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The Following Morning
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Shikoba had realized a few hours after the sun set that he was not going to make it to Cross Roads that day. He’d left the road then and had found a secluded and sheltered spot some way away. The roads might make travel easier, but it still wasn’t safe for an old man travelling alone to sleep
next to one – especially these days.
It being fall, and with winter rapidly closing in, it was cold and wet out in the world, but as unpleasant as it was the weather this far south was nothing in comparison to the mountain Shikoba had called his home for the past twenty-six years. So he’d endured the chill, wrapped in his goat’s hair cloak for warmth, ignoring the arthritic ache that crept just a little deeper into his joints with each passing year. Hours before it would be light again, the old man awoke and hauled himself upright once more, back aching and joints creeking. He took a much-needed piss, and then started back towards the road again moving with a gait that began as more of a slow, painful hobble, but that soon transformed into a slow, but less painful-looking limp, and finally began to look something like a proper walk – with just a hint of an old man’s shuffle to it – about the time he’d reached the road again.
Shikoba had only slept three or four hours, but one benefit of being old was that one simply did not need much sleep anymore, and for a man Shikoba Athanasi’s age four hours of sleep was plenty….
As the clear skies turned from black to a dark hue of blue, the birds began to chirp to announce the inevitable rising of the sun in the East. Buxton’s eyes slowly dragged open, and she used her index finger to wipe away the grit that so easily glued them back shut. She had only gotten about five hours sleep but it was enough for her, and she knew that she would be lucky to get that over the coming weeks. The reason she was reluctant to jump from her bed was more due to the cold morning wind, and she lazily wrapped her itchy woollen sheets around herself in a desperate bid to reserve heat.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK “It’s time Lady Buxton!” called out Chester from the other side of the door, his voice baring no signs of tiredness or fatigue. If anything Buxton thought his tone carried a note of happiness or excitement, despite the absurd time of the morning.
“Prick.” She murmured, not loud for him to hear. Were it not for him, maybe she could have simply laid in the warmth embrace of her bed for a few more hours; no one would question the Leader’s choice to delay the expedition after all. She heard his footsteps trail off towards the north end of the corridor and down the stairs. The old creaky floorboards of the inn betraying his every move. He wouldn’t begin waking the others until she was up because it would reflect badly on them both if the soldiers appeared ready before their commanding officer.
‘Probably off to wake the innkeeper downstairs and get the food sorted’ she thought as she half-heartedly slung away her covers and clambered out of bed. Wanting to protect herself from the chill, as well as to protect her modesty were someone to somehow stroll in, she quickly threw on her clothes and light armour. Then she wandered over to a desk where there sat a bowl of water, and begun to splash it over her face. "Fuck that's cold" she gasped with a shiver, the icy water washing away any remaining tiredness she may have felt. As she stood lurched over the bowl, a study stream of water dripping off her jawline, she looked up and gazed out of the window and towards the rising sun. Before the plague begun she might have thought it to be a beautiful sight, a sign that things could get better, but now it seemed to just mock her. It signalled that another day had passed, that more people had succumed to the plague on her watch. It showed her that the days were getting shorter and the weather more cold and unforgiving. And it lit the way to the East, where she and all those that followed her would likely die.
"Please Lady Sol, do not lead me to destruction." she begged.
The walk into town had been pleasant. Though it had started dark, there were no clouds and the stars had blazed brightly and beautifully in the nighttime sky, giving Shikoba the perfect excuse to offer his prayers and thanks to Salri, the Great Spirit of darkness, as well as to his daughter Che, the goddess of the heavens above him, for the fine weather and finer view to send him on his way. As the sky had slowly brightened, his prayers had shifted naturally towards Salri’s mate Alynev, the Great Spirit of the light itself, and he hummed a welcoming hymn to Fainde, child of the light and embodiment of the sun, as he went. Everything, from the wind in the trees, to the trees themselves, and even the mountains in the far distance; everything was evidence of the presence and the providence of the Six and the Nine, and of the lesser spirits, at the same time that the Six and the Nine and the lesser spirits
were themselves everything.
The Black Blood Plague was a horror, and everything in Shikoba Athanasi’s life over the past several weeks may have seemed like a nightmare at times, but the heavens and the earth still stood firm, the sun still shone, nature continued unaffected, and the Old Gods still reigned. Shikoba Athanasi would not let himself forget these things, nor would he shirk his obligations to the Great Spirits, or allow his own spirit to fall out of balance with the world around him.
