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Author Topic: The Killing Season Chapter 4  (Read 2715 times)

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Offline Evie

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The Killing Season Chapter 4
« on: August 23, 2010, 09:33:46 pm »
Chapter Four



   June 4, 1132
   Rhemuth Castle


   At the end, even the Quarantine Guard at Rhemuth had not proved sufficient to the task of keeping Duke Dhugal MacArdry McLain from his wife's bedside in her final hours of life.  A consultation with the Royal Physicians had confirmed for Kelson's assurance—or lack thereof—that in their observations thus far, simple proximity to a stricken victim did not seem to play any part in determining if an individual would contract the fever-flux or not.  The downside of this hopeful news, on the other hand, was that none of the quarantine measures that had been put into effect seemed to have made the slightest degree of difference in the contagion's spread, either.  Many of those who had kept themselves in strictest isolation still seemed to contract the fever-flux and either survive the full course of the disease or die, while those tending to the stricken or taking their bodies away for burial seemed to have no greater likelihood of falling ill than the next person.

   Duchess Catriona had progressed to the more severe stages of the fever-flux, often delirious, her body racked with frequent spasms in its attempt to purge itself of the black bile, and then more often than not falling into blissful unconsciousness after each violent bout.  But whenever she awoke, she was often lucid for anywhere from a few minutes to a couple of hours at a time, before her fever would rise perilously high again to start the cycle anew.

   And now her water had broken, the contractions coming in full force, yet despite the urgings of the midwife, Dhugal refused to leave his wife’s side again, not wishing to lose any more precious moments of what little time might yet remain with the woman who had captured his heart.

   Cat gripped his hand tightly.  “Promise me that you’ll remarry,” she whispered through fever-parched lips as the force of one contraction subsided.  “Duncan Michael is still so young…so much could happen.  He will need brothers.”

   Dhugal buried his face in her hair.  “I can’t bear to think of that right now, a chuisle.”  He raised his head slightly, kissed her brow.  “Besides, I still have a wife.  I have a bonny wife who’s a fighter, who never surrenders.”

   “Aye, I do give a good fight, don’t I?”  She chuckled slightly, the effort causing a deep cough, which nearly stirred up another bout of retching, although she fought back the reflex.  “I don’t always win though, love.  You know that.”  Another contraction spasmed through her, stealing her ability to speak or even think for the next few moments while she focused on riding it out.  In that, at least, Dhugal was able to lend his powers to offer some relief, focusing his energies in helping to blunt the edge of the pain.

   Once the contraction subsided, Catriona turned her clear green eyes, their irises now surrounded by a tinge of yellow, up to her husband again.  “Ailidh has milk enough for two, if our daughter survives me.  She’s already offered….”

   “Hush, sweeting.  Save your strength.”  He turned desperate eyes towards the midwife, moving towards the foot of the sickbed to whisper.  “How far along in her labor is she?”

   “Not far enough along, Yer Grace,” the midwife whispered back.  “It would hae helped if she’d been strong enough tae sit on th’ birthing stool, or better yet, walked about a bit first, but wi’ her lyin’ abed, ‘tis progressin’ more slowly.”

   “And the baby?” Dhugal asked, almost afraid to hear her answer.

   “Still movin’, though weaker now.”  The midwife shook her head.  “I cannae say which will hold out longer.”  She lowered her voice a trace more.  “If the mother dies, I can try tae save the babe if she’s still livin’, but I’d have tae be quick about it, an’ there’s no guarantees tha’ I could.  An’ she may well have th’ fever-flux too, poor wee bairn, just like her mam.”

   Dhugal nodded in acknowledgment, swallowing hard.  “Just…do whatever you can.”

   The end, when it came, came swiftly.  One moment, Catriona lay back against the pillow, her husband sitting by her side ready to ease the next contraction, for they were coming in strong steady waves now, with barely any respite between them.  Then her eyes widened, her breath coming in shallow gasps, and Dhugal sensed the cause for her distress, signaling for the chambermaid to bring the freshly rinsed wash-basin, raising his wife up to an almost sitting position.  Catriona retched up the bloody vomitus once, twice, then her body stiffened as another contraction ripped through her body.

