Light from Aphelion 2 - Tears of Winter

by Martine Carlsson

  “If it’s for the greater good,” Brother Benedict said, eyes downcast. “But please, don’t report it to anyone.”

  “We won’t,” Selen said in sympathy. “If you want, I can help you.”

  Louis jerked his head at Selen and clutched his wrist. As a reflex, Selen tried to fight back.

  “Eh? What…”

  Louis’s grip was stronger. He dragged him out of the room, crossed the hall, bumped a priest’s shoulder, and entered another office where he swung Selen in front of him.

  “Are you out of your mind?” Louis whispered, his hand still clasped on Selen’s wrist. “I won’t let you touch corpses riddled with plague.”

  With his upward curved lips, Selen stood calm and confident, unaware of the danger. “But someone has to do it. All those people working here…”

  “They are priests,” Louis interjected with scorn. “They have no family.” He put his other hand against Selen’s smooth cheek. He wanted to speak but found no arguments. “I love you.”

  “And I love you too. But you said it yourself. Anywhere in this city, we are all condemned. Soon, all the activities and projects will freeze. There won’t be much to do in the palace or anywhere else. I could as well be here and be useful. I promise to be careful. I will wear a mask and gloves.”

  Louis shook his head slowly. “You’re unconscious of the gravity of the disease. I understand your motivations, but I don’t want you to die. This place will turn into a mortuary.” Selen stayed silent, his lips parted. Louis stared into his green eyes. Please.

  “I will come back home every day.” Selen tried to smile. His tone turned more insistent. “As the king, you meet a lot of people. Some may be sick. I will be worried about you as much as you for me. I am the queen. I want to show them we do all we can for the people, so they can’t blame it on us.”

  “Why would they blame us?” Louis asked, caught out. He pondered it and realized. “They would scapegoat us for the plague?”

  Selen grimaced. “We have brought a lot of changes to their lives. And I’m not exactly what they expected for a queen.”

  Louis closed his eyes. One year and a half of improvement and innovations and they would still blame him. He felt Selen’s hand cup his cheek and his lips kiss him.

  “Will you let me work here? I won’t do it without your approval.”

  Louis sighed. “You are right. This is a noble task. I would join you if I could.” He took a step back. “But you have to be careful. Don’t take any risk and stay under your mask.”

  “I will.”

  Someone knocked at the door. “Excuse me.”

  Louis turned around. Lissandro tiptoed inside the room. “If you want, I can help you, Selen. Your body has never faced such disease. You should not handle corpses. But I can be your hands.”

  “Did you face the disease?” Louis asked Lissandro.

  “I faced several epidemic diseases in my previous life, but my condition made me immune to anything. Even here, I still don’t get sick.”

  “This is very kind of you,” Selen said. Louis nodded with gratitude.

  “You’re welcome.” Lissandro clasped his hands and rubbed them together. “Should we go and find us some clothes?”

  They returned to Brother Benedict. The monk had taken out all kind of protection clothes and had scattered them on a table. All were made of leather covered with some sort of wax. Louis spotted a heap of things that looked like giant beaks.

  “What on earth is that horror?” Louis asked, pointing at it.

  “I can’t believe it,” Lissandro whispered. “It’s plague doctor costumes.” He approached the heap, took one of the beaks, and brought it to his face. “Look,” he exclaimed, turning around.

  Louis took a step back. This thing came right out of a nightmare. “Do you plan to kill of fright those poor people?”

  “Scary, isn’t it?” Lissandro raised the mask from his face. “It’s a protection mask. Though I suppose it doesn’t protect much from anything. But at least you have something on your face. The long beak should be filled with antibacterial herbs.”

  “I think I have seen enough. I will let you prepare yourself and go back to the palace,” Louis said. He turned towards Selen. “You be careful.” Selen arched his thin eyebrows to suggest he had heard the warning one time too many.

  Louis left the room. He was walking towards the exit when he heard a soft voice and coughs come from the room on his right. Curious, he stopped by the ajar door and listened.