At this time of year the sunrise was a lengthy thing, and it would only grow longer as the season turned, so the sun was still lighting the horizon on fire when Shikoba reached his destination. To the ancient hermit’s eyes as he walked its wide but currently empty streets, the city of The Cross Roads was the same as every other Vasili city he’d ever been in: too big and too cut off from the natural world all around it. He moved through its streets at a pace that likely would have seemed too slow to any younger folk watching – only at this hour there weren’t any – and he seemed to have no real destination in mind. Indeed, he
had no fixed destination in mind, as he did not know where the Consano was to be found, and at such an early hour there were few up and about whom he could ask. Athanasi was untroubled by this fact, however; he was a follower of the Old Ways, and he trusted the Spirits to guide him on his way.
The old master considered, reciting a proverb even more ancient than he was as he walked:
What has been concealed by the gods,
The gods intend to be found.
Yet he that uncovers those things,
In the uncovering
His own innocence will he lose
In this way,
Innocence is ignorant, yet
Ignorance is now always innocent.
The way is etched in the Earth's own flesh;
Only the Wind knows its paths.
This truth Darkness has obscured;
This mystery the Light has revealed.
So be it. Shikoba Athanasi made the sign of affirmation as he finished this thought, rounding a street corner as he did so, and glanced up to find himself looking at an inn with the name ‘The Kevil Arms’. There were lights glimmering in the inn’s first storey windows, and Shikoba allowed himself a little smile as he thought of the breakfast he might be able to acquire inside – and as well, he could ask for information on where to find the Consano.
No sooner had he thought this than his old eyes landed on the scribbled sign propped next to the inn’s front door, announcing that this very place was where the King’s private force was recruiting new members. Shikoba Athanasi could only chuckle quietly to himself as he opened the door and made his way inside.
Alan Corentin, proprietor of The Kevil Arms, was cleaning up behind the tavern room’s main counter when he heard the front door opening. Though it wasn’t exactly usual for folk to come a-calling at such early hours, The Kevil Arms
was an inn, so it was known to happen from time to time. Alan turned towards the newcomer with the intention of letting them know that the inn had, unfortunately, been bought out by the King’s men for the rest of the day (“but if you like, you could come back after midday, by which time they’ll have gone”), but found himself looking into the eyes of probably the oldest human being he’d ever seen.
The man was weathered like a cliff face, gnarled like an ancient pine, no taller than a child, and his demeanor was as overwhelmingly calm and placid as a lake on a windless day.
“Greetings”, the old man said, “I am called Shikoba Athanasi and I am here to offer what aid I can to the Vasili-king’s private force, the Consano. Who should I speak to?”
Alan’s eyebrows rose upwards on hearing the oldster’s name. The Kevil Arms’ proprietor was an old veteran of the wars against Cain’s Rebellion in the north, nearly twenty years previously. That was how he’d come to know Sir Chester, and that relationship was how Sir Chester had come to propose the Arms as the place to hold court for the Consano’s recruitment phase. And to the ears of Alan, the veteran of wars fought in the far northern territories, the name ‘Shikoba Athanasi’ had a distinctly familiar ring.
“The man you’ll want to be speaking to hasn’t risen yet, so far as I know, grandfather”, Alan answered politely. “I’d guess he’ll be down soon enough though, if you’re serious about joining the Consano.”
“I am”, answered the old man. Alan nodded, his expression letting it be known he was impressed with the old geezer’s courage, if also a bit incredulous at his presumption.
“Where’ve I heard that name before?” he asked. “Shikoba Athanasi? ‘Tis familiar to my ear.”
“I am known to some”, the little old geezer replied, “north of the city of Titus. Have you travelled in the North?”
“Aye”, replied Alan, “I fought in the King’s army during the Rebellion of Cain, and I’ve been as far north as that fort town they named after ‘im.”
“Cain, hmm?” The old man’s question seemed rhetorical, and he seemed to lose himself in memories for a moment before commenting, “It has been some time since I heard that name; its owner was always too impetuous for his own good, even as a youth.”
