Born of Gods

Chapter 3—The Wicked Sickness

Her grandfather was everything to her, her best friend, her companion, her partner in crime. Juana hated thinking about her grandfather dying though something told her it might not be much longer, he was eighty-six anyway. And he was so bold and reckless, something Juana thought was better suited for people below the age of thirty.

Besides her grandfather being her closest friend and her biggest fan, he had taught her every bit of magic she knew. Her parents were all magicians but like everybody in South Camp—as well as the whole of Nothumbra—they had white magic, white almost always meant weakness. Everyone in South Nothumbra had white magic, no one was born without it but sometimes Juana had thought it didn't count for much.

Having magic that was only helpful in the kitchen—mainly for turning the soup pots and moving not-very-heavy things around. And still, they couldn't do those things for a long time without getting weary and tired. White magic was absolutely useless in wars, explaining why Taria had been victorious in every war that they had with the whole of Nothumbra as a whole—centuries ago though. Juana felt that South Camp, where she was from, was the most pathetic place in the whole of Castor realm. A land having close to eight hundred thousand people couldn't boast of five thousand soldiers...beautiful clothes were all South Campers were any use for. Well, she couldn't blame them, relying on her grandfather was so easy for them and for decades they had enjoyed do that.

“Juana, how do you do, dear. This sky is beautiful, isn't it?" Conrad said to her as he laid beside her in the garden. He always loved to be around her and she would be a tone but him.

“Conrad, I'm not on the fields working, neither am I in the town square or on the streets. Nor am I chatting with my friends or my family,”

“So what, darling?”

“What does that say to you, Conrad? What?"

“Um, I guess you want some alone time."

Juana clapped in agreement. “You are right. So right. Now would let me have my alone time, Conrad.”

“I really don't get you, Juana. Rather, I don't get why you don't like me. All your friends wish to throw themselves at me. And I love you, you know that I would do anything for you.”

“There you go again. Ask yourself this question, as you see Roni, Cheefy and the other girls having great relationships and broken hearts a few days later, have you ever seen me in a relationship with any boy. Hmmn?”

“No, but I know that boy should be me. Look, I'm the only boy who can match you in magic, or even beat you. We are a pair, I don't know why you can't see that. You and I are the strongest in not only South Camp but in all of Nothumbra. Even stronger than Lord Rogin, your grandfather.”

Juana laughed cynically and rolled her eyes at the very much fuming Conrad “Why I don't see we are a pair? That's easy, Conrad. I just don't see what isn't there." Juana said making Conrad storm away from her in fury. Cursing under his breath, and Juana was glad she was alone to think of her dear grandfather who was doing the impossible. As always.

Conrad loved Juana, he really did. She knew, and so did everyone who knew them in South Camp of Nothumbra. As Conrad was really hated in Nothumbra for his being wicked beyond human nature—he had killed about three teenagers who had gotten in a fight with him, and had r***d at least seven girls his age and about two women, all happening within the three years he had relocated from North Camp to the south. What was alarmingly shocking was that he was only sixteen? Sixteen! Conrad and Juana had known each other from their tender ages as the public felt at some point they'd get married. It made sense to many as the two troubled lands might come together as one.

Everyone envied both of them, their white magic was so powerful, they could transport themselves, and do many things most South Campers only dreamt of. While Juana was a hard worker, she had a lot of time to make and keep friends. She was so nice. Conrad on the other hand, was the guy who did what he wanted and if you didn't like it, he would hurl a wind at you and next time you wouldn't cross his path. If you were nice to Conrad, great, you'd be his servant. And if you were brave or stupid enough to be rude or unmannerly with him, you would be his prey.

He was a mean bully, he had killed many persons, r***d many, maimed too many and literally tormented every being that crossed his path. Conrad Damshore was nice to only two people—Juana and himself. And because he was the only son of Lord Bailik of North Camp, no one could touch him. Though Rogin had almost banished him from South Camp at least four times but had bit his tongue and let it all go. Now that was very unusual for Rogin who was very bold assertive unlike his son, Juana's father, who was popular for his diplomatic skill which his daughter felt was more of cowardice.

