybacked nag, approached the north gate at a tired plod. On the bench, just big enough for two, a dusty old man held the reins in lax hands, shoulders slumped, chin resting almost on his chest. The wagon’s bed held an aging trunk and three dilapidated baskets. A blanket, some twigs for kindling and a few pots, spoons and bowls filled out the cargo. Beside them lay a bundle just over four feet long, tenderly wrapped in another faded blanket and covered with a fine layer of dust.

The guard, Brest, looked at his partner and groaned. “Earth, what now. I was about to lock the gate.” His partner grunted understanding.

Dusk dimmed the light, and the gates would be locked for the night. No one else travelled the road outside the city that evening. The air held that expectant pause that comes at the end of a hot midsummer day, when businesses close their doors and tired workers look forward to supper and a quiet span by the hearth before retiring for the night.

“
State your name and your business, sir. We are about to close the gate. You travel late.” The guard made no effort to hide his annoyance at being bothered at this span. His wife waited at home with a hot stew, and he looked forward to spending some time playing with his infant son before he went to sleep. The lad was his firstborn, strong and happy. Those few moments spent in play each day made the boredom of guard duty bearable.

The old man raised his head and answered slowly. “We come, sir, to attend my daughter, who bears her first child. We be invited to stay with her. We be old now and canna manage our small croft outside the city.” Then he shook himself, as though remembering something he had pushed aside. “Alas, my wife willna know her grandchild. She took ill on the way and lies in yon blanket. I beg you, sir, let me enter, that my daughter may bid her mother farewell and that we may bury her.” One tear escaped a sunken eye and rolled between the creases in his face to fall on his dusty collar.

Brest hesitated. After all, the woman had been ill. He studied the old man as he decided what to do. The rules said that diseased persons could not be admitted. But this couple was old and the woman already dead. Surely she had just died of age, a flux, maybe, or a cough. The old man seemed well enough.

“
What was the nature of her illness, sir? Did she suffer from fits or a fever?” As he asked his questions he stepped up to the wagon and gingerly pulled back a corner of the blanket to confirm the man’s account. The old woman looked grey but had surely been dead only a short while. He dropped the blanket back in disgust, then spat on his hands and wiped them hastily on his tunic.

“
No sir. She just felt unwell, said ’er eyes hurt and she couldna eat. Then she just went to sleep and dinna wake.”

“
Very well, then. Enter. Sorry for your loss.” He stepped back and made way for the wagon to pass. Then he hurriedly shut and locked the gate. Bidding the lone remaining guard goodnight, he strode home to his wife and child, whistling tunelessly.

~ 52 ~

PLAGUE

A young soldier hurried to Gaelen with a request that he see Liethis in her chamber as soon as possible. Gaelen had not expected her in the city, as he had not sent for her, so he knew this must be urgent. When he knocked on her door he found, to his surprise, that she had not unpacked and looked ready to depart again.

She closed the door swiftly behind him and started pacing back and forth across the floor with obvious agitation. Gaelen’s eyes widened in surprise. He had never seen Liethis this way. Respect made him hold his peace until she felt ready to tell him what had made her travel here and ask to see him so urgently. She did not make him wait long.

“
Gaelen, I must leave again immediately. The city weeps in pain and mourning. I can barely breathe. A pestilence has entered. It leaves no home untouched. Children weep for their mothers. The gravediggers cannot keep up. Pyres burn those that cannot be buried. Orphans need food and shelter.”

Liethis slowed for a moment, looking at Gaelen as she explained. “Children survive this disease best. Adults die more easily. Of those that survive, some are blind. If you can, tell the people to keep away from strong light until they recover. This disease chooses rich and poor equally. No house can be kept safe. It is too late to warn people to leave. That will only spread death beyond the city’s walls more quickly. It cannot be stopped.”

Gaelen stomach knotted as he heard Liethis speak.

She resumed pacing as she spoke, then again stopped to look at him.

He whispered his worst fear. “Marja?”

Liethis face softened slightly. “She will be spared.” Then she answered his unspoken question. “As will your son, since I see him born and hale.”

Gaelen breathed a small sigh of relief. Then concern for his people reasserted itself. “Liethis, you speak as if these things have already happened. But no one has reported any unusual deaths.”

Liethis continued walking back and forth, hands clenched white-knuckled at her sides, face pinched. “The seed has entered the city. It will not be long. You must prepare. Now I must leave, for it becomes unbearable. I can tell you no more. The rest is lost amid this pain.” She picked up her travel bags and opened the door. She managed a wan smile for Gaelen as she hurried out. Gaelen stood rooted in the room, shocked, as the import of what he had been told sank in.

As soon as he gathered his thoughts he called an emergency meeting of the inner council. This included Janest, Grenth, and, unfortunately, Sinnath. Surely even he could not use this crisis to undermine Bargia further. Gaelen still found it hard to accept that a man who had shown such loyalty to his father could turn traitor.

The council decided it was premature to alert the people. They agreed with Gaelen that it would not do to have a mass exodus from the city. That would only spread the contagion further. Instead, they quietly set up plans for the distribution of emergency food, decided how children left without parents would be cared for, made a list of gravediggers and planned how the army would be deployed to keep order during the panic that would surely ensue.