   When this one subsided, her body lay unnaturally still, only the shallow rise and fall of her breath and the too-rapid flutter of her pulse in her throat indicating life.  And then she gave a quiet gasp, her lungs filling with air for one last time as her body arched backwards, convulsing momentarily, then lay completely still.

   The room froze, no one able to move or even speak for one long moment, then it exploded with activity.  Dhugal, completely numb, felt strong arms grasp him by the shoulders and turn him away, leading him from the room, although he felt as though he were watching it happen to some other man, some man completely outside of himself, for he wasn’t here, watching his love, his life, expire before his eyes.  There was the frantic sound of the midwife’s voice, issuing orders in a voice pitched higher than he’d heard it earlier, taut with tears, but he could make no sense of her words’ meaning, nor of the other, higher pitched wail he heard several moments later.  There was only the numbness of death, the darkness of the grave threatening to fill his vision as someone sat him down gently on a chair, murmuring words that he supposed were meant to comfort, if only they were in a language he could comprehend.  At that moment, all he could understand was pain, fierce and keen, ripping through him like a sword, the only edge of feeling in his otherwise sense-dulled world.  And then another voice nearby, and someone holding a cup to his lips.  After that, he felt nothing at all.

#


   Alaric Morgan stood in the doorway to Duncan’s study.  He didn’t say the words.  He didn’t have to.  Duncan took one look at his expression and knew all, his own face turning ashen.

   “Catriona?”

   Alaric nodded, his gray gaze filled with sympathy.  Duncan closed his eyes.  “Dhugal?”

   Alaric entered the room, taking a chair next to his cousin.  “Sleeping.  He was given a draught; he probably won’t wake until the morning.”

   Duncan nodded dully.  “That’s probably for the best.  And Duncan Michael?”

   “Still in Lady Mhairi’s keeping.  And your granddaughter lives, for now at least.  Lady Ailidh has her.”

   A brief light in Duncan’s blue eyes as he opened them.  “The baby survived?”

   “Yes.  She’s weak, and two weeks early, but she looks to be a fighter.”

   The faintest glimmer of a smile, as tears filled Duncan’s eyes.  “Yes, she’s Catriona’s child.  She would be.  Daughter of warrior queens.”  His voice broke with the last words.  Alaric rose quietly, walking over to the bookshelf, rummaging at the back of it until he found what he was looking for, the bottle of MacRorie’s Old his cousin usually kept on hand there.  He poured a glass, walking over to place it gently in Duncan’s hand.  Duncan sipped absently, his attention clearly elsewhere.

   “Does Corin know yet?”  The fifteen-year-old Corin, Hereditary Lord of Llyr and Catriona’s nephew, was currently serving as squire to King Kelson.  “Or High Lord Michael?”

   “Kelson notified Corin a half hour ago.  Corin will be returning to Llyr to break the news to his father.”

   “I should go….There'll be duties...a funerary Mass to make ready for....”

   Alaric put a hand on his cousin’s shoulder and pushed him back into the chair as he started to rise.  “You should do nothing of the sort!”  He tapped the glass in Duncan’s hand with a fingernail.  “Drink that.”

#

   June 8
   Coroth Castle


   Richenda looked up from the accounts in surprise, which rapidly turned to joy as her husband walked into the room.  “Alaric!”  Joy immediately turned into worry.  “You shouldn’t be here, it’s not safe!  The plague is still in Coroth; we’re under quarantine….”

   He lifted a hand to stop the flow of words.  “Yes, it’s still in Rhemuth too.”  Alaric Morgan swept his wife into a fierce embrace, holding her close for a long while as if he never wanted to let her go, though eventually he stepped back again, looking down into her cornflower blue eyes.  “I have missed you so much!  It’s been so difficult, being stuck in Rhemuth, not knowing what was happening here.  Is everyone…are the children….?”  The words stuck in his throat, lodged there by the fear of what her answer might be.

   Her eyes filled with tears.  “We’re fine.  We’re all well…now.”  She smiled up at him, blinking away the moisture that obscured the precious sight of her husband, home at last and safe.  “Kelric had a mild form of the fever-flux but was over it within a couple of days.  Briony….”  She buried her face in Alaric’s shoulder.  “Briony’s case was far more severe, but her fever finally broke after five days, and she’s on the mend now.   She’s still a bit pale and weak, but this week she’s started feeling up to playing in the garden again.  Grania and the twins haven't caught it, thank God!”

