Chapter 5

“What’s your hurry?” Valens asked his daughter. She was scarfing down her breakfast like a starving wolf. Artesia finished chewing her mouthful of food and washed it down with a sip of buttermilk before speaking.

“I don’t want to be late for my lessons today,” she rushed to say before diving back into her food.

“Today is Godsday,” Valens pointed out. When his daughter shot him a confused look, he elaborated, saying, “Temple services may have been cancelled, what with the plague and all, but today is still a day of rest.”

Artesia’s chewing slowed to a stop and she stared at the wall for a long moment. When realization hit her, she sighed through her nose.

“Do I have any duties today?” she asked, once she had swallowed her mouthful.

“It’s a day of rest,” he emphasized. “Even I don’t have any official duties.”

“Official duties?”

“I still need to be available during emergencies,” he explained.

“I see.”

Artesia used her fork to push around the hash on her plate. The dish wasn’t typically served to the nobility or wealthy merchants; the sliced ham chunks and polenta cubes were often fried in tallow until slightly crispy, and was more common among the peasantry. In truth, it was unusual for the nobility to eat a morning meal at all. Valens, though, had grown used to eating in the mornings while on campaign, and had maintained the habit in the years since.

That was also where he had picked up his taste for this particular dish. Salted and cured ham and other meats was a staple during winter months or while on campaign because they rarely putrefied, and as such they made great provisions for a force on the move. The polenta was made from a coarse barley flour; dried barley corns were easily transportable and could double as animal feed if needed. It wasn’t very difficult to crush the corns in a mortar, and they could be used as a base for soups and stews, to make gruel or porridge, or baked into blocks of polenta overnight.

“Could I go explore the city today?” Artesia asked, turning hopeful eyes to Valens.

“No. It’s too dangerous,” he told her while shaking his head. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“I could take some of the guards,” Artesia bargained with a gesture. “They could keep me safe.”

“No. I don’t want you catching the plague. Again.”

“Oh, that?” she said, sounding genuinely surprised. Dismissively, she waved her hand as if she could wave his worries away. “You don’t have to worry about that; I won’t catch it again.”

“You can’t be certain of that,” he countered. “Who knows what noxious fumes or foul humors are causing it?”

“Noxious…?” she muttered, her voice low. “Father, this illness isn’t being caused by noxious fumes or whatever.”

“Oh? That’s what the healers say is causing it.”

“The healers are wrong,” she replied, crossing her arms and stubbornly setting her jaw.

Valens scowled. With a challenging tone, he asked, “Well, then, if you know so much more than our illustrious healers, what do you think is causing it?”

“Lice.”

“... lice?” Valens asked, skeptically. “Elaborate.”

“Lice bite the skin to drink our blood, and lay eggs in our hair,” she explained in a lecturing tone. “When lice bite someone who is ill, they can carry that illness with them. If a louse carrying that illness bites someone who is not sick, they will become ill.”

“Hmm. Spread through blood, you say?” Valens asked, and his daughter nodded in confirmation. “Blood is one of the body’s humors. If the lice are spreading fouled blood, they are spreading fouled humors, and therefore the healers are correct.”

“... that may be true,” she admitted, but she still lifted a finger and pointed it at the Count. “But, they don’t know that the lice are spreading the disease. If people get rid of the lice and don’t touch the blood or phlegm of an ill person, they won’t catch the disease.”

“And how do you know this?”

“...” Artesia opened her mouth to reply, but closed it before any words could escape. She looked away at nothing in particular for a long moment. “I just know."

Valens leaned back in his chair and frowned. His first reaction was to dismiss her assertion out of hand; after all, it ran contrary to everything he knew about sickness and disease. In addition to that, Artesia was a few months shy of her tenth birthday. How could a child be expected to know something that learned scholars and expert healers did not? And yet…

‘And yet, this person is not the same person that my daughter was,’ he admitted to himself. It was part of his daily struggle, to realize that his daughter was no longer his daughter. ‘I wonder…’

“Tell me how you know,” he said, keeping his voice soft. “Please.”

