Chapter 9. Finding a Cure

"The tapestry shows us the past?" Manie asked.

"It shows us our memories," Jango replied, his voice somber. "But often memories are just reflections of what we want the past to be."

"Can it see my memories?"

Jango turned his hand at the black cloth. "Find out for yourself."

Manie hesitantly reached out and let her fingers lay against the surface of the fabric. She leaned into her arm and the tapestry quickly changed, the blackness swirling into red and gold colors, turning into a scene between herself and her father when Manie was just a young girl.

"What's going to happen after you die?” the blue-haired girl asked, sadness in her voice. “I don't want to be alone. I'll miss you so much."

"That's not going to happen for a long time," King Dukemot told her. "But all things must die, Manie. It's the sacrifice we must make for getting to live. I remember when I was young and small, I was afraid of losing my parents also. Before they died, my mother told me something I'll never forget. She said, ‘son, don't be afraid. The night is always blackest before sunrise. When our time comes, you'll be reborn as the person you were meant to be. You'll become stronger than you were before.’ Then she handed me a small wooden box. I looked inside the box, but it was empty."

"Why did she give you a box with nothing in it?" Manie asked.

"I asked my mother the same question, and she said, ‘you can't see it now, but one day that box will be filled with all the memories your father and I gave you.’ You'll carry those memories with you for the rest of your life. And through them, we'll live on."

Manie stared up at her father. There were tears in her eyes, but behind the sadness she seemed to understand.

"And you know what?" Dukemot said. "My mother was right. I did become stronger." The king reached down and tapped the tip of Manie's nose. "And you will, too."

Manie pulled her hand from the fabric. The tapestry faded and went dark. "That's enough," she said, rubbing her wrist. "I don't want to see any more."

Shawn didn't understand what he'd just witnessed. King Dukemot? The madman behind the extermination of the Torch-Wings? He seemed like a loving father.

"Now you see why I keep the Tapestry hidden behind a red curtain," Jango said spitefully. "It only shows us things we do not wish to see."

"I guess that depends on what kind of a person you’ve become," Manie said back.

Jango’s eyes drifted away from hers. "You may be right. Now come, we should find your friend Silvan before we proceed." He retreated from the Tapestry and went between marble columns towards the hallway beyond his Seeing room. At the end was a small room with a metal cage across its mouth, hanging from a network of pulleys and metallic wires.

“Is this an elevator?” Shawn asked, shocked to see such machinery. So Crystals aren’t the only kind of power Talmoria has cooked up.

“An ascending room,” Jango corrected.

“What does it do?” Manie asked.

“It rises through the rocks on metal ropes that are given life by steam.” Jango opened the metal cage door and stepped inside, waiting for Manie and Shawn to join him. “Quicker than stairs, and easier on the knees.”

“It’s controlled by steam?” Manie asked, skeptical.

“Yes, the expansion of steam turns wheels. These wheels pull ropes. As a result, my ascending room ascends.”

Shawn stepped in, and Manie reluctantly came in next. Jango yanked the lever near the corner and the room bounced to life with a hiss.

Manie screamed and grabbed the wall. “I’ve never seen anything like this,” she said, her eyes shut tight. “Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Of course it’s safe, I’m the one who built it,” Jango said.

“That’s why I’m afraid,” Manie said back, cracking open her eyes.

The Seeing room fell until all that could be seen were walls of black stone, glistening in the light from Shawn and Manie’s blue and red eyes. A few minutes passed before they reached the top, and when they did, a room of hissing, steaming, brass pipes became revealed, all lit and shining from below by little rivers of magma, flowing down stone troughs on either side of the room.

The heat was overwhelming. The walls were bathed in orange light like an ocean of fire was around them. Clinking gears and metal grinding swallowed Shawn’s soundscape as they went through a curtain of hissing steam spraying down from pipes. On the other side was a bubbling, boiling cauldron of liquid metal, and machinery attached to long pipes, humming, banging and grinding. Rows of pistons like giant hammers pumped, forcing steam to burst from the cracks in their brass like hissing blood. In the corners were rusty cog wheels that meshed, turning as they disappeared behind stone walls, only halfway revealed.

"What is this place?" Shawn asked, forced to yell to overpower the noise.

"This is the boiler room," Jango replied. "And, as construction lags ever farther behind schedule, also my forge.”

