Death After Death Ch. 157-158

Ch. 157 - A Short War

The war that followed was both brutal and short, at least if the reports were to be believed. Simon attended court every day during that period, listening to the infrequent updates from messengers that relayed the status of the war, one engagement and naval battle at a time. Simon would have much rather joined the fleet, but Elthena forbade him from doing that, not that he blamed her. He still wasn’t in good enough shape to play swashbuckler, but his magic could have come in really handy in some subtle ways if it was necessary. 

It turned out that it almost was when it was revealed the enemy had warlocks of their own. Their fire spells sank a dozen ships of the Queen's fleet before they were taken down if the reports were to be believed. For someone raised on 24-hour news networks, the whole ordeal was painful to him. He couldn’t see it; he had no idea how it was going, and then one random afternoon, there was a report that they’d either won or lost a battle and a list of casualties.

Sometimes, the messengers got lost or sent off course by storms, and the reports came in out of order, which somehow made the whole thing even worse. Simon spent some time trying to surmount this problem by weaving together the words distant minor light transfer in the hopes of making a scrying spell that might let him at least peek in on events, but other than temporarily blinding himself, those experiments accomplished nothing except for burning a few more weeks of his life. 

When the enemy mages were sighted, Elthena spoke to him again about his magic after getting less than satisfactory answers from her vizier about the situation. Simon explained how it worked, broadly speaking, but didn’t teach her any of the words and made it very clear that the words of power were dangerous. 

“So every time you use magic, you sacrifice a bit of your life?” she asked. “How ghastly.”

Simon didn’t dispute that and pointed out that it was that much more dangerous than their enemies had such powers because it spoke to desperation or zealotry. Still, before they could worry more about that, the report came that the Alfonsic’s island fortress had been captured thanks to the bravery of Ionian warriors. The place was apparently quite well fortified, but because most of the defenders had been sacrificed to fuel evil magics, there weren’t enough guards to hold the walls when the time came. 

Simon thought that was more than a little anticlimactic, but from hundreds of miles away, there was little he could do about it. Still, it was a complete victory, and even now, captives, including the merchant prince, along with other men of importance, as well as ships full of spoils, were on their way back to Ionar. That was excellent news, and a week of celebrations was ordered to commemorate the event, and a fine new temple would be raised to celebrate Elthena’s wisdom. 

Unfortunately, that wasn’t all the ships brought back. Even as the seized wealth was shown off in the form of gold, jewels, and expensive bolts of cloth, and the most important prisoners were paraded through the streets to be pelted with rotting produce, the same black plague he’d cured once so long ago had found its way into some of the ships too. Unfortunately, no one suspected a thing until it had swept across the waterfront in a wave of fevers and blackened sores. 

“We have to restrict all traffic from the lower city,” Simon explained, the evening that the Queen’s physician had given a report and explained that with the proper oils, there was nothing to worry about. 

“You don’t trust Doctor Nolanth’s judgment?” she asked. “Need I remind you that he saved your life?”

“You don’t,” he agreed, unwilling to explain just how little the doctor had to do with his survival, given how difficult she could be when the topic of magic came up. “But I have treated this plague before, during an outbreak in the north, when I was in Brin.”

Simon was fairly sure that the outbreak he'd experienced before hadn’t actually happened yet, but it didn’t matter. Saving Ionar would have changed history in a million little ways, and he wasn’t about to figure out how all of those fit together. 

“It is not spread by bad air, or the death curse of your enemy, or evil warlock magic,” Simon explained. “It is spread by fleas on rats and other animals, and the more the populations of the city mix, the faster it will spread.”

“I’m not sure there’s much we can do for the poor,” she said sadly, much as my heart goes out to them.

“You can’t,” Simon said, “But I can. I’ll head down there tomorrow, open up a clinic, and see what can be done for the worst cases.”

“You will do no such thing!” she answered, suddenly imperious again. “I could never forgive myself if my Simon got sick and died during such an errand.”

“You know, before I met you, and before I fought the monster in your volcano, I was a doctor for many years,” Simon said with a shake of his head, “But even before that, I was a hero, and this is something I have to do.”

“But what if you catch the plague?” she asked, more sad than angry at his defiance. 

“I’ve caught it before,” he lied, “So now I have an immunity or at least a resistance. I’ll be fine. It's you I’m worried about.”