Artesia ducked her head and pushed her food around on her plate. For several long moments, the only sound was the pewter fork scraping against earthenware. Finally, she looked up, peeking at him from between hanging strands of hair, and in a quiet voice said, “... you won’t believe me.”

“That remains to be seen,” he said, giving her an encouraging smile. “If you do tell me, I promise I won’t tease you.”

“... ok.” she sighed gustily. With pursed lips, she seemed to steel herself. Suitably prepared, she turned her eyes on Valens and let her gaze bore into him. Her icy blue eyes flickered in the light, as if lit from within by a cold flame. “I saw it in a dream. While I was ill.”

“A dream…?” he asked, his voice suddenly thick. “... I see.”

“... you don’t believe me, do you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. Valen’s eyes tracked the way her hair fell over one shoulder before flicking back to her piercing gaze. There was something… unsettling about it. Too intense, too discerning for a child her age.

“... let's say I do,” Valens said, looking away from her. “Selatura is the Goddess of Dreams; in the past, she has often communicated through them. Still, how could your knowledge end the plague? Lice are a constant problem; sometimes not so bad, and others, well…”

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“Order everyone to rid themselves of lice. Comb them out and wash the nits away with vinegar. Soak one’s head with warm tallow or oil each night to suffocate the pests. Boil the clothing and bedding to kill them there,” she said, never once looking away from him.

“And how do you know that?”

“Healer Woad told me right after I woke up.”

“And… you’re sure it's effective?” Valens asked.

“Yes, I’m sure. Look,” she replied. Artesia leaned her head forward and parted her hair. There wasn’t a tangle or nit to be seen in her black locks. “I’ve been washing and combing my hair each day, right after training with Sir Brant, and Encina has started boiling all the clothing and linens while washing them.”

“Hmm. Let me check.” Leaning over the table would still leave Valens too far away to examine her scalp, so he took it upon himself to stand up and walk around the table. His daughter obediently tilted her head towards him and held the majority of her hair to the side. Using his fingers as a rough comb, Valens parted her hair in several spots, searching for the normally ever-present pests that would flee from open sunlight. And yet, there was none. Not even a scab or a red swollen spot indicative of their presence.

“I can’t find a single louse,” he admitted after several moments of fruitless searching. “And you’re sure the lice are spreading the disease?”

“I’ll swear on it, if you’d like.”

“No, that won’t be necessary.” Shaking his head, he thought deeply. His patron goddess, Selatura, was also the Goddess of Dreams. ‘Perhaps Selatura gifted her with this knowledge? She is a kind goddess… what if she intended to have Artesia cure the plague all along?’

“... very well. I will allow you to venture into the city-”

“Yes!” she exclaimed.

“But!” Valens interrupted her celebration, wagging a finger at her. “You must visit the temple and tell the healers there about this cure. Make sure you mention that you saw it in a dream, so that they know it is from Selatura.”

“Yes sir!”

“Finish your breakfast first,” Valens pointed at her half-eaten plate of hash. “I’ll go find a couple of escorts for you.”

“Thank you, father!”

As he walked out of the room in search of Lupis, the Captain of the Guard, Valens smiled. ‘This person… even if she is not my daughter in spirit, whoever this is, she seems to be an honorable person. Perhaps… perhaps I can grow to trust her as I would my real daughter…’

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When I was given permission to explore the city with a couple of guards to keep me safe, I was under the impression that we’d either walk or ride horses. Not… this. The carriage that had been waiting for me by the stables was rather rough in pretty much all facets. It had none of the finely turned spokes or sweeping curved designs of a Victorian era carriage; rather, it looked more like something out of the Wild West. More like a stagecoach than something a Disney princess would ride in.