“It’s so hot in here!” Manie complained. “I feel like I’m suffocating,”

Shawn and Manie followed Jango to a pit in the center of the room. There was a moat of red stone filled with water around the cauldron, and deep within the pit itself was a kiln of roaring, orange fire and glowing, boiling magma. Every so often water from the ceiling would bead up and drop down, sizzling into steam when it would touch the stone floor.

Shawn wiped sweat across his forehead and whipped it off his hand. His shirt was almost as soaked as they’d been in the basement. As the liquid metal ran down into long molds, workers in leather masks would emerge from the brick alcoves to scrape away at the golden metal with iron scoops, making it roar sparks and little flames.

“I make metal instruments here as well,” Jango said. “Swords, armor, water tanks.” Jango aimed his flattened hand at the large boiler tanks along the left wall. “Whatever I come to need.”

The people wearing leather masks bent and shaped metal with hammers like they’d been doing it all their lives. Sometimes they would hold up a piece for comparison against the finished boiler tanks nearby, then continue to bang away.

“How do you make the steam?” Shawn asked.

“Magma chambers deep beneath our island boil water from the swamps, which produces a near limitless source of power. I just need to find a practical use for it now.”

Jango went to a metal door with a hatch at the top for seeing through. He opened the door and descended a set of stone stairs into darkness. Shawn and Manie followed him down, their eyes dispelling the shadows as they went. The air down here was dense with the stench of sweat and blood, so thick, the taste of salt and copper was on Shawn’s tongue.

At the bottom of the stairs was another door with a barred window. A torch hung on the wall beside it, sputtering and licking the stones with flame and soot. The sound of grumbling and gurgling came from inside, barely loud enough to discern words. The speaker's voice was slow and deep.

"I'm going to tear out your bones and break them into beads. Then I'm going to wear those beads around my neck and remember your face and the pathetic fight you gave before I killed you. And you, pretty little flower, I'm going to tear off your wings and look at them when it’s dark, because they shine so bright."

"Leave us alone, you monster!" A high voice screamed.

"That's Fitzel," Shawn said, recognizing her.

“Fitzel?" Jango asked. “How many of your friends followed you into the Marshes?”

Shawn pushed through the door and down the hall to find cages of iron bars. To his right were nothing but empty cells, but in the other direction, two doors down, was the disfigured creature who’d thrown Shawn down the hole in the swamp. Its grotesque oversized arm was clung to the bars of a cell, and just in front of its face was an oil lantern hanging from the ceiling by a long chain. Fitzel was trapped inside the lantern’s glass cage, cowering against the far wall.

“Don’t touch her!” Shawn shouted, throwing an arm to his side, igniting a golden flame in his palm.

Manie came around the corner and stood beside Shawn, a stream of roaring, flaming water falling from her fingers. “Get away from her, you freak!”

Ivor turned to Shawn and Manie, letting the fleshless half of his face sparkle and shine in the torchlight. “You are not dead.”

“”Not yet,” Manie said.

“Shawn, Manie!” Silvan called. “I’m in here!”

Ivor slammed his fist into the cage, then turned back to Shawn and Manie. “I will make you sleep with the shadows and you will never wake again.”

Jango came around and saw Ivor standing at the entrance to Silvan’s cell. He put himself in front of Shawn and Manie. “Stop this foolishness immediately. Ivor, release the prisoners at once.”

Ivor paused. “Are you certain that’s what you wish, Master?”

“I’m certain. Shawn and Manie are our allies, and so is Silvan.”

“And Fitzel,” Manie said. “You better not have chipped a nail on her fingers!”

Ivor smiled, half his teeth visible through his shredded cheek. The man-creature grabbed a keyring off its belt, shoving a long rusty key into the lock on Silvan’s cell. The lock snapped and Ivor swung the door out into the hallway, letting Silvan emerge. Silvan stopped when he got beside Ivor, looking into the deformed man’s eyes. “The next time I see that disfigured slab of flesh above your chin anywhere near me, I’m going to take it off your shoulders.”

Ivor snarled and clapped his teeth at Silvan.

“Get it away from me!” Fitzel shrieked.

Silvan reached up and unhooked the oil lantern’s chain from the ceiling.

“Don’t drop me,” Fitzel squealed.

Silvan carried her to Shawn and Manie, then paused on Jango. “You must be the Man of the Marsh. I was wondering what kind of a person I’d find down here. I was beginning to think the abomination was the mastermind behind all those kidnappings in Market Town. Turns out it’s only you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Jango said. “Shawn and Manie told me you would help us, so I came to free you. You’ve got a blue flame in your eyes, just like Shawn. I’m sure you’re aware of the significance of that.”