  “Excuse me, Father. I’ve been told to come here. I’ve felt ill since yesterday. I have fever and pain in my legs.”

  “Don’t worry, child. Lie down on one of the beds. We will take care of you.”

  Louis pushed slightly at the door. As he looked through the opening, he felt a tug at his heartstrings. A young, frail woman in a cotehardie talked to one of the priests. Blond locks had slipped from her bun she hid under a thin square coif. In her arms, she carried a little boy, half asleep on her shoulder. He could not have been over two years old. In his hand, the child held a small wooden dog toy.

  6

  Selen searched through the leather clothes on the table. He had already found a thigh-length tunic, side-lace pants, and a pair of gloves.

  “Do you think I should wear one of those horrible masks?” Selen asked Lissandro. “Can’t I just wear a scarf?”

  Lissandro was busy changing his green pants for a larger pair made of leather. He raised his head and looked at him. Selen knew at once by Lissandro’s twisted mouth that he had done something wrong. His friend put his palm on his face.

  “You don’t plan to wear that, I hope. Because we’re not going to a picnic,” Lissandro said.

  Selen looked again at the clothes he had chosen. “I don’t see anything wrong with this,” he whispered, embarrassed.

  Lissandro approached him. “It’s because you see it with your previous world’s perception. You can’t face such a disease with short clothes. The disease is transmitted through contact with your skin. You must be covered from head to feet with leather, without a single opening. It also means that you should braid your hair and have it under your clothes.”

  Selen reached for his hair, unfastened his ribbon, and braided it. “But how will I breathe if I am covered with leather?”

  “This is why you have to wear one of these masks. There are tiny holes for air at the top. It will be hard to breathe, so don’t panic or exhaust yourself. You can watch through the goggles. Try it on.”

  Lissandro handed him the mask. With apprehension, Selen put it on his face. At once, he felt the claustrophobic feeling invade him. The air turned hot, and the hard leather stuck on his skin. He pulled it off.

  “I can’t breathe.” Selen gasped.

  “It is done so that you can. It’s a giant filter. You need to adapt. But put it on the side for now.” Lissandro searched through the clothes. He picked leather pants and long robes. “Put these on.”

  Selen thought that robes were less practical that a tunic, but Lissandro seemed to know what he was doing. Selen took off his tunic. He went to take off his pants but stopped. “Can you turn around?”

  “Oh, please. I’m a man,” Lissandro sighed.

  Selen frowned. “Yes, exactly.”

  Lissandro turned around, grousing. Selen smiled and undressed. He picked up the leather pants and put them on. The feeling was familiar. “I used to have similar pants when I was a guard.”

  Lissandro swiveled and gazed at him. “They sure do fit on you.”

  Selen laughed. “You know you could make me blush. Give me the robes, please.”

  Lissandro handed him the clothes. “The disease is mostly transmitted by fleas. It would be good if you could rub your clothes with some insecticide. Do you know plants or extracts that could work?”

  “Yes, I do,” Selen said. He motioned to the cabinet. “Can you see if you can find tansy, rue, or chrysanthemum tincture?”

  While Lissandro searched thro
ugh the flasks, Selen put the robes on, fastened a belt, and tucked his thick, long braid into his clothes before pulling the hood over his head.

  “Here are the flasks and an old rag,” Lissandro said. “Rub it all over your clothes and don’t forget your gloves. Yet, even then, I don’t want you to touch the sickest of them directly.”

  Selen put his hand on Lissandro’s shoulder. “Thank you for all you’re doing for me.”

  “Louis is right. It’s foolish. But you have good reasons as well. Let’s all try to get through this alive.”

  While Lissandro put his clothes on, Selen rubbed the extracts all over the leather and filled the beak of the mask with lemon balm, camphor, and cloves. Once he was done, he fixed the mask over his face. With the hood on his head, he suffocated. He tried to calm down and took long, deep breaths. Behind the goggles, his vision was restricted as if he wore a helmet. When Lissandro was ready, Selen realized he had a reflection of himself in front of him. Do I look that scary?