   Alaric cradled Richenda in his arms, stroking her red-gold hair.   “And you’ve not?”

   “I haven’t.”  She leaned back slightly to study his face.  “And you?”

   He shook his head.   “No. But the outbreak is bad in Rhemuth and the surrounding area.”  The gray eyes were bleak.  “Dhugal’s wife died four days ago.”  Richenda gasped slightly.  Alaric tightened his hold on her, burying his face in her hair.  “I was all right up until that happened. I think I was just so busy, it was easier not to let myself imagine what might be happening here.  I wouldn’t have been allowed to return any earlier, in any case.  But after that death hit so close to home, I couldn’t stay away any longer.”

   “But the quarantine….?”  Richenda turned worried eyes up to her husband.  “Won’t Kelson….?”

   Alaric stopped her question with a shake of his head.  “He lifted it himself, or relaxed it slightly, at any rate.  It doesn’t seem to be having much of an effect at all.”  He paused, a sudden thought striking him.   “Or is it different here?  Has the quarantine helped at all?  Maybe if we were doing something different….”

   His Duchess shook her head.  “No, we’ve not noticed much of a difference either.  Staying indoors with all the windows tightly closed might make a small difference, but then we see people falling over from heat prostration.”  She had a sudden thought.  “Master Randolph is treating his patients by trying to get fluids down them as much as possible rather than bleeding and purging them.  From what I’ve seen, more of his patients are surviving than the ones going through the more conventional treatments.  You might want to let the physicians in Rhemuth know.”

   “I will.”  Alaric studied his wife, almost afraid to ask his next question for fear of adding to her worries, but then he decided she would be in a better position to know the answer—for better or for worse—than he’d been in the past few months, and if the news were bad, she’d have told him already.  “Have you had any news from Brendan in Marley yet?”

   Fire flashed in her eyes.  “Oh, yes!  He came down with the fever-flux quite early on, and he didn’t bother to tell me until he was completely over it!  He said he ‘didn’t want to worry me!’”  Indignation suffused her features.

   Alaric found himself caught between a similar annoyance, chagrin, and wry amusement.  Amusement slowly won.  He gave his wife a rueful grin.  “I probably would’ve done the same.”  He held up his hand before she could start her protests.  “If you’d known, would you have gone to him?”

   “Well….”  Richenda suddenly looked torn, knowing what her duty would’ve been as Corwyn’s Duchess, yet also knowing where she would have wanted to be as Brendan’s mother.

   “Exactly.  Why put you in that position of having to choose?  Besides which, he wouldn’t have wanted to risk giving the fever-flux to you, would he?  He made a man’s choice.  And one which must have been extremely difficult for him, if you think about it.  He’s still boy enough to have wanted the comfort of having his mother nearby.”  He chuckled.  “I’ve desperately wanted the comfort of having you nearby, but for different reasons entirely.”

   “I’m nearby now,” she said softly.

   “So you are.”  He brushed a tender kiss across her lips.  “I very much want to see our children, and Kelson has only released me for a brief visit, though you can also visit Rhemuth now if you wish and if the situation here permits.  But for now, can we go to our chamber?  I very much need my wife.”

   “And I’ve needed you rather desperately as well.”  She stroked his cheek, drinking in every precious feature with her eyes.  “I’ll let the household know we’re not to be disturbed.”

#

   June 19
   De Nore estate, near Nyford


   In a palatial home just outside of Nyford, another woman with a young son lay dying.

   “It's God's curse upon the Deryni that has brought this plague to the Kingdom!” she raged weakly, her fingers plucking at the fine linen sheets she lay upon, sheets stained with her own blood and wastes, for most of her household had fled except for one frail old chambermaid too weak to shift her patient and change the soiled linens.  The chambermaid privately wondered, if this was so, why God had such very bad aim.  Surely, had He meant to smite only the Deryni and those who supported their magical race, He might have chosen His targets more carefully than to deal mortal illness to a de Nore!

   But there was little time for such theological ponderings at the moment, for the Lady Alienora was at that moment purging herself of bile more literal than verbal.  The chambermaid sighed, picked up a damp rag, and began to clean her up again.

   A small boy whimpered in the doorway.  “I'm hungry!”