Silvan looked to Shawn, then back to Jango. “Help you with what?”

“Nothing too serious–just saving those who are still alive on our island from contracting Gray Death.”

Silvan looked at Jango from the edge of his eyes. “You mean to cure it?”

Jango raised his brows. “I suppose I do.”

Manie opened the glass door on the oil lantern and let Fitzel climb out, her wings raining glowing dust as she hovered into the air. “Are you okay?”

Fitzel shivered all over. “Yuck! That thing grabbed me with its gross-arm.” She rubbed her elbows and swept invisible dust off every inch of her clothes.

“But he didn’t hurt you?” Manie asked, glaring at Ivor down the hall.

“He was rough, but I’m alright now.”

The flame in Manie’s eyes grew so bright there were hardly any shadows left to hide behind.

“A real, living Torch-Wing,” Jango said, astonished. “Where do you come from, sweet thing?”

Fitzel let out a deep breath. “I come from the pines in the south. But my home was destroyed by the king. I’m all that’s left of my people.”

“The fires swallowed your birth tree?”

“Yes,” Fitzel said, eyes sparkling with tears.

“Why haven’t you changed like the others?” Jango asked.

Fitzel turned to Shawn and Manie. “I was changing…but they saved me. Queen Milly and the Enwin sang to the roots and brought a piece of my forest back to life. Now a sapling grows in Musoni.”

“Astonishing. I never knew such a thing was possible.”

“It’s not,” Fitzel said. “Milly wasn’t sure it would work.”

Manie’s eyes sank.

“If the sapling dies,” Fitzel continued, “no one will be able to save me again. And the roots are very weak.”

“Why didn’t you tell us before?” Manie asked, sounding frantic.

“I didn’t want you to worry."

Shaking her head, Manie said, “You don’t have to keep secrets from me, Fitzel. I can handle the truth.”

“I know, Manie. I just don’t want you to be sad.”

“But you’re okay, now?” Shawn asked. “You won’t turn to stone?”

“For now... But one day I’ll get sick, and I might never get better…”

Manie’s eyes screamed out as if a blade had been driven into her heart. “Fitzel, you can’t…”

“There’s nothing anyone can do. I’m glad I even made it this far. Bree and Julius didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Fitzel,” Silvan said, his voice low.

Jango let out a sigh. “Everyone in this room has lost something: be it your home, your friends, or your family–or maybe who you used to be. That loss is what draws us together. Now let us work together to fix this world so that no one ever has to lose again.”

Something in Shawn’s heart grew bright. Those words drew up courage in him like fuel being spit onto flame. Everyone seemed to agree.

“Now would you all kindly follow me? I’m afraid this darkness might choke the breath from my lungs if I stay here for much longer.”

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

“Yes, Jango,” Silvan allowed. “Lead the way.”

***

“What is this place?” Fitzel asked, looking around at the golden metal shining and bursting to sparks as workers hammered it into shapes. A man with tongs gripped the red-hot blade of a sword and dove it into a bucket of water. The water boiled and hissed as steam rose into his face. Once the metal was dark and cooled, he added it to a deep basin and squirted oil across the blade.

“Why are they making weapons?” Silvan asked. “Planning to overthrow the king?”

“The Royal Army was defeated at the Battle for the Beacons,” Jango said. “There are no longer enough men to patrol the roads. We need weapons if we want to defend ourselves.”

“You know the king is looking for you,” Silvan pointed out.” His soldiers put a bounty on the head of the Man of the Marsh. Lucky for you, they want you alive. I wonder why?”

Jango’s eyes fell into bitter slits. “I don’t know what they could possibly want with me. I’ve done nothing to draw attention to myself, and few Talmorians even know I’m alive.”

“Perhaps it was all those people from Market Town you’ve been bringing here against their will, or is that too presumptive of me?”

“Jango’s not Talmoria’s enemy,” Manie intervened. “He wants to help us.”

“That remains to be seen,” Silvan replied.

Jango glanced behind him. “I don’t know what rumors you heard about me in Market Town, but I assure you I intend no harm. I was trying to learn about the disease when I captured those people. A few died or lost their minds under my care, I’ll admit, but they were sick with Gray Death before I found them. They would have died either way. I merely studied them to see what I could learn. And I learned a great deal.”