“Oof!” I complained as the carriage ran over yet another rut in the dirt road. As far as I could tell, the damn thing didn’t have any kind of spring or shock absorbers between the carriage and the axle. As such, every single bump, jolt, and jostle travelled through my body. To make matters worse, there was no padding on the bench either; no pillow, no cushion, not even a cloth covering.

So, by the time the driver pulled to a stop in front of the main temple in Balfors Town proper, I was feeling it. I was still entirely too scrawny; I’d only been training for a few days, after all, and Artesia had been rail-thin before that.

“Not the most comfortable ride, innit?” one of my two guards chortled as I gingerly stepped down.

“Not. At. All,” I said through clenched teeth, carefully flexing my abused muscles as I made my way toward the temple entrance.

“You shouldn’t speak to Lady Artesia that way, Garrett,” the other guard said, smacking his companion on the shoulder, which was about as far as the shorter man could reach. “Show some respect.”

Garrett and Alvis couldn’t be more different if they tried. Alvis was shorter than the average man, but made up for it in girth. Not because he was fat, though he did carry around a few extra pounds here and there, but because he was wide in both the shoulders and the hips. Garrett on the other hand was head and shoulders taller than most men, but was rail-thin. And yet, his abnormally long reach was surely an advantage in battle.

I’d seen them both at practice either in the salle or in the yard, training with Sir Brant. With a sword and buckler or sword and shield, Alvis could fight Sir Brant to a standstill. Garrett, with his favored longsword in hand, could strike like a cobra, and his thrust was downright fearsome.

“Aww, come off it, Al,” Garrett wheedled, his peasant’s accent thick as a bowl of porridge. “She don’t mind. Do ya, milady?”

“Do you want to be put in the stocks?” Alvis asked him with his lilting, off-rhythm Kymringr accent. “Because that’s how you get put in the stocks.”

“Won’t do much good in the stocks,” he replied, looking confused. “How’m I supposed to guard her if I’m stuck there?”

Both Alvis and I stopped in our tracks and stared at him.

“You… wouldn’t,” I explained, as if explaining to a child. “Father would assign me a different guard.”

“... oh. Yeah, that makes sense, I suppose,” he said, scratching at his chin. “Begging your pardon, milady.”

“... don’t worry about it,” I said, waving his concerns away. “Let’s get going; I want to see more than just the temple today.”

“Aye, milady,” Alvis said, straightening up and standing as tall as his short stature would allow him to.

My two guards followed me as we approached the temple. The building was one of the tallest in the city, and that was before taking the tall bell tower into account. Design wise, it seemed to be a bizarre blend between the classical Greek or Roman styles and medieval Gothic. The stones were whitewashed, causing the entire building to gleam in the sun, accenting the inlaid gold filigree. The huge iron bound wooden doors were propped open, allowing people to enter or leave on a whim.

The antechamber had several wrought iron benches lining the walls. Mosaics and reliefs decorated the walls, depicting the various gods and goddesses in action. Just past the antechamber was the main hall. Like a cathedral, the center ceiling was held aloft by carved stone buttresses nearly thirty feet above the floor.

The majesty of the building was overshadowed, though, by row after row of sleeping pallets. Moaning and begging patients filled each and every one of them. Most of them had blankets or sheets bunched up around their waists, allowing the air to caress their bare chests and necks. Each and every one of the patients had a large rash made up of smaller spots spreading across their skin.

Harried and tired healers flitted from patient to patient, dipping rags in buckets of water and laying them across the patients’ fevered foreheads. On occasion, a healer would lay their hands on a plague-ridden person, causing the rash to recede and the person breathe a sigh of relief. And yet, it seemed as if there were far too many patients for the overburdened healers to keep up with.

“Don’t much like the look of this,” Garrett muttered just loud enough for me to hear over the background noise. The three of us had to step aside to allow a pair of orderlies leave the main hall, carrying a sheet-wrapped bundle that likely held another dead body. “Like a funeral waiting to happen.”

“More like an army camp after a battle,” Alvis murmured back. “Wounded men just waiting to die.”

