The Road Home
Posted: Wed Apr 27, 2005 3:44 am
It was the longest five miles she had ever walked, and still there were five miles yet before her. Myrken had never seemed quite so far away.
It had all begun 2 weeks ago. Garald had come in from the field complaining about how much he had to plow, and how hot it was for being so early in the season. Dea, of course, only scolded him for being such a baby about things and sent him on home to his mother.
When he returned the next day, he seemed a bit under the weather, a bit pale, lacking his usual energy (usually spent on complaining). Still, he insisted on working, committed to doing his 30 hours of work in exchange for the throwing daggers Dea had promised to make for him.
The next day, Garald had not come to work, nor the following day. On the third day, Dea went calling to Nora's cabin. Garald's mother was frantic. Her son had been coughing, there had been bleeding. It was difficult to sort through what was the hysteria of a worried mother and the truth. Dea stayed, to observe the boy for a day or two.
On the sixth day, the coughing had only grown worse. Night sweats had stained the boy's bed clothes crimson, blood seeping from his pores as sweat. Still Nora refused to call on a doctor. Garald was in terrible pain, when he was conscious. He wailed and sobbed, streaks of vermillion coursing down his face. Even his tears bled. Nora began to cough.
On the tenth day...they buried Garald.
On the 13th day, Dea had packed a bag and headed out for Myrken proper. Others that lived in the farming community outside of town had begun to get sick like Garald. Whispers of some demon plague, some unholy fever. She believed none of it. It was time to consult with those who knew something of healing, and of medicine.
It was the 14th day, at sunrise, when she left for the township proper. A stop at the inn, then on to that place they kept the sick people. Remembering the fancy names of such places had never been very important to her. Once she got there, of course. Dea was awfully thirsty, and the insects seemed particularly nasty this day. One had gotten her right above her elbow. Burned like the very dickens now. Ugly little bug, damn nasty stinger, took her nearly half an hour to break it free from the skin.
Certainly the doctor would have something to reduce the burning, take down the swelling. That was where she was headed anyway. A glance toward the area were Kanashia had once lived and the new, strange keep stood. So quiet, amidst what was quickly becoming Chaos.
It had all begun 2 weeks ago. Garald had come in from the field complaining about how much he had to plow, and how hot it was for being so early in the season. Dea, of course, only scolded him for being such a baby about things and sent him on home to his mother.
When he returned the next day, he seemed a bit under the weather, a bit pale, lacking his usual energy (usually spent on complaining). Still, he insisted on working, committed to doing his 30 hours of work in exchange for the throwing daggers Dea had promised to make for him.
The next day, Garald had not come to work, nor the following day. On the third day, Dea went calling to Nora's cabin. Garald's mother was frantic. Her son had been coughing, there had been bleeding. It was difficult to sort through what was the hysteria of a worried mother and the truth. Dea stayed, to observe the boy for a day or two.
On the sixth day, the coughing had only grown worse. Night sweats had stained the boy's bed clothes crimson, blood seeping from his pores as sweat. Still Nora refused to call on a doctor. Garald was in terrible pain, when he was conscious. He wailed and sobbed, streaks of vermillion coursing down his face. Even his tears bled. Nora began to cough.
On the tenth day...they buried Garald.
On the 13th day, Dea had packed a bag and headed out for Myrken proper. Others that lived in the farming community outside of town had begun to get sick like Garald. Whispers of some demon plague, some unholy fever. She believed none of it. It was time to consult with those who knew something of healing, and of medicine.
It was the 14th day, at sunrise, when she left for the township proper. A stop at the inn, then on to that place they kept the sick people. Remembering the fancy names of such places had never been very important to her. Once she got there, of course. Dea was awfully thirsty, and the insects seemed particularly nasty this day. One had gotten her right above her elbow. Burned like the very dickens now. Ugly little bug, damn nasty stinger, took her nearly half an hour to break it free from the skin.
Certainly the doctor would have something to reduce the burning, take down the swelling. That was where she was headed anyway. A glance toward the area were Kanashia had once lived and the new, strange keep stood. So quiet, amidst what was quickly becoming Chaos.