Silvan crossed his arms. “Congratulations. You must be very proud.”

“I’m never proud,” Jango told him. “I can’t remember the last time I was. I intend to do what’s right for Talmoria’s future, regardless of what the emotional reward is for me.”

“That’s good to hear,” Silvan replied. “I’m sure you believe that when you say it.”

“Silvan, stop! We can’t fight each other,” Manie demanded. “Just focus on stopping the disease. Don’t you understand who he is?”

“I understand perfectly well who he is. This is Jango: the famous mage from the old tales about Mikhail and the Protectors, and the Rain of Crystals that fell from the stars almost a thousand years ago. The same person who helped your mother create the Gray Death.”

Jango didn’t look pleased. “There must be a mighty echo traveling up those pipes in your cell.”

“I don’t need to hear you say it yourself. I knew exactly who you were before I came marching into these stinking swamps. The Man of the Marsh. Did you think you could hide from your past forever?”

“You knew before we came?” Manie asked, sounding betrayed.

“I suspect there’s an intriguing story behind how you came about that information,” Jango snapped, eyes sharp as knives.

“Very intriguing,” Silvan said.

“And what do you plan to do with that information?” Jango demanded.

“You tell me, Jango. Afterall, I am your prisoner.”

Jango looked at Manie and Shawn, then turned his eyes back on Silvan’s. He grimaced so deeply it almost looked painful. “I mean to cure this disease. Would you care to play a role in that or not?”

Silvan let his eyes hover on Jango’s. His brow softened, then he blinked. “I suppose I would, if that truly is what you intend.”

“It is. I’ve said it twice, now.” Jango pushed through an iron door that rumbled and groaned as it swung into the next room. On the other side was a laboratory, where there were tables covered in tools, metal basins and flaming pipes. In the back were large brass ovens with racks and metal claws holding glass beakers. The workers in this room wore leather gowns and rubber masks. Many were measuring and testing containers of boiling, green liquids that bubbled and fizzed over as they added powders and bits of bone. Others looked through long microscopes or scrubbed flesh off putrid animal carcasses rotting in steaming water.

“Oh god, the smell,” Shawn said, struggling to keep himself from heaving.

There were chalkboards scrawled in white letters and numbers, others covered in lists of ingredients and effects. One chalkboard had the names of towns across Talmoria and population of living in each, as well as the dead. The dead outnumbered the living in every city marked.

“Dr. Rutler!” Jango called as he opened his arms as if to meet her with an embrace. “Good evening. I’ve brought guests.”

One of the scientists pulled off their rubber mask and turned to greet Jango. She was a tall woman, her brown hair pinned into a tight bun on the back of her head. Lines were pressed into her cheeks from the pressure of the mask against her skin. “Hello, Master. I see you have. Isn’t that man one of the test subjects?” she asked, looking at Silvan. “I saw Ivor bring him in with the winged creature.”

“He was. Now I’ve freed him. Shawn and Manie tell me that Silvan is their friend. He’s a Protector, as are they.”

“I thought the Protectors were all dead,” Dr. Rutler said.

“Mostly all dead, it seems,” Jango corrected.

“Shawn and Manie?” she asked.

Jango gestured at them. “Our brave new allies from the Battle for the Beacons. They’ve accomplished something you so far have failed to: they’ve convinced me to cure the Gray Death.”

Dr. Rutler lit up like a star had burst before her eyes. “You’ve finally found reason.”

“No, I’ve found fate. Seems it’s come calling once again.” Jango turned his eyes on Shawn and Manie. “We can forget Shaleah for now. We have more present disasters to put our attention on.” Jango stared at the population numbers marked across the chalkboard, his eyes hovering over Market Town, which had fifteen-thousand alive, thirty-thousand dead.

“Where do we begin?” Dr. Rutler asked with a nervous laugh. “There’s so much we have to discuss. My name is Tess, Tess Rutler. Nice to meet you both.” She grabbed Shawn’s hand and shook his arm excitedly, then did the same to Manie and Silvan.

“Nice to meet you,” Shawn said.

She paused on Fitzel with a smile. “Oh, hello… What are you?”

“I’m a Torch-Wing,” Fitzel said, sounding confused. “Haven’t you ever heard of us before?”

“A Torch-Wing? My mother used to read me tales about them when I was just a girl. I never thought I’d actually meet one outside of my dreams. I thought you were just a fairy story she told to help me sleep.”

“Fairies aren’t real,” Fitzel said. “But I am.”