When she saw that he couldn’t be dissuaded, she finally came around and helped him plan what he needed to do the most good. Medicines were in short supply, but cots, blankets, and everything else he needed to make the sick comfortable would be given to him from the army barracks. 

The next day, roads were blocked, proclamations were read, and the city was sealed off into three sections: low, middle, and high. Simon was under no illusions that this would be enough to spare the palace. Only a complete quarantine could have done that. This would be enough to slow the spread, though, and keep those who were trying to heal the sick from being completely overwhelmed. 

At first, things went okay. This was Simon’s fourth time playing plague doctor, and after a word of lesser curing on himself and those men and women who were brave enough to help him at the onset of the first symptoms, they did their best. Every morning, new patients were brought to the lower market square that had become his base of operations, and slowly but surely, the cots beneath the awnings filled up until they were overflowing. 

Every day, a dozen people got sick, while very few got better. In the meantime, deaths mounted daily. After a week, a handful were dying every day, but after three weeks, nearly two dozen were dying. There were survivors, of course. They even outnumbered the dead, but this was a nasty plague, and it took almost a third of the young and healthy, along with most of the old and infirm. 

Simon did not visit the palace or even the upper city at all once he left it. He did not want to be the one to cause cross-contamination. Still, eventually, he received word that the plague had been found in the upper city. At first, it was restricted to a single noble house that had obviously broken quarantine, but soon enough, it spread to other nearby families as well. 

After that, Simon was forced to split his time between the upper and lower cities, doing what he could for rich and poor alike. The wealthy complained and offered him riches to stay by their side, but he refused. Truthfully, he could have healed them with a word for that price, but a month of his life was a dear thing now. Simon had been here for the better part of a decade and had gray hairs to contend with. So, instead of trying to save everyone with magic, he simply did his best with medicine and let fate decide who lived and died. 

At least, that was what he did until he received word from the Queen's own doctor that Elthena was sick. “I didn’t see a need to worry you when her fever grew, but… well, she’s in a bad way now and clearly beyond my powers, so I thought that—”

Simon didn’t wait for the portly man to finish. He simply sucker-punched the man with a right hook. The move surprised both of them, but Simon wasn’t about to apologize. Instead, he walked over the man’s prostrate form and started toward the palace. Some lives were worth leaving to chance, and some were not. 

No one attempted to bar his way, and he quickly made his way to her dark room and sick bed, where he found the frail form of his lover. “Don’t,” she whispered as he sat down on the bed beside her and took her hand, “Don’t squander your life… for mine…”

“You want me to let you die?” he asked incredulously as he looked at her sallow cheeks and sweating forehead. 

“If need be…” she gasped. “There are… others for you to save.”

“Then I will heal you with medicine instead of magic,” he lied, “But I will heal you just the same.”

He whispered a word of lesser curing even as he stood up to begin looking through the herbs. He could have cured her on the spot with a full word or perhaps even a greater one, but she was smart enough to put two and two together and would have been very angry at him for that sort of obvious magic. So, instead, he gave her immune system just enough help to get through the worst of it. Then he spent the next few days feeding her different powders and watching her vital signs for any change. 

The Queen’s physician didn’t come close to him after that, though the Vizeie did, to check on her and assure himself that Simon had not used dark magic on her. It was the first chance that Simon had to study the man, but he saw nothing to fear in those eyes. The man was an alchemist who was closer to being a witch doctor than a true mage. 

Slowly but surely, the Queen made progress. And when her fever broke, her boils finally started to heal. There would be some scarring, but he didn’t think it would be particularly bad. According to his assistants, who were now running both the upper and the lower clinic, the worst was over, and new cases were coming in slower than ever. In less than half a year, they’d managed to win two wars: one with ships against an assassin and one with medicine and magic against disease. 

All in all, it wasn’t a bad performance. Simon was proud, even though he had no one he could brag to about it. He didn’t bring it up to Elthena when she became lucid enough to start talking again. He just focused on her, even when she got dangerously philosophical about the whole thing. 

“I shouldn’t have gone to war so quickly,” she confessed finally when they were lying there together. “This is a punishment from the gods for my hubris.”