Alan Corentin snapped his fingers and exclaimed, “
That’s where I’ve heard your name!” The Kevil Arms’ proprietor suddenly seemed to realize something then and pushed himself back from the bar he’d been leaning on, regarding the wizened old man before him with a new look in his eyes. “Aye”, he said with growing certainty, “Aye, I remember now…
“All through that war we were always hearing from the local people in villages we passed through ‘bout how Cain and his right-hand men had been trained by an immortal wizard who lived atop some mountain in the Far North or somethin’. Folks were always telling us how scared we oughtta be of Cain and his men ‘cause of that. I’d almost forgotten it, but you comin’ in and introducin’ yourself reminded me: that old wizard’s name, it was ‘
Shikoba Athanasi’.”
The old man’s lips turned upward minutely in the subtlest of smiles and he waved one hand in negation as he said, “I am no wizard, young man, though it is true that the gifted blood flows in my veins. And it is true that Cain, and others who fought in the wars with him eighteen years ago, were students of mine when they were young.”
Alan, who’s expression was now caught somewhere between one of fear and a simple smirk of distaste, asked, “So you supported the Rebellion then, eh?”
“I took no part in the fighting”, Shikoba answered. “Such wars are the concern of younger men; I was an old man even then, I am even older now, and until the Plague arrived I was content to remain on my mountain.”
“Yeah?”, responded Alan, looking only slightly mollified by the 'immortal wizard’s' answer. “Well I don’t suppose it matters anyway. Seeing as how the man comin’ down those stairs back there”, and here Alan pointed past Shikoba towards the inn’s stairs leading to the second floor, down which someone was indeed walking, “
killed most of your students during that bloody war, I’d say there wasn’t much of anything to all those rumors we used to hear about you and your students after all,
Shikoba Athanasi.”
A moment of strained silence passed between the two men, as Shikoba gazed silently at the inn’s proprietor. At the end of that moment he asked, “Is that man also the one you mentioned earlier with whom I will need to speak about joining the Consano?”
“Yus”, was Alan’s terse response.
“My gratitude”, was Shikoba’s equally brief reply. And then he turned to meet the new arrival.
Sir Chester raised a curious eyebrow at the encounter before him. He did not recognise the old man but he could see that tension was caused by whatever Alan had said as Chester entered. "Can I help you Sir?" Chester asked politely, showing courtesy towards his elder (not that he was ever inpolite anyway). As he approached the old man Alan made a gesture from behind, mimicking the action of shoving food into his mouth. Chester simply noded to him in response, guessing that it was his friends way of asking
'Do you want some grub'.
Shikoba Athanasi had to look upwards for more than a foot to meet the gaze of the man before him. Obviously a soldier, the man carried himself in a way that spoke not only of confidence, but also of authority; between that and the inn keeper's assurance that this was the man that he would need to speak with in order to join the Consano, Shikoba rightly guessed that he was a man of some rank in Vasili's military. The silver and gray in Chester's beard told the old hermit that he'd lived long enough to have gained some experience, in addition to his confidence and authority. His stance spoke of a man with martial skills to match his experience; a soldier experienced in the field, then, and not just a commander accustomed to leading. Shikoba Athanasi's old eyes saw all of this in the space between one moment and the next.
The ancient master's head bowed briefly in acknowledgement, and in defference, and Shikoba said, "I hope so. I have come to apply for a place in your expedition to the North, to combat the Plague that afflicts our lands and our peoples. I am called Shikoba Athanasi, and I am at your service."
Chester's eyes widened slightly at the name. He knew of the name, though he would not have ever recalled it were it not spoken to him. Chester took a step forward, close enough to smell the subtle whiffs of spices emanating from the man. On closer inspection Chester noticed that Shikoba did not hold himself as one might have expected of a man so ancient. There was a strength and vitality to him that seemed out of place, and Chester begun to wonder if maybe this man was a mage; for the few that lived to such old ages in such dire times tended to be of gifted blood. Without thinking his hand subtely rested itself upon his hip, mere centimetres from the cold steel pommel of his sword. He could bring himself to trust a tribesman, for they believed in honour and loyalty, but the presence a mage or even potential mage would always have him on edge. "I know that name, they say you trained Cain and some of the closest in his circle. I fought against Chief Saemu Urgnot and Beli the Bear, and have not faced better men since." Chester watched the old man for any reaction before continuing, "Why is it that you have come to us? And how can you expect me to believe that you are whom you say you are?"