“Are you by chance related to the Dragonfly? Your wings are so marvelous. I’ve never seen such bright colors and vivid patterns before. Oh…is that…a flame in your wings?”

Fitzel flew out to Dr. Rutler, making the woman gasp and step back. Fitzel cupped her hands around her mouth and blew, making an orange glow grow inside, sparks falling out of the cracks in her fingers like ember dust. “Make a bowl with your hands,” Fitzel said.

Dr. Rutler raised her arms and cupped her hands. “Like…like this?”

“Yes. Now, keep still. I won’t hurt you.” Fitzel hovered over Dr. Rutler’s hands and slowly opened the cup in her fingers, letting a waterfall of orange sparks fall and scatter across Tess’s skin. Finally a seed of orange fire fell from Fitzel’s palm, gently coming down to rest in the bed of sparks. When it found Tess’s skin, the seed erupted into a flash of light, bursting into hundreds of tiny Torch-Wings, their bodies made of millions of hot sparks. They swarmed out in every direction, flooding around Fitzel and pouring over Tess’s wrists to fill the room with light.

“What’s happening?” A forest rose from the sea of glowing dust in Tess’s hands. Tess’s eyes glittered with wonder as she watched trees of sparks grow, forming a forest decorated with tiny glass structures, rimming the edge of a lake surrounded by spark Torch-Wings. A tiny recreation of Musoni was resting there in her palms.

“My name is Fitzel. These are my people, and this is our greatest city. We guide nature and make things grow. And we’re not just a fairytale.”

Dr. Rutler laughed as a tear broke and fell from her cheek. When it burst against the floor, a spark of blue flame erupted in her eyes, lighting the orange forest in her hands with a hue of blue light. “I suppose you aren’t anymore,” she said.

“Tess, your eyes…!” Fitzel exclaimed as she covered her mouth. “You’re a Protector!”

“What?” Dr. Rutler said, sounding stunned. She felt her cheek, causing the miniature forest in her hands to shatter into glowing dust. She turned to the table and grabbed the rubber mask she’d been wearing before and stared into the reflection painted onto the glass lenses. She gasped. “I… I’m a Protector…?” Her eyes flicked between the eyes of the mask. “This is fascinating…and terrifying.”

Jango’s mouth came open. “A Protector…? You?” he sounded as if he couldn’t believe it was possible.

I remember that feeling. Shawn wasn't sure what to make of all this. “You must be like us if that happened. You have bravery in your heart.”

“But why now? What did I do?” Tess asked.

“No one knows,” Jango said. “It’s never been proven why this happens to some and not others…”

“It means she’s been chosen by fate,” Manie said, her voice ringing out like an echo of destiny.

“I don’t believe in fate,” Tess said. “Everything has an explanation. There has to be one for this.”

“I got my blue fire after I saved Manie from a Ketcher,” Shawn said.

“I got mine the first time I touched Mikhail’s Crystal,” Manie added. “When I was just a baby.”

Jango took Tess’s hand and looked into her eyes, staring long and hard as he inspected the blue flame. “I got my blue flame the first time I taught someone else to harness the power in the Crystals... And now you’ve gotten yours from seeing the Torch-Wings.”

“I’m different? Like Shawn and the others?” Tess asked. “How can I be?”

“Don’t be afraid of it,” Jango told her. “I should have listened to you long ago. Perhaps the gods are trying to tell us we’ve stepped onto the correct path.” Jango slowly turned back. “How did you get the blue flame in your eyes, Silvan?”

Silvan’s eyes became vacant. “I got the flame in my eyes the day I found out who I really was.” His voice became almost a whisper.

Fitzel flew back and hovered between Shawn and Manie. “This is amazing.”

“It must mean I’m somehow bound to these creatures,” Tess said as she looked around the room. “But why?”

Jango put his eyes on Fitzel, then back on Tess. “The answer to that question will reveal itself in time. Now you must tell them about the disease. Every second we waste, another Talmorian dies.”

Breathless, Tess set the mask back on the table. “You’re right.” She said, turning to face Shawn, Manie and Silvan. “We’ve managed to come up with a vaccine…”

“A vaccine?” Manie inquired.

“Yes,” Jango answered. “A vaccine.”

“That can’t be possible,” Silvan told them. “I’ve heard countless rumors about the Gray Death and the way it spreads is by magic. Only the Beacons of Black Fire could keep the disease at bay.”