“I don’t know; from what I’ve seen, the Gods enjoy a bit of hubris,” Simon answered with a patient smile. “Wars only hasten the spread of disease, though. They don’t cause it. It would have happened eventually, no matter what you did.”

“Would it?” she asked. “How can you know that? Would the plague have come… would so many people have died if the war had never been fought or if you hadn’t stopped the eruption? You say these things with such certainty but to me… I just have so many questions.”

“Shhhh,” he soothed, stroking her hair. The Queen wasn’t wrong, of course. She was absolutely right, but trying to explain anything further to her fervid imagination was a mistake. Right now, he didn’t have to worry about how saving the city or spreading the plague had changed the world. He just had to help her calm down and heal. 

“Who knows what will happen,” Simon answered. “All we can do is all we can do.”

It didn’t mean anything, but it didn’t have to. She was going to make it, and that was all that mattered.

Ch. 158 - No

Three months after his last patient recovered and six months after the Queen recovered, Simon received two unexpected pieces of news. The first was that Elthena was pregnant, and the second was that she was banishing him from the kingdom. 

“What?!” Simon blurted out. Either piece of news would have shocked him, but the two of them together completely bowled him over. 

“You heard me,” she answered calmly. “As much as I might love you, you can’t be here when I start to show, my dearest Simon.”

“Why?” he asked, genuinely confused. “Everyone was pretty cool with the whole consort thing, but after the whole plague deal, I don’t think that anyone will object to me—”

“No one would object,” she agreed, interrupting him. “It’s worse than that. They’d demand that we marry.”

“What’s so wrong with that?” he asked. “I’d happily marry you. We could—”

“It’s out of the question,” she shot back.

“Because of the prophecy?” he asked.

“Because of the prophecy,” she agreed.

Simon sighed heavily. He’d expected this insanity to resurface again one day, but not like this. He’d never expected anything like this.

“I don’t accept this,” he said flatly, trying to stay calm. 

“I didn’t expect you to,” she said, leaning forward to hug him, “But still, it must be done.”

“You can’t make me, you know,” he said. “I could fight your entire royal guard to keep them from escorting me out of the building.”

“And with enough of your dark powers, I expect you’d win,” she agreed, “and then I’d have no choice but to throw myself into the sea.”

That terrible turn of phrase hurt more than he could have thought possible, and he was quiet for several seconds as he let it pass. He knew that his Elthena was strong-willed, but he had no idea that she was a zealot about this. Instead of freaking out, he tried another tactic. 

Simon spent the next half hour slowly going through everything they knew about the supposed curse. Simon reminded her that Brogan had broken free of his volcanic prison without any help from her and that there was no reason to expect that the whole thing was a myth at this point. Still, she would not be denied.

“What if I go kill the Basilisk that haunts your dead city,” he said, “Then will you see reason?”

“I would never dream of putting you in such danger!” she exclaimed. “No, this is for the best, I think. The city will be safe, you will be free to be a hero once more, and our child—”

“Our child will need a father as well as a mother,” he shot back.

“Oh, Simon,” she sighed, “I wish I could marry you. You’re a good man. Maybe even the best man I've ever known, but it's never going to happen; it can't.”

They argued on the topic until dinner, but he wasn’t done. Not by a long shot. There was no way he was letting this go. At least, he didn’t plan to. However, sometime between the custard and port wine they had for dessert, getting up for bed in the morning, Simon passed out hard. He remembered being really drowsy and going to bed early. What he didn’t remember was how he got on a ship because he could definitely feel the wood beneath him rocking gently from side to side. 

That bitch! He thought as he groggily put it all together. 

He instantly regretted it, of course. One did not call the mother of your children a bitch, even in your own head, but still, he was furious. Somehow, he should have expected this. She’d drugged him and sent him somewhere far away without so much as saying goodbye. He hadn't even seen it coming.

No, that was goodbye, he realized belatedly as he started to stir and realized he was bound and gagged. The hug, those tears. That was her goodbye. Suddenly, he felt terrible; all he’d felt in those last moments was anger. 

So, he forced himself to calm down as he came to grips with that decision. She had her reasons, and even if he disagreed with them violently, he understood them. He also understood that she couldn’t actually stop him from coming back. No matter where she sent him, the world was a finite place, and he’d already walked and mapped a good part of it. Three months? Six months? Depending on where it was she’d shipped him, he might even get back in time for the birth. 

