The Agrista (Between the Lines Book 1)

by Shannon Lamb

  “You were supposed to keep a low profile!” Fallon slapped Raeph upside the head, ceasing his laughter.

  “The spreading epidemic is known as the Geminus Plague. It always affects two towns at once, and it only affects children. Wherever it hits, it’s only a matter of days before it completely takes over the next town. ‘As predictable as time,’ the locals say. There’s also word of a witch doctor. As soon as she shows up to cure the towns’ children, it begins to spread to the next town,” Alex explained.

  “No one’s suspicious that the witch doctor might be the cause?” Raeph scoffed. “I know the people of Ovis value simplicity, but they’re not simpleminded.”

  “Some do suspect her, but she never leaves their sights,” Alex answered with a shrug. Laylia might be ruthless, but she was also extremely clever.

  “No one’s considered that there might be a second person involved?” Cerin’s slurring was muffled through the bathroom door.

  “Some came to that conclusion as well, but no one has seen any strangers as of yet. In towns as small as these, you know every face,” Alex explained. “She’s wisely avoided Marketown, so far.”

  “What town is the plague currently affecting?” asked Fallon.

  “Agricole. The town it should hit next is Artifex.” Alex relaxed into a bunk and braced himself for takeoff.

  “I’m glad someone took the initiative to gather Intel. You’d make a better soldier than Raeph,” Fallon teased.

  “You gave us the day off!” Raeph protested with a whine. He wasn’t one to devote his free time to advancing his career. He was in a position of higher authority solely because he had good connections and beaming recommendations.

  “We’ll head to Artifex and investigate this mystery plague ourselves, before this doctor has a chance to work her magic,” Fallon smirked. This had Laylia written all over it, and she loved the thought of ruining her day.

  “You all seem to be forgetting something,” Cerin murmured.

  Alex flung the door open to warrant his explanation. Cerin came tumbling out in a tangle of his limbs, falling flat on his face. Marie was the only one who made a move to help him. She sharply turned her head away and gagged as she pulled him to his feet. He did reek of ale.

  “Chances are, Bria will be in Artifex already, doing Laylia’s dirty work. If we show up and she’s still there, she’s going to run along and warn Laylia,” said Cerin.

  “He has a point,” Fallon conceded reluctantly, much to everyone’s shock. It wasn’t that long ago that she wanted to rip his throat out.

  “What’s the solution?” Raeph asked, irritated.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Cerin sniggered. “Bria won’t recognize Marie. We’ll send her in our stead.”

  “We can’t send her in alone!” Alex rolled his eyes as if it were the most preposterous idea ever posed. Marie tried not to take offense, but found it rather difficult.

  “You’re right. She’ll only mess things up,” Fallon nodded. Taunting Marie seemed to be her one remaining joy.

  “What exactly would I have to do?” Marie asked through clenched teeth.

  “Inquire about the plague amongst the villagers while keeping a low profile,” answered Fallon.

  “Won’t people start to get suspicious if I ask too many questions?” Marie worried.

  “You could say you’re a doctor,” Raeph suggested.

  “Please,” Cerin snorted. “That would spread faster than a mysterious rash after a night with the Kenzi twins,” he winked.

  “Appalling imagery, but solid point,” Alex scowled.

  “You seem to be able to find something wrong with everyone else’s suggestions. Why don’t you try to come up with something?” Raeph challenged Cerin.

  “Easy. Marie pretends that she’s my mother and has come to Artifex in search of the miracle cure.”

  “I’m only twenty-four! I would’ve had to have given birth to you when I was fourteen!” Marie protested, somewhat offended.

  “Our mother was even younger than that when she gave birth to me,” reasoned Cerin.

  “Are you speaking ill of our mother, Mariella?” Fallon tensed. She was always looking for a fight.

  “You look older than twenty-four.” Raeph’s offhand comment diffused the tension and redirected Marie’s rage.

  “There is one problem with your plan, Cerin.” Everyone looked at Alex expectantly. “Bria will recognize you.”

  “I’ll be wrapped from head to toe in bandages. That’s standard protocol on Ovis, to keep the epidemic from spreading. Horribly outdated and ineffective, but mandatory, nonetheless.”

  “Bria’s smarter than you give her credit for. She’ll figure it out,” Alex mumbled.

  “Unless anyone has a better plan...” Raeph trailed off, open to suggestion.

  “We go with Cerin’s plan,” Fallon nodded decidedly.

  EXPLOITATION OR EPIDEMIC?

  Once the turbulence from their ascent had stilled, Cerin groggily wobbled back to the storage area and threw back a vial of steaming black liquid. He caught Marie watching him curiously and decided to further his sister’s education of this world. After all, if she appeared daft, it might reflect badly on him.