“Not all rumors are true,” Jango said as he crossed his arms. “The Gray Death is certainly fueled by something. Perhaps magic, but I suspect something less sinister. The vaccine we’ve discovered can stop it–though its effects are only temporary. It doesn't rid the host of Gray Death, but it does cause the starvation and hallucinations to cease for short periods of time. Two to three weeks is the best outcome.”

“Is this a jest?" Manie asked. “Why haven't you done anything to get this vaccine into people's veins?"

“We don’t have enough supplies, or men to distribute it.” Jango said, swinging his palm. “We need a large quantity of tree bark, the type that only grew on trees in the forests your father burnt down. Without a steady supply of Endowas bark, we’re stuck with a formula that can’t be used.”

“I can help get the bark,” Fitzel said. “Endowas trees still grow in the North. We use the bark to build our glass houses. I could convince the others to bring as much as you need.”

“The Protectors can transport it if we need them to,” Shawn added. This is big, he realized, maybe even bigger than saving the Torch-Wings.

“That does sound like a good plan,” Tess said.

“I concur,” Jango agreed, his voice betraying only a hint of doubt. “But it doesn’t erase the incident King Dukemot caused in Market Town. Some still blame me for all those deaths and disappearances. They call me The Man of the Marsh for a reason. They’d never trust a vaccine I helped create.”

“Then we don’t tell them you made it.” Shawn raised his hand towards Silvan. “Let the Protectors take credit. Talmorians remember who we used to be.”

Jango didn’t seem enthused. “That could work. Though I’ll admit I’m conflicted about serving recognition to the people who tried to kill me a thousand years ago.”

“This isn’t the time for that,” Manie said. “We can worry about who gets recognition once we’ve stopped the Gray Death.”

“I’ll admit, it’s more palatable than allowing your father to continue running experiments on his own cities.”

"My father is trying to do the same thing we are," Manie said bitterly. "He's trying to find a cure."

Jango stared at Manie with eyes like red coals. "Yes, and at the same time using the population of Talmoria as his own personal test subjects."

"A concept I'm sure you're very familiar with," Manie said back, fighting to keep from pouncing.

“The last time you spoke to your father was more than seventy years ago. He may be a different man entirely to the one you remember. Perhaps we could ponder on whether King Dukemot is even still alive at all, given the amount of time that has passed.”

Manie’s cheeks turned red. “He’s not dead.”

Jango let out a breath of laughter. “Word has spread that King Dukemot hasn’t been seen by anyone outside his mansion in almost twelve years. I wonder why?”

“He can’t be dead,” Manie said, her response as quick and sharp as a whip. “Duncan told Shawn and I that my father was still alive. That’s why it wanted to take us back to Denengear.”

“Well, that may be true. But even if he is, he must be extremely old. Too old to rule. And if that’s the way of it, I wonder who’s now pulling the strings in our island’s capital.”

“He might have found a way to stay young,” Manie suggested, “like my mother did.”

“I doubt that,” Jango replied. “Your father was a man of metal, not magic.”

“I have a question,” Silvan interrupted. “If the vaccine only staves off the effects of Gray Death for two weeks, doesn’t that make all this effort meaningless? The infected will just become sick again once the vaccine wears off. Shouldn’t we focus on a solution that can help everyone, not just those who are ill?”

“I agree,” Manie said. “Two weeks isn’t enough. We need a way to end the Gray Death once and for all.”

Jango shook his head. “It’s not possible.”

“Why?” Manie demanded. “If you can find the recipe for a vaccine, you can find the recipe for a cure.”

“It’s not that simple. Studying the Gray Death is like trying to study the shape of a cloud–it changes biology so rapidly that we can’t get a hold on anything that could give us clues about its origin. I've tried poison, I've tried fire, I've tried lightning, I've tried vaccines–nothing can stop this disease once you've been infected. Whether by madness or slow starvation, death will find you. This disease will continue to spread until every last Talmorian is gone.”

“There has to be a way,” Manie said, her eyes like pools of red moonlight. She looked at Shawn and put his hand in hers, making static run up his veins.

“To cure the Gray Death, we need Shaleah’s notes. It’s the only solution there is. If I had that, I might be able to reverse engineer a cure from her disease.”

“That’s exactly what we need,” Tess said. “Our current instruments grant us no way to understand the secrets behind the Gray Death. The biology is in a constant state of evolution. By understanding how the Gray Death was created, we may unlock some hidden clue to reveal its vulnerability.”