Slowly, his mode was improving, and by the time a sailor came down to check on him, he was resolved. He could fix this. He’d sail back to the other side of the world, slaughter the basilisk, and bring her its head as a baby shower gift. 

“Now her majesty said ye’d be a might perturbed like when you woke up,” the young man said, “She said you could hurt us pretty bad, and we should make sure you’d calmed down first before we’d untied you, right?”

Simon nodded, not sure what else to do. 

“The captain has a scroll to give you from her,” the sailor continued, reaching down to untie Simon’s gag. “Along with some other details, but you’ll want to speak with him about that.”

When Simon’s gag was removed, he flexed his jaw and contemplated what the sailor had done. She clearly hadn’t warned them that he was a warlock or that he possessed powers they could barely comprehend. She couldn’t have, though, or they would have killed him themselves, which meant that this man had just done the dumbest thing in his whole damn life. He could cut a bloody swath through this whole crew if he wanted. The only thing that held him back was his own morals. Still, for a moment, he thought about it. He couldn't help it.

So, he resisted and instead looked up at the man and said, “I’m good. We’re good. Just take me to the captain and tell me where the hell it is she sent me, anyway.”

The sailor smiled nervously at that and delayed a moment before he cut Simon’s bonds and released him. After that, the two went up on deck, where he found himself well out of sight of land, which meant they were at least half a day underway and well out to see. 

The captain was a gruff man almost Simon’s age who took a look at him and then, uncharacteristically, smiled. “You know when Her Highness told me I’d be taken a mule onboard this ship, I almost refused, but when I heard it was for the Miracle Worker of Ionar, well, now how could I refuse that man whatever it was he wanted?”

“Mule?” Simon asked, confused. 

“Aye,” he nodded. “In the hold along with the rest of your things. A right cranky old thing, too.”

“Ohhhh, Daisy,” Simon said as he suddenly figured out he wasn’t being called a stubborn old mule. Elthena had probably sent just about everything he might need with him. If she’d planned to send him away, she would have planned well. It was one more reason to love her. 

“Aye,” the captain agreed. “That would be the one.”

The two of them talked for a while after that, and when they saw that he intended no violence, the sailors and their captain eventually loosened up around him. What did she tell them about me? He wondered. 

Simon learned that he’d saved the life of the captain’s wife during the epidemic. The man was more than a little grateful for that and was happy to tell him exactly where they were going, even though he wasn’t supposed to until they were closer to their destination. He was even happy to alter plans slightly if Simon would rather go somewhere else. 

“Within reason, you understand,” the captain explained. “The Queen would have my balls if I took you back to anywhere in Ionia so that ain’t happening.” 

The ship was already on the way to the northern kingdoms, which was the right way as far as he was concerned. He told the man he’d think about it, but really, there were only a few port cities up that way, including one place that he definitely wasn’t going: Schwarzenbruck.

At least, that’s what he thought at first, but in the days that followed, as he was having a maudlin conversation with the ship's captain about the nature of life and death, the man said, “I really love the sea, I do. The only thing that bothers me about this life is the impermanence of it. You can’t see where you’ve come from or the way to get to where you’re going, and one day, when you catch a bad storm and sink beneath the waves, no one will even notice your passing except those you left behind at port. It's a tragic thing.”

Simon nodded along, sympathizing with that. If anyone knew impermanence, he did. However, when he lay awake in his hammock that night, he had a horrible thought. If what he’d done hadn’t been good enough to finish this level, then Elthena and the life they’d lived together would disappear in the blink of an eye. If he did, though, well, then he could come back in any other life he wanted. Hell, he thought. I could time my next arrival for the very day she sent me away and surprise her. 

That would be clever, of course, but perhaps a bit too clever. More than anything, he thought about the grave for Freya that didn’t exist and how, no matter how many times he visited Crowvar or slew Varten, it would never appear. 

That whole life, from the way he’d neglected her to the crude little ring he’d made to the way he hadn’t been able to save her, had never happened, and the fact that her missing tomb would never appear was a terrible testament to that. 

That, more than anything, was what changed his mind. In the end, he was going to have to go back to Schwarzenbruck because that was the only place he could make sure these events were locked in just in case the worst happened.