To Chester’s surprise, the old man simply waved his question away like it was so much smoke. “Shikoba Athanasi was a title given to me by other men”, he said, “if you doubt my claim to it, give me another. Perhaps it will better suit me; perhaps not.”
Shikoba Athanasi’s more-than-a-century-deep gaze never wavered from Chester’s while he spoke. His ancient eyes were like two deep, black wells, and though the King’s man could sense that a great deal was happening within them, they were too deep for him to say what it might have been. Left unsaid, but implied, in Shikoba’s words was the simple (but easy to miss) truth that any new name or title Chester might choose, as well as any argument he might level against the old sage’s claim to the name he’d given, would reflect as much on
Chester as it would on the old man standing before him. More so, in fact.
Whether or not Shikoba Athanasi was in fact the ‘Immortal Sage' of the mountains of the Icy Spine, also known as 'Father Immortal' and as ‘Old Man Deathless’ – or just an old man with a peculiar name – was irrelevant to the Consano’s mission. Hopefully Chester could see that and would move his questioning on to more pertinent matters. For now Shikoba was content to let the King’s Knight conduct his interview; whether or not he realized the ancient master was also interviewing
him was as irrelevant as the man's first question had been.
Either way, the old man was clearly uninterested in defending the claim to his current title.
“Breakfast”, Shikoba Athanasi said, just as the silence between them was becoming uncomfortable. And suddenly it seemed as though a friendly smile was tucked in amongst his wrinkles, though Chester couldn’t have said when it first appeared.
“Come again?”, Chester replied after a moment’s pause, one eyebrow hoisted in confusion.
“You asked why I came here”, the old man answered. “I came for breakfast. I only noticed the sign after”, he explained and pointed at the chalk-smeared recruitment sign near the inn’s door by way of clarification.
The edge of Chester's lip tugged up slightly and his eyes softened, despite his best intentions to keep a stone face. Chester was not about to let his guard down, but neither was he going to be an ass to a very old man just because he felt suspcious. With a quick whistle he summoned the inn-keeper back in, "Hey Alan, make that two plates!" The inn-keeper appeared in the doorway and simply shrugged in response before disapearing once more, not caring to take any further instructions; this was an inn, not a banquet, and customers would take what they were given.
"Ok then, let me ask you this: Why do you want to fight the plague? And
why do you want to fight it with
us? Surely there was resistance up North, bands of your own people that you could have fought beside instead?" Indeed, Chester had wondered what (if any) resistance had been made by the tribes. They were hardy and strong willed folk after all, and not many could deny that the harsh North produced some of the best warriors in the known land. Yet all the tribal people that had made it so far south were merely refugees and they only spoke of death and dispair. It made him nervous, for it felt like there was something he didn't know - something important.
"There was resistance in the North", the old man agreed simply. His smile was gone again, and again Chester couldn't have said when it had vanished. "Now there is not", he concluded, just as simply.
Chester nodded his understanding. So things really were
that bad in the North, then? He was chagrined to find that the old wizard's answer hadn't done anything to allay his nervousness - had added to it, in fact.
"I came south searching for a young man", Shikoba continued, "an apprentice of mine named Ermo. Vanished when Bardonium was struck by the Plague. In all of the weeks since then I have moved from town to town and village to village, warning those I could to flee, helping, where I could, those who had waited too long, and searching for my apprentice all the while."
Shikoba Athanasi's gaze shifted away from Chester for a moment, filled with something that might well have been pain or sorrow, and the Knight realized it was the first time since their conversation had begun. His old eyes returned to Chester's after only a brief moment though and he continued his account. "I have seen no sign of my apprentice, either good or bad, but I have seen more than I wished of this 'Black Blood Plague'. Seven weeks of personal experience has proven to me that fleeing this Plague accomplishes nothing; attempting to fight it may fare no better, but it cannot possibly make things worse. Now, for the first time, the Plague has been halted - for however briefly - outside of Minorhold, and now here you are, recruiting volunteers to and fight it."
Shikoba's gaze remained locked on Chester's, and once again the smile on his wizened face had appeared out of nowhere, though it contained little enough humour in it. "And so here I am, volunteering."
