Leslie Moore: Griffin's Destiny

“No, my friend,” Ashinji replied, his voice catching as more tears threatened. “I am so far from that. My wife is the most beautiful thing on this earth, not me.”

Magnes sighed and shook his head. He lay down and turned away from Ashinji, as if he could no longer bear to look upon what he so fervently desired but could never have.

For a very long time, Ashinji remained awake staring into the fire, too exhausted and emotionally raw to sleep. When he finally did lie down, he could only toss and turn.

When the sky beyond the broken edges of the barrow turned pearl gray with the coming dawn, Ashinji rose and climbed the rubble slope out onto the side of the ancient grave. He sat cross-legged in the dewy grass and watched the sun lift itself over the horizon to begin its daily journey across the heavens.

When he heard the scuffle of footsteps on the slope behind him, he didn’t need to look to know who approached. Magnes came up beside him and held out a hunk of cheese and a piece of bread. Wordlessly, Ashinji took the food and began to eat. Together, they stared into the distance, two friends sharing a meal in the quiet of the morning, each one knowing nothing would be the same between them ever again.

You have a body for me?”

“Yes, Highness,” the old man said. “A man of middle years, dead less than a day.”

“Excellent. Take me to it.”

Prince Raidan Onjara did not fear death, having witnessed it many times during his long career as a physician, but as he followed the elderly healer along the dirt path leading to the man’s cold room, he felt a twinge of apprehension.

What if the plague could not be stopped?

The prince had arrived in Tono three days ago. Since then, he had examined the bodies of five victims, though none had been fresh enough to yield acceptable samples.

All five were okui and had recently come into contact with hikui folk. According to the local Chief Constable, many people in the district had fallen sick, and the purebloods now seemed to die as easily as the mixed-race folk. This had led to some ugly confrontations, and increasing demands by some okui that all hikui be forced to leave the district.

With Lady Odata away in Sendai for the war council, the thankless task of keeping the peace in the valley now fell to her eldest son, an untested youth just barely of age. Raidan had felt no surprise when the beleaguered chief greeted his arrival with such overt relief.

Having no time to spare for anything other than the mission that brought him to Tono in the first place, Raidan had been forced to declare himself unavailable for peacekeeping duty, much to the consternation of the chief and his staff.

From first light to well after sunset, Raidan and his small escort rode from one farmstead to the next, interviewing the healthy and examining the sick. From modest cottages to prosperous manor houses, the prince encountered the same thing; people feared the plague and the imminent invasion by the Soldarans-purebloods and mixed bloods alike.

That evening, as the prince and his men dined at a local inn, word came to them of the old healer and the newly deceased man lying in a cold room behind the healer’s cottage. Not wishing to waste a single moment, Raidan abandoned his dinner and took to the saddle, leaving his escort behind.

Trudging along behind the old man, his worn leather satchel bumping his back, Raidan made a mental list of the samples he needed: blood, saliva, hair, skin, and discharge from any swellings or sores.

Let my brother scoff and cling to the belief that magic is the only way! The future lies with science, not magic, and if the elven people are to advance, they will have to give up their reliance on Talent and embrace the new learning.

That is, if we manage to survive both the plague and the Soldaran invasion.

A three-quarter moon hung like a clipped silver coin amid a thick field of stars. The old healer led the way through a stand of trees to the side of a hill, holding a bull’s-eye lantern above his graying head to light their way. Its golden beam fell upon a stout wooden door set into the side of the grass-covered hill.

“He’s right inside, milord Prince, lying on the lowermost shelf at the back,” the old man said. He gripped the heavy iron ring handle and heaved the door open, then led the way along a sloping passage deep into the interior of the hill.

The passage ended in a circular chamber constructed of tightly fitted, whitewashed stone. Raidan looked around, impressed with the old man’s workroom. Wood shelves, filled with a variety of pots, jars, and caskets, ran along the curve of the walls on either side of the door. A complete kit of dissection tools hung on pegs attached to a table at the center of the room. At the very back, three shelves had been recessed into the wall. Only one held an occupant-the lowest, as stated.

“I’ll need your assistance, healer,” Raidan said as he stepped over to the body and pulled back a fold of the heavy shroud, revealing the dead man’s face.

“Of course, milord,” the old man answered. “I have specimen jars, salt, vinegar. Just tell me what you need.” He hung the lantern from a hook embedded in the ceiling, then turned to wait upon the prince, who stood gazing with pensive eyes at the waxen features of the corpse.

“This is a man who’s been struck down in the prime of his life,” Raidan said.

“Just so, milord. ’Tis a tragedy.”

“Help me carry him to the table.”

While Raidan managed the head and shoulders, the old healer took the legs and feet. Together, the two men wrestled the corpse onto the table, where Raidan pulled the sheet away to reveal the entire body.

“I like the design of this dissection table,” he commented as he dropped the shroud to the floor and pushed it aside with his foot.

The old man squared his bony shoulders and grinned. “I designed it myself, your Highness. The top is glazed ceramic, and you see here, these channels along the sides? Perfect for the drainage of body fluids. I also put drains in the floor…”

“Yes, yes, very impressive,” Raidan cut in. The healer gulped and fell silent. “I need to get started now,” the prince added. “There’s a lot of work to do.”

“I can hang your cloak on the peg by the door, Highness. I also have an extra apron if you would like,” the old man offered meekly.

“Thank you, yes, and light another lantern if you have one.” Raidan eased his satchel off his shoulder and let it slip to the floor. As the healer scurried to comply, the prince continued his preliminary examination of the corpse. All the telltale signs of the plague were present-purplish swellings under the jaw, a blackened, protruding tongue, hemorrhage from eyes, ears, nose, and mouth.

No doubt I’ll find blood at the anus as well , the prince thought.

“Jashen,” the healer said.

“What?” Raidan threw a sideways glance at the old man.

The healer pointed to the corpse. “His name was Jashen. Jashen Hosha. He was a farmer. Owned a decent-sized spread just south of here.” The old man sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know what his poor wife’s going to do. Two little ones and a third on the way.”

Raidan rummaged in his bag and withdrew a small leather case. He eased it open and removed a pearl-handled scalpel. “Has the woman no other family to assist her?” he asked, brow furrowed in concentration as he carefully cut into one of the swellings, releasing a gush of black fluid.

“Suka is a northerner,” the healer replied. “She’s got no family anywhere near Tono, sad to say, your Highness.”

Raidan laid down the scalpel then reached into his bag for a collection spoon and vial. Careful not to allow any to come in contact with his skin, he scooped a small amount of the black fluid into the vial and sealed it.