I did my best to ignore their comments. Instead, I looked around for Healer Woad. Since she was the only healer I really knew, I felt that it would be best to speak to her. With a little luck, she might actually believe me about the lice, and we could put an end to this plague.

After a moment, I finally spotted her about halfway across the room. She was kneeling next to a patient there, likely casting a healing spell on him to try to defeat the illness like she had done for me.

“Come on,” I murmured to my two guards as I started off towards her. I had to wind my way between the rows of bedrolls and scurrying healers and orderlies to get to my target. Such was the halfway organized chaos of the place.

“Healer Woad,” I greeted in a low voice as I drew near to her.

“Oh!” With that cry of startlement, the healer whirled around. When she recognized me, she gave me an exhausted smile. “Lady Artesia. What are you doing here?”

“Father sent me to speak to you.”

“To me? Why?” she asked, looking entirely confused. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing like that,” I rushed to reassure her. “It’s just… well, can we speak in private for a moment?”

Healer Woad looked around, her eyes flicking from patient to patient, with a frown on her face. Shaking her head, she said, “I really don’t have the time…”

“Please, it’ll only take a minute,” I said, leaning close to her and keeping my voice low. “Besides, I’m pretty sure it’s something you’re going to want to hear.”

“... very well. Come with me.”

Healer Woad led the three of us through the hall, directing us through the throng of rushing healers and sleeping pallets, until we reached a door. Hurriedly opening it, she waved us in before closing it behind us.

“Alright, we’re alone,” Healer Woad sighed, her face looking drawn and pale in the flickering candlelight of the otherwise dark room. “What did you want to tell me?”

“I know how to stop the spread of this plague,” I stated with all the certainty I could muster.

If I wavered a bit under the gaze of three grown adults, don’t judge me too harshly; this body was still that of a child.

“Well…” Visha floundered, looking equally gobsmacked and disbelieving. “I don’t suppose you’d care to enlighten me?”

When Alvis pointedly cleared his throat, Visha hastily added “My Lady.”

“The plague is being spread by lice,” I explained, launching into a lecture as I was wont to do. “They bite our skin to drink our blood, you see. If they bite someone who is ill, they can carry that illness with them. If that louse gets onto another person, well…”

“Then the other person will catch the plague. Is that right?” Visha asked, looking reticent.

“That’s right. If you get rid of the lice, you get rid of the plague.”

“Not to be disrespectful, milady,” Healer Woad said with a surreptitious glance at Alvis. “But, how do you know this?”

“... I saw it in a dream,” I lied, just like I had with Valens earlier today. “I told my father about it, and he believes that Selatura sent me that dream to help us end the plague.”

“... I see. So, getting rid of the lice will let us cure people?”

“I… don’t entirely know,” I admitted. “Do your healing spells usually heal sickness?”

“Most of the time, yes,” she nodded. “That doesn’t seem to be the case with this plague, though.”

“Well, if people are getting it from the lice, maybe your spells are curing them,” I told her, tapping a finger against my chin in thought. “But, each time they’re bitten by another louse, they catch the plague once more? That would make it seem like the spells aren’t working…”

“Hmm… I never thought about it like that,” Healer Woad admitted. “I can’t be sure that’s what is happening, though. It may not work to cure those already ill.”

“Even if it doesn’t, if you tell people to get rid of the lice, people should stop getting sick,” I pointed out. “That way, at least you’ll have fewer patients to treat.”

“.. very well. I”ll speak to the Pontifex about this,” Visha said with a wry smile. “I pray to Tycorin you are correct.”

“Let’s all pray that this plague will soon be over,” I agreed.

“Not to be rude, milady, but was there anything else?” she asked. When I shook my head, she said, “Then, begging your pardon, milady, I have patients to treat.”

“Good luck, Healer Woad,” I called out to her as she left the room. As the door closed behind her, I muttered, “We’re all going to need a little luck.”

“Too right,” Garrett agreed.

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