She kicked Conrad from her mind, she had more important things to ponder on and that her eighty-six-year-old grandpa was travelling across to the dominant realm definitely didn't leave her pacing heart at ease. Not even for one moment.

Please come back safely, please. I really can't do without you. Please don't leave me, ever. At least not now.

“You know you should have gone with him, it's always just too risky for you. Everything is risky for you, everything! Your own father could be torn between worlds, trapped, imprisoned in a time warp or even killed. You don't deserve anythi—now you sit on this throne, aren't you? His throne!” Juana growled at her father, locking her eyes with his and gritting her teeth non-stop. She was scared that she would never see her grandfather and yelling at her father was one way to let out her feelings.

Her father, Hardiy Lampshore, was a very tricky man, reserved in nature at times, clever as a serpent—and yes having all the other hated quality of a serpent. He smiled and squeezed her shoulder for a while before she pushed his hands off her. He took in a deep breath and tried to overlook the look Juana was giving him. The look that always made him feel less of a man, she had learnt to look at him that way from his father.

“Can’t understand why I was born amongst white magicians, their powers are so useless. At least Mother puts hers to some use, all you do is collect high taxes from the poor and wear fancy robes that never suits you,” Juana added.

“You realise I can't do anything, you love your grandfather, yes I know you do and your fear that he may not return makes you go crazy,” He smiled, took in a deep breath and gasped, talking to Juana was one of the hardest things he did on a daily basis. “While I don't believe in this whole crazy stuff your grandfather is doing, I want him to be happy. But I can't do that by killing myself and that's what would have happened if I had gone in that portal with him. Call me weak but as a white magician my power has its limit which you seem to point out with no ado.”

Juana frowned and tightened her lips with fury glowing her in her ocean blue eyes. “And I'm sure you think Granpa is done for, that he can't come back but I'm also sure you would be very much disappointed when you see him come whole and hearty. That I'm sure of.”

“Well he's dangerously close to ninety and that's quite old, even for tortoises. And he's gone to many worlds many times, and he has come back but, you know, the last time he went to the dominant realm he stayed unconscious for a long time, and I needn't point out that he was younger. And that was decades ago when he could still walk for three minutes without sitting and exhaling loudly. He's my father and I know his magical prowess is unrivalled but as I've always said, people have their time and his is, more or less gone. He is just a walking corpse, you know it.”

How can a son say this about his own father, Juana pondered?

“Don't be so sure about that, and don't get too comfy on the throne because he's coming back,” She walked off in anger with a heavy heart. She fought the almost unbearable urge to cry, she knew she couldn't cry, she just couldn't. Why would she cry? He would be just fine after all, he had to be. He just had to be.

She held the boy's face in her hands and it didn't need an expert to confirm that the boy was getting worse, her herbs and magic were annoyingly useless on the sickness. They had no effect. Just weeks ago, Taxim—the teenage darling soldier everyone loved had gotten terribly ill, and in her calculation, the boy should have died twenty-one days ago, but Taxim just wouldn't die, while the boy was calm in spirit, his calm spirit was very much every bit of a fighter. The sores around his body, his body temperature going crazy and his breathing slow and very unsteady. The sickness as most women in South Camp called it the “wicked sickness”, had killed seven hundred and ninety-two people in the span of five weeks. Though South Camp had a population of eight hundred thousand people, probably a lot more, the story of the “wicked ailment” had long not been news; everyone hated and feared the sickness. And Susami Lampshore—or Mother Health as she was popularly called in South Camp, couldn't do anything.

As she left Taxim’s home, she was so sad. She felt like a failure, she couldn't save anyone, her father-in-law had travelled into the dominant realm, somewhere he only went into when he was very much younger, young and full of health, and still had stayed a cripple for seven years before he could walk. That was the worst part of Lord Rogin life, Susami thought.