“It’s too dangerous to go searching for those notes,” Jango pointed out. “They won’t be easy to find.”

“But we may not have a choice, Jango,” Tess said back.

“Where would we even begin looking?” Shawn asked. “Talmoria is huge.”

“Shaleah would have had a lab like this one,” Tess pointed her hand at the microscopes and vials of glowing, green liquid across the tables. “She would have needed a place to study the disease in a sealed environment where she could keep the biology from getting beyond her control. You have to find her lab, get inside, and gather whatever evidence she left behind: samples, notes, formulas–anything. I've studied the Gray Death for eight years and uncovered nothing to suggest it can be stopped by conventional means. Master Jango is right. If we want a cure, we need a breakthrough.”

“If such a place exists, it would be in Denengear,” Jango said with a bite. “In Dukemot’s mansion.”

“Then that’s where we have to go,” Shawn said.

Manie quickly turned to Shawn, hesitation boiling in her eyes. “It does sound dangerous. But maybe it is the only choice.”

Silvan grimaced as Manie spoke. “That’s not an option. Jango’s wrong, sending Protectors into Denengear wouldn’t be too dangerous, It would be suicide. No one in their right mind would ever agree to this.”

“I would,” Manie said back. “I grew up in Denengear. I know my father’s mansion like the tip of my thumb. I could sneak inside and find the cure before anyone even knew I was there.”

Fitzel gasped. “Oh no...”

Manie seemed alarmed by her reaction. “It’ll be okay, Fitzel.”

“Okay? They’d know who you were the instant they saw your face,” Silvan argued.

“Silvan isn’t wrong,” Jango added. “I suspect you’ll have to do some digging before you uncover the location of your mother’s secret lab. The chances of getting caught are quite high. This won’t be as quick and easy as all that.”

“If Manie’s going, so am I,” Shawn squeezed her hand. “Two can search quicker than one. If this means stopping the Gray Death, the risk is worth it.”

Silvan cocked his head back. “Shawn, aren’t you worried someone will remember you as well? There were survivors after the Battle for the Beacons. Have you forgotten what the punishment was for helping the king’s daughter?”

A noose flashed into Shawn’s mind. The fear of death came rushing back, making his heart pound. “The risk doesn’t matter. We have to do this, Silvan.”

“Dr. Rutler, you seem like a smart woman.” Silvan turned his attention on her. “Can’t you see that this is madness? She is King Dukemot’s daughter. The last time Manie was in Denengear she was imprisoned at the top of a tower, where she eventually killed her only sister, who, I need not remind you, was also the king’s daughter.”

Manie’s eyebrows sharpened into daggers.

“It is risky,” Tess agreed. “Maybe even stupid. But I don’t see what else we can do. Jango and I have tried everything.” As Tess moved her hands, the newly ignited fire in her eyes projected shimmering blue light across her skin. She paused for a moment to turn her hands and look at the color on both sides of her knuckles.

“Have you all forgotten that Manie is wanted by the Royal Army?” Silvan asked. “We might as well put a noose around her neck ourselves.”

“They want me alive, not dead,” Manie told him. “Now stop fretting! If you don’t want to help us think of a solution, then just leave.”

“This is insanity,” Silvan shook his head. “This plan is going to get us all killed.”

“Does that really matter anymore?” Manie asked. “Everyone else is already dead. There’s nothing left to lose.”

“Exactly,” Silvan said, putting out his hands. “Which is why there’s no reason to rush out and join them.”

“If we do nothing, the Gray Death will keep infecting people until the entire island is a graveyard. We can’t afford to wait another seventy years, Silvan, we have to decide now.”

“Our situation has become very desperate,” Jango said as he looked around the eyes surrounding him. “This plan is very dangerous. It may not be the wisest move, but it may well be our only one. I don’t want you to have to do this…but I still think we must.”

Silvan let his eyes fall to the floor. He let out a long sigh and stayed silent for a time. Finally he said, “I hope you don’t come to regret what you’ve begun once we’re all dead.”

“I’ve lived for far too long to carry regrets,” Jango told him. “I can’t even remember most of them anymore.”

Silvan smiled and burst air from his nostrils. “Good... Well then, enough talking, shall we get started?”

Shawn looked into Manie’s burning red eyes as Fitzel landed on her shoulder. Dr. Rutler stared at Jango, and then he turned his sight on Silvan. “Yes,” Jango said. “Let it begin.”