Gaelen’s next action was to go to Marja and share the grim news with her. He knew she would keep it to herself. He needed to share his worries with someone who would not expect complete self-control from him. And he needed to spare her the worry over her own safety and that of their son.

Lastly, Gaelen sent for Klast by the method they had set up. A soldier took Klast this coded message. “I need you to make an arrest. Meet me for information.” Gaelen intended to send Klast immediately to Catania to warn Argost. Uncovering Sinnath’s betrayal would have to wait.

~ 53 ~

TO CATANIA

Klast’s orders made it clear that speed was of the essence. Knowing that hunting and cooking would waste precious time, he packed travel food that needed no preparation and weighed little. Nuts and seeds, dried fruit, hard biscuits, strips of dried salted meat, a wedge of aged cheese and a waterskin; not the most appetizing fare, but Klast had survived on much less and much worse in the past. At least his belly would be full. Though he wasted no time, he packed methodically. As always, his medicinal pouch stayed strapped to his belt and his weapons remained hidden about his body and his clothing.

For his mount he chose an unremarkable roan gelding that had seen hard work. He made sure the tack and saddle were sound but not new. No point inviting attention or theft. Besides food, he carried only two blankets, a rolled up oiled skin against rain, and two changes of clothing of different types, in case he needed more than one disguise. Once ready, he slipped out of the city under cover of darkness through an opening in the wall few knew about. As he left, he had a sense of foreboding, something to do with Brensa. It left him with a feeling of urgency that made it even more important to hurry back. The further he rode from Bargia, the stronger the need to return became.

He recalled a recent conversation with Brensa. He had caught her watching him with silent longing when he had entered the castle in search of clues to Sinnath’s plans. He had been surprised that she had noticed him. The way she looked at him made it plain that her feelings ran deep, so he had taken pains to make it clear he would never return those feelings and that he was no good match for her. He had been quite blunt. While she had nodded miserably that she understood, he still had the sense that she wanted more from him. He was aware how unlikely it was that any other man could ever win her trust and that saddened Klast. She deserved better. He still kept an eye out for her safety and checked on her regularly. It had surprised him just how often he had caught her watching him, when no one else seemed aware of his presence. How did she do that, and what was this strange connection he could not escape? In his solitary moments it gnawed at him.

Klast stayed on the trail as long as it remained dark, then slipped into the woods at first light. He found a small stream, where he watered his mount and hobbled it on the grassy bank to graze while he took a couple of spans rest. Sleep eluded him. His mind kept going over what Gaelen had told him and to the darkness he sensed surrounding Brensa.

As dusk lengthened the shadows between the trees, Klast resumed his trek. He allowed himself to enjoy the quiet that increased as the woods settled for the night. He listened for the scurrying of the night hunters, and the hoot of an owl occasionally breaking the stillness. The weather remained clear, and cooled to a crispness at this higher altitude, that foretold the first frosts of autumn just a few eightdays away. Through the topmost branches he could spy the occasional star flickering in the indigo of the cloudless sky. The solitude of the journey provided a much needed change from the pace he had kept the past eightdays. Klast’s deeply solitary nature required such respite. His progress was swift and uneventful throughout the night.

Dawn found him only spans away from Catania’s north gate, the same they had left by less than two moons ago.

Klast chose to enter by this gate, in full view of the people. He wore his “I am not important” look, just in case someone might remember that he had not been there previously and become suspicious. If asked to explain his arrival, he planned to say he had run out of work in the countryside and had come to try his luck finding work rebuilding the city. “Surely a man wi’ a strong back and good hands be of use?” This would provide him with a cover and allow movement throughout the city.

~ 54 ~

CRISIS

Bargia seemed to hold its breath for several days. The weather grew hot and still. A miasma rose from the guttered streets, wafting from rotting debris and human waste where flies feasted and deposited their eggs. At the peak of summer, the lack of rainfall left major areas of the city as foul as a midden. The only true respite lay inside the walled gardens of the wealthy. Even so, many of these regularly left for summer homes outside the city, where it stayed cooler, especially the women and children. Husbands had business that needed their attention and travelled back and forth as they could. Their mistresses received much more attention during these days, though they did not always welcome it. The numbers of newborn among them increased in late winter and early spring.

The old man’s daughter watched her man bury him alongside his wife five days after he entered the gates. The old man never saw his granddaughter. As the young husband lowered the body into the grave and covered it over, he began to feel chilled, and his eyes hurt in the light. By evening he was delirious with fever. His frantic wife kept wet cloths on his brow and invoked Earth for his recovery. Three days later the fever broke, and the red blisters that had covered his body crusted over. He would recover, though his eyes would never again enjoy the fineness of his wife’s needlework or see the lashes framing his daughter’s eyes as she laughed into his face. He was one of the lucky ones.

In the area of the city where the soldiers and guards made their homes, the one who had examined the old woman’s blanket fell ill. He died in four days, still ignorant of what he had allowed in when he opened the gate. His infant son developed a mild rash and recovered without harm. The babe’s mother also raged with fever and was covered in red blisters. She lay raving for three days before her fever broke. Her milk dried up, and a wet-nurse had to be found. That good woman, too, was placed on a pyre ten days later, leaving the poor mother with two babes to find milk and pap for.