  “Are you ready?” Lissandro asked with a muffled voice.

  Selen nodded. They went out of the office. Into the halls, the first patients were arriving. Selen spotted old and young, men in silk and women in linen gowns. Some were couples, holding hands, other had come with a child or an elderly person. All shared the same worried and frightened look. Once they saw their costumes, some backed away and headed for the door. They know, Selen thought. They have seen these masks already. This is nonsense. He went to remove his mask, but Lissandro stopped his hands.

  “No!” Lissandro shouted from under his mask. He raised his mask and turned towards the crowd. “Listen to me! You are sick. If you run away, you will spread the disease to your families, to your children. We can take care of you here. You will be shown to a bed and be fed. If you want to have a chance to heal, you need to stay.”

  The men and women slowly turned around and took their places back in the hall. Priests came out of adjacent rooms and talked to the first people in the line. A man in elegant robes and a fur cloak stepped forward. After a short discussion with a priest, he was shown to one of the small rooms the hospital usually kept for women with young children. Selen approached the priest.

  “You need to sort them according to the progression of the disease and nothing else,” Selen said.

  “You can’t expect honorable members of the guilds to be confined in the same room as rascals from the slums,” the priest said with contempt.

  This time, Selen would not listen to Lissandro’s complaint. He lowered his hood and removed his mask. “Dare to say it again,” Selen said, facing the priest.

  “Your Majesty, I was unaware of your presence among us.” The man bowed.

  “Now, you know. Spread the order,” Selen said. He turned to the people in front of him. Selen heard a wave of whispers. No one had expected his presence. Many bowed, some smiled and showed relief. “Please, I know this is a hard time. But each of you will be taken care of. Have patience while the doctors examine you and show you to a room.” His words calmed things down, and the sorting could carry on.

  “Now that you have shown your solicitude towards your people, can you put your mask on again?” Lissandro’s angry voice said behind him.

  Selen complied and adjusted his outfit. Lissandro passed in front of him and called forward an old man in a brown tunic who stood hunched near a wall. He walked towards them on a lame right leg.

  “Your Majesty,” the man quavered. “It hurts. My head. And I have bumps.”

  “I need to see under your coif,” Selen said softly.

  Lissandro approached the man and delicately undid the knot holding the coif. When his friend moved the cloth to the side, Selen’s heart dropped. The bumps on the man’s neck were purple, but the center was turning white.

  “Follow me,” Selen said.

  He led the old man to one of the large rooms and, with a gesture, invited him to lie down on one of the beds.

  “Lilo, can you examine the rest of his body?” Selen asked. Lissandro proceeded in removing the man’s tunic, carefully avoiding pressing on the wounded skin. “Do you live alone?”

  “I live with my son and his wife, but they told me to come here.” The man had a knot in his throat. “I think they were scared.”

  Selen looked at the man’s naked torso. It was black and blue with bruises. There were small bumps under his arms.

  “Does it hurt when I touch you here?” Lissandro asked.

  The man made a face and nodded. He turned his face towards Selen. “Am I going to die?”

  Selen did not know what to say. He wanted to take the man’s hand but knew he could not. “We will help you as much as we can,” was all he managed to utter. Lissandro covered the patient to the chest with a blanket. The old man lay motionless as the cloth folded around him. “Excuse me.”

  Selen rose, passed in front of a priest in conversation with a jet-black haired woman, and left the room. As calmly as he could despite the increasing palpitations, he walked back to the office. Once inside, he closed the door, pulled off his gloves, and washed his hands with the first flask of alcohol he found on the desk. His heart now rushed in his chest. His breathing was short, thus making him suffocate under his mask. He pushed his hood back, removed the mask with his trembling hands and took a sharp intake of air. Behind him, the door opened and closed.

  “Are you all right?” Lissandro asked.

  Selen burst out in ragged tears. “I can’t,” he sobbed. “I can’t lie. They are going to die, and I will stand there watching them.” He laid his palm on the table and leaned over it. “I don’t know this disease. I’ve never seen such a thing in my life.”