Chester could see that the man before him was feeling genuine emotional turmoil, or else he was a dangerously talented liar. He rolled his tongue along the gap between his upper teeth and his lips for a moment as he listened to the man's tale. He didn't offer any sort of sympathy or comforting, and instead kept the conversation to the point. "What can you tell me about the Plague? From your accounts you've seen more of it than most." Chester asked, trying to skip over the man's offer to join.
As much as they were accepting anyone, someone as old as the man before him could only ever be a drag or burden. Although Chester did have to wonder how someone of his age was able to travel so far so fast, over such a harsh land in such bad times. If this old man was telling the truth then he must have had some tricks up his sleeve.
Shikoba Athanasi answered immediately and without hesitation. “It takes roughly one-sixth of a day’s passing – or somewhat less than one full watch in the night – to succumb to the Plague’s effects. If any have successfully resisted it and not succumbed I have not seen it, nor heard tell of such a thing.” He stopped and let that sink in for a beat (assuming Chester didn’t already know it) before continuing. “Those afflicted by it are overcome by violent and cannibalistic urges, attacking any who cross their path.”
“That the Black Blood Plague is magical in nature is obvious”, Shikoba explained, speaking with an assurance gained through decades of experience with magic in its myriad and mutable forms. “All of the signs point to it having originated in Fire, thus the infection seems to burn its victims away from within and to consume what remains with violent impulses. Born in heat and flame, it incubates in the Earth – that is, in the ash-like flesh of the infected – which is created anew in the fires of the Plague. As Earth subsumes water, so the Plague, having fully ripened in its victims’ flesh, subsumes their blood and saliva and other bodily fluids, through which it can be passed to any who come into contact with them. Completing the circle – and as Water destroys Fire – the black blood of those who have already succumbed can snuff out the spirit of those it infects, renewing the cycle of death and horror.”
The old sage stopped again, somehow managing to shrug without actually moving his shoulders, and then added, “Darkness and Light seem entirely neutral to the Plague, neither helping nor hindering it so far as I have seen. As one would expect, the element of Wind directly opposes the Plague; it cannot destroy it, yet neither will it carry the disease, even for short distances. And, just as it was born in Fire, so it can be destroyed in flames, if they be hot enough. However…”
The entire time that Chester and Shikoba Athanasi had been speaking, the old man had been leaning with nearly perfect stillness on a well-worn walking staff, but as he completed his explanation of the Plague’s relationship with the Six Elements his body began to move and his posture to shift. To look at, his movements were almost languid in their apparent slowness, careful and wary in the way one expects of the very old, and yet somehow the end of his walking staff had already come to a full stop a single hair’s breadth from Chester’s temple before the Knight had even realized what the ancient sage’s movements portended.
“…the most effective way to deal with the infected is with a single, powerful blow – or a great many lesser blows – to the head. As circumstances allow, of course.”
Shikoba’s stance as he held the end of the staff to Chester’s temple was not one of challenge, nor did it convey satisfaction at having slipped past the man’s defenses; he was just an old man demonstrating his point. A single instant and another series of deceptively slow movements later, and the end of Shikoba’s staff was back on the floor supporting him as he leaned upon it once more. His old eyes were still fixed on Chester’s, his expression calm but attentive as he awaited the Knight’s next question.
Chester's eyes glazed over slightly as he listened to the old man speak of magic, and his explanation of the plague was quickly lost on the Knight. He was not the most spiritual of people and magic did nothing but agrivate him. He felt like he was listening to one of his father's ramblings again and for a moment he half expected the old man to try burn or otherwise punish him - which was why he tensed up ever so slightly when Shikoba lifted the staff for his demonstration. When the old man had finished speaking Chester responded with a simple "
Hmmm". There was a long drawn out pause before Chester spoke again. "OK then, get some food and try think of any other information you have that might be useful." Chester did not want to accept or reject the man just yet, he would need to speak to Buxton first.
Dressed and prepared for the likely gruelling days ahead, Lady Buxton left her room and began to wake the others. One by one she loudly marched to each door, stumping both her feet and polearm with each step, and brutishly thumped on each.
"Wake up recruits! Your death awaits! Get ready! Get packed! Get fed! Then get outside!" she repeatedly yelled, her voice becoming more rythmic each time. If all else failed she could surely become a town crier she mused. With the rumblings of each member and content that they were stiring, she made her own way downstairs to feed herself and finish the last of the preperations. It wasn't the most polite way of waking her new comrades, but then again, how polite was any waking at dawn?