   “Not now, Ollie,” the chambermaid said in a weary voice.  “Your Maman can't spare me at the moment.”  She stepped slightly to one side, hoping to block his view of her patient.  “There's bread and cheese left in the kitchens.  Stay clear of the hearth.”  She was sure the fires would have long since died down, but there might still be an ember or two to burn small hands, and she did not wish to be held responsible if the young master were careless.

   Alienora swooned briefly, but just as the chambermaid was beginning to hope the long ordeal might be over, she recovered, her fever-bright blue eyes fixing upon the woman caring for her.  “The King will rue the day he repealed the Statutes of Ramos!  God's wrath will be visited upon the Haldanes to the third and fourth generations!”  Her eyes darted around the room, falling upon her young son, a scant two months short of his sixth birthday, still standing in the doorway, mouth agape.  “Ollie, darling,” she whispered, her voice softening.  “Come to Maman, poppet.”

   The child stared wide-eyed at her, afraid to move, but more afraid to disobey.  At last he lurched forwards, his little feet taking him a few steps further into the room.

   “You must promise me, Ollie, that you will always be a good boy, and that you will love the Lord your God, and that someday you will do your part to rid this land of the Deryni taint.  Can you promise that, Ollie?”

   Young Oliver Septimus Ranulf de Nore de Varnay nodded, not at all comprehending what his mother was ranting about, only understanding that it was something about the Deryni, and that Deryni were evil.  He didn't know why; it was something about fire and evil magics and consorting with demons, but aside from that, he wasn't even sure what they were.  The library in this home of his mother's ancestors was a good one, but if there were picture books showing what these minions of Satan looked like, he had never seen them.  But he knew the monstrous Deryni, whatever they might be, were evil.  His mother had always said so, and she would never lie to him about such a thing.  She was good, and good people didn't lie.

   “They're the Devil's spawn, Ollie, the Devil's spawn,” she whispered.  “But God will wipe them and their wicked taint from the face of the land.  It's only a matter of time.”  A crazed smile widened cracked lips.  “You will know them by their works, Ollie.”  The smile vanished, replaced by the fires of Hell blazing in her eyes.  “When you are a man grown, send as many as you can back to their diabolical Maker, my darling, my dove!  Do this in remembrance of me.”

   Her voice went silent, though long after she breathed her last and the chambermaid wrapped her in the waste-soaked sheets and went to summon a burial-cart, young Ollie heard its echo lingering in his mind.

#

   June 28
   Bremagne


   At the end of June, after the plague had been given several months to wreak havoc throughout the Kingdom of Gwynedd, a small craft set sail, heading across a narrow stretch of the Atalantic Ocean towards the distant coast of that besieged land.  It was sailed by men who would ask no questions, and who would set sail for any destination in exchange for enough coin.

   The hired sailors were paid well to sail forth, paid more to keep silence.  Nikos von Brustarkia was still trying to decide if they should be paid even more to remain docked near Rhemuth until the task he and his small group of hand-picked men had been sent to do was completed, to make their return home easier, or if it would be a greater advantage to kill them all upon arrival in Desse.  It could be done discreetly, yet Nikos hated to waste such a resource if it might prove needful again.  Then again, killing them would save on coin, and that was another resource Nikos hated to waste.

   Mirjana and his heir Mikhail were not with him, of course.  He would hardly risk his son's life, after all.  The child was the delight of his eyes, his father's darling.

   The woman....  Well, she was beautiful, and fruitful enough—she'd proven it to his satisfaction twice—and he had her fairly well trained by now.  She was another resource he'd hate to waste needlessly, especially considering how much she had cost him already.  He'd already killed once to gain her, and it had cost him far more than he'd dreamed.  Had cost him his birthright due to outlawry.

   He would gain it all back and more, of course, once he was Duke of Arjenol.  Once he had his full reward for his support of Teymuraz the Bold.

   And then, if she was not worthy of him, once he had all the women of his native Torenth to choose from, he would think about replacing her.


Chapter 5:  http://www.rhemuthcastle.com/index.php?topic=540.0
« Last Edit: January 10, 2011, 05:09:44 pm by Evie »
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Offline Alkari

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The Killing Season Chapter 4
« Reply #1 on: August 23, 2010, 10:34:13 pm »
Reactions to chapter:  Sobs and lots of tears; sobs, hugs for Duncan, and glad baby survived; hugs and LOL @ Brendan; oh dear! for poor little Ollie; and 'I hope you have nasty things in store for him' @ Nikos.