She saw her daughter and husband arguing in the fields just in front of the Tower Yard, her daughter yelling at her own father in fury and giving him that look that seemed to make the poor man less of a man. She was not in the least bothered, it was entirely normal, Juana, her daughter had never gotten along with her father. Not ever, and even worse, she filled the void of a father in her life with her grandfather—whom she loved more than words could express. But Susami wasn't bothered with that either. Susami didn't care about who hated who, she had better things to think about.

What her mind couldn't get out of was the fact that South Campers were dying, little by little, in a manner that didn't make sense to any specialist. The sickness was totally not contagious, for instance, Taxim parents had taken no caution to protect themselves, not like they knew how to anyway, and still, they were as healthy as newborn babies. Well, as most newborn babies. The same thing could be observed throughout South Camp; the victims were very much random in practically everything. The whole stuff had gotten so out of hand that Susami was no longer seen as “Mother Health”, she had been there watching hundreds die and not even one had survived.

When she saw the woman approaching her, a frown came to her face instantly. Marita Gonziy ran towards her and gasped loudly as she got to Susami. “Susami, how's Taxim, I heard he's not getting any better."

“You didn't hear wrong.”

“People are beginning to panic and it's going to get worse if they learn that the lord of South Camp is no more you—”

“Forgive me, I haven't been informed of Lord Rogin’s death.” Susami shot back. She knew Marita was a very tricky woman, who speaking with wasn't ever a good choice.

“Oh come on, I know you think I know nothing of the travels Lord Rogin makes, I know that realm he went into is very dangerous and had probably killed him. Poor man, all he wanted was peace and safety from the Wicked Sickness that clearly kills only South Campers."

“You know it's very much annoying to see you poke into things that you have no business getting into, leave the royal business to the royals," Susami drew closer to Marita, so close that their noses would touch if they moved. “How about you stick to selling wine and meat, it's all you are not shamefully awful at. And as you usual, it's always so unpleasant to see you.”

“The feeling is more mutual than the hatred between my husband and me, and that's saying something. You go about feigning to be Mother Health as people die by the day. Just wait till it walks into the Royal family, till the Wicked Sickness creeps into the Tower Yard.” Marita yelled at the almost sprinting Susami. That was Marita Gonziy, unrepentant and provoking, stubborn and curious, though she knew how to get what she wanted, and she had the ears of the people. That was why Marita was always her least favourite person, no argument about that. Okay, one of her least favourite persons, since Lord Captain Dilan was still breathing. And that cruel lunatic, Conrad.

“All dignity, Mother Health." One of the Tower Yard Sentries said as he saw her and other guards said the same while bowing their heads slowly. It was the way royalty was treated in South Camp. That was the best thing that happened to Susami, getting married. Getting married to Hardiy Lampshore. No, no, saying it that way gave the wrong impression, a very wrong one for that matter. Putting it rightly, the best thing that ever happened to Susami was getting married to Hardiy Lampshore, who was the heir to the throne of South Camp, and whether he would ever rule or not was of no concern to Susami; he was royalty. Since she married the i***t, so she was royalty too. She mattered.

As she walked into the Tower Yard, progressing towards the Tower, which was the royal palace of South Camp, though was seldom called a palace. And while she had no idea whatsoever as to how the sickness started, or why or how it got into South Camp, she knew it was spreading steadily and dangerously. The most wicked thing about the Wicked Sickness was that it was very much certain if someone contracts the sickness, death was imminent. Victims died four days after major symptoms were noticed, it's a surprise Taxim had had his for almost four weeks. Susami had observed this, and it made no sense that his case was different.

Another thing she hadn't failed to notice was that no North Camper had died due to this sickness, not even a soul. Not even the very few North Campers that had their residence in South Camp, no, the dying seemed to be left for South Campers alone. Now that was something Susami could herself over.