  “I know. This is why I stand next to you.” Lissandro moved towards him. He took off his mask and held it behind his back. “You’re doing fine.”

  Selen brushed off the words with a shrug. “I am not a doctor. I’m a soldier. I only have notions. They need a cure. They need a help I can’t give them.” He scrubbed at his face and stared at a chipped pitcher on a shelf.

  “You’re wrong. What they expect of you are words. They know well they will die. They have been confronted with death all their lives. What they need is comfort. To know their queen is there with them brings them peace.” Selen gave him a glance. Lissandro looked at him and smiled. “But I don’t want to force you. I can accompany you back to the palace if you prefer. There is no shame in that.”

  Selen swallowed back his tears. “No. I am no coward.”

  “This is Louis talking. I want to hear your mind. And Louis would never say that of you.”

  “I want to help. But I don’t know how.” As he calmed down, Selen dried his eyes with the palm of his hand.

  “Put your mask on. We will talk with Brother Benedict and see what he has in mind.”

  Selen took a deep breath and placed his mask and his hood on again. Once ready, he followed Lissandro out. Selen turned to his friend. “Lilo, why don’t the priests have the same clothes as us?”

  “They believe their faith will protect them.”

  “Can that really be?”

  “No. But they believe nonetheless.”

  They entered a room on their left. The patients lying here were in the last stage of the disease. They lay inert on their beds and could have already seemed dead if their coughing and moans did not break the silence. Brother Benedict stood in a corner near a table. He too wore a bird mask and leather clothes. A naked man lay on the board. His face was bruised beyond recognition. He had hematomas all over his body, and fluids leaked from his orifices. Selen was glad the mask prevented him from smelling any odor.

  “Is the man dead?” Selen asked.

  “No, but unless we do something, it is a question of hours by now,” Brother Benedict said.

  “Do something?” Lissandro said. “What do you want to do? Half his leg has infected gangrene. The man has blood poisoning.”

  “This is what I thought,” the monk said. “His humors are unbalanced. He has too much
blood. We should apply leeches.”

  “This is stupid,” Selen objected. “You see well that the marks are concentrated around the liver. He has too much yellow bile. What we should do is drain the buboes, give him cold baths, and purge him with hellebore.”

  “All right,” Lissandro exclaimed. “We will stop here with the amount of stupidity and stop losing his time. I don’t think this man would agree for extra torture before his death, unless you want to finish him off. So, could you give him laudanum or poppy for his last hours?”

  “I can do that,” Selen said, embarrassed.

  “You can prepare the potion. Brother Benedict will administrate it. As for the treatment, you could open the buboes and drain them, but then there is the risk that the disease would spread even faster through the blood or the lungs and turn into a pulmonary plague. The best thing is to wait and keep these people hydrated and fed. Do not bathe anyone, purge them, or drain them of their blood. Not only would it weaken their body, but their fluids would contaminate everyone.”

  “Are you a doctor?” Brother Benedict asked.

  “No. I have common sense,” Lissandro said.

  “Excuse me,” someone said behind them. Selen turned around.

  One of the priests stood by the door. Next to him was a boy in a white tunic and white cloak. His brow was covered in sweat, and he squinted and shivered as he tugged on the flaps of his cloak. Selen did not need to touch him to see that the boy burned with fever. Selen was struck with horror and despair. The boy was around twelve and came from one of the schools. No, Selen thought, not the schools.

  As the days passed, the penniless filled the always less-white halls. They jammed in the entrance where Louis had thought it charitable that a soup was served. Thus not only the sick came but anyone wishing to spare the cost of a meal. Because the news of the disease had been kept quiet, ordinary patients showed up alongside anyone who mistook a wart for a bump.

  Selen’s mask protected him from the combined smells of pus, vinegar, and boiled turnips. Yet, the camphor in the beak gave him headaches. He took breaks in the office every three hours, at the same time slipping from Lissandro’s keen surveillance.