 Oh yes, and I just loved this:-
Quote
The chambermaid privately wondered, if this was so, why God had such very bad aim.  Surely, had He meant to smite only the Deryni and those who supported their magical race, He might have chosen His targets more carefully than to deal mortal illness to a de Nore.
« Last Edit: August 24, 2010, 12:37:54 am by Alkari »

Offline Evie

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The Killing Season Chapter 4
« Reply #2 on: August 24, 2010, 08:59:22 am »
Reactions to chapter:  Sobs and lots of tears; sobs, hugs for Duncan, and glad baby survived; hugs and LOL @ Brendan; oh dear! for poor little Ollie; and 'I hope you have nasty things in store for him' @ Nikos.

If it caused sobs and tears, then GOOD! because I had to suffer through those scenes as well.  ;D   Not to mention through the scenes leading up to those, since I knew ahead of time what was going to end up happening, so even some of the happier scenes earlier had me teary-eyed.  This chapter is one of the major reasons why I wasn't really sure I wanted to write this story, except those pesky voices in my head just Wouldn't. Shut. Up! about it.  *sigh*

Fortunately I tend to write all over the timeline, so if I want to go back and write a Catriona short story, all I have to do is set it sometime before June of 1132.   (Of course, that may not be any less tear-inducing, since you'd already know what ends up happening to her later....  :D )

Quote
Oh yes, and I just loved this:-
Quote
The chambermaid privately wondered, if this was so, why God had such very bad aim.  Surely, had He meant to smite only the Deryni and those who supported their magical race, He might have chosen His targets more carefully than to deal mortal illness to a de Nore.

Maybe God struck her down because of her awful fashion sense and taste in furnishing?   ;)
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Offline Elkhound

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The Killing Season Chapter 4
« Reply #3 on: August 24, 2010, 02:16:16 pm »
Maybe God struck her down because of her awful fashion sense and taste in furnishing?   ;)

If He did that sort of thing, a lot more people would be struck down.

Offline Evie

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The Killing Season Chapter 4
« Reply #4 on: August 24, 2010, 02:24:05 pm »
Well, whatever the reason, it was Alienora...the one death I can't quite bring myself to regret in this storyline....  :D  While I'm still in the midst of smiting, shall I off Lady Lyndall of the snarky anti-Deryni comments as well?   Assuming, of course, that her original author has no objection?  ;)
« Last Edit: August 24, 2010, 02:26:37 pm by Evie »
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
I have a vocabulary in excess of 75,000 words, and I'm not afraid to use it!

Offline Elkhound

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The Killing Season Chapter 4
« Reply #5 on: August 24, 2010, 03:50:33 pm »
Well, whatever the reason, it was Alienora...the one death I can't quite bring myself to regret in this storyline....  :D  While I'm still in the midst of smiting, shall I off Lady Lyndall of the snarky anti-Deryni comments as well?   Assuming, of course, that her original author has no objection?  ;)

Even better--have her get it and be saved by Deryni healing.

Offline Alkari

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The Killing Season Chapter 4
« Reply #6 on: August 24, 2010, 04:05:52 pm »
Even better--have her get it and be saved by Deryni healing.
Alas, not possible Elkhound - Deryni Healing doesn't work on that sort of thing.   

Evie, you can kill off Lady Lyndall if you need another body, but she is a total non-entity by now and Richenda has forgotten her existence.  The Lady Lyndall did not snare a Duke or an Earl and has not been seen at court for many a year; when I last heard, she was living in Llannedd, having married a rather boring Baron (second wife, after first died in childbirth) and has so far produced three daughters and no son.   

Offline Evie

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The Killing Season Chapter 4
« Reply #7 on: August 24, 2010, 06:28:47 pm »
Well, that's incentive not tp kill her then; why would I want to put her out of her misery?!  ;)
"In necessariis unitas, in non-necessariis libertas, in utrisque caritas."

--WARNING!!!--
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Offline Alkari

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The Killing Season Chapter 4
« Reply #8 on: August 24, 2010, 08:12:15 pm »
You could look at it the other way - perhaps her husband might be grateful if you put him out of HIS misery!  :D

 

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