  “Best thing I ever invented,” he held up the empty vial. “I call it a Mind Eraser. It’s a simple concoction of boiled water, bitter beans, and...Well, meat grease.” Marie made a disgusted face. “It eradicates the lingering effects of alcohol in less than a minute.”

  “We have a drink of the same name where I come from, but it’s made of much better stuff and has the opposite effect.”

  “Oh? I should like to try it sometime,” he grinned.

  “First round is on me, but you have to supply your magic cure the next day.”

  “Deal,” he laughed.

  Cerin began unraveling a large woolen spool of bandage cloth from the medical supplies and clumsily began to wrap it around his legs. Patches of skin peeked through the loose bindings, and it became glaringly obvious that he needed help but was too proud to ask, while the others were too bitter to offer. Marie harbored no such animosity. She stepped in, grabbing the bulk of the spool as she began spinning him around.

  “I don’t need your help!” He slapped the spool from her hand, sending ribbons of cloth flying in all directions.

  Marie turned on her heel and kicked the spool clear across the ship as she stormed off to the cockpit, seeking the farthest point from the ungrateful little runt. That’ll teach him, she thought with a satisfied smile as he huffed loudly.

  “Do you still have that dress you bought in Marketown?” Alex’s gentle voice sliced through her angry thoughts.

  “Yes, of course,” she answered, regarding his question with confusion.

  “Good. You need to look more...maternal,” he smiled, as if he’d just made a private joke. “Go change, so I can see what we have to work with.” She flashed him an amused smile and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Marie pulled the hideous garment from her bag and eyed it skeptically. It had the charm of a burlap sack, which was good and fine for potatoes, but not the most flattering for the female form. She slipped the dress over her head and squirmed uncomfortably as the rough grain of the fabric scratched against her bare skin, leaving her itchy and irritable.

  She emerged from the bathroom and heaved a dissatisfied sigh that brought a smile to Alex’s face. At least one of them was enjoying themselves. Without preamble or permission, he ripped a strip of cloth from the hem of the dress and tore it apart at the seam. He then proceeded to wrap it around her head, tucking any loose locks into the unflattering folds.

  “That should do it.” He stepped back and admired his handiwork before throwing a pair of beige sandals at her feet.

  “Am I supposed to look homeless?” Marie cocked her head.

  “You’re supposed to look like a peasant. It’s quite difficult to do with your striking beauty.”

  “Striking beauty? Right,” a blush crept into her cheeks, and sh
e turned away to hide her smile. “Are you saying peasants aren’t pretty? I hope you don’t think someone’s social standing determines their attractiveness,” she scolded him with mock disapproval.

  “It’s less likely, is all. The more you’re worth, the more likely you’re genetically modified,” he sighed. “You’re distracting me from my original point. I’m worried. With a face so fair, you stick out. It could be a problem.” He pursed his lips and looked her over appraisingly. “This just won’t do,” he huffed. “When you get off the ship, rub dirt all over yourself. You need to look well-traveled.” She begrudgingly agreed with a scowl.

  “We’re here,” Raeph announced as Isabel touched ground. Marie flinched at the impact.

  “Don’t worry. You won’t be in any danger here. I thought that would be obvious by how calm I am,” Alex joked, yielding a small smile from Marie.

  “I’m the one who should be nervous. I’m the only one vulnerable to the plague. What if it’s not Laylia’s doing?” Cerin fidgeted impatiently as he nervously scratched at his bandages.

  “We’re all willing to take that risk,” Fallon flashed a toothy grin and shoved Cerin toward the exit. Marie took a deep breath and morosely followed him down the steps.

  “Damn it! These bandages are itchy!”

  “Stop cursing! You’re supposed to be a child!” Marie hissed.

  “We’re not in Artifex yet.” He pulled a flask of barley liquor from the swathes of overlapping bandage and took a swig.

  “Give me that!” Marie snatched the flask and threw it in her bag, taking special care to shield the Agrísta from the impact. “What are people going to think when my son shows up smelling like booze?”

  “That you’re a bad mother?”

  “No drinking!” she said sternly. “Perhaps we should have aliases, in case we slip up. I’ll be Carrie, and you can be Darren.”

  “I don’t slip up,” Cerin said coolly.

  “Humor me.”

  Cerin took Marie’s hand in his as they approached the edge of the village, peering up at her with all the love and admiration of a small child. What a crock, she thought as she stared back at him in disbelief. She decided to focus her attention on their destination before she burst out laughing.

  Artifex looked like a scene out of a bad western, caged in by miles and miles of open desert. Quaint wooden buildings in desperate need of proper upkeep lined the wide, dusty street. People kept to their homes, making the town appear a desolate ghost town, and those brave enough to face the open air averted their eyes and kept to themselves.

  People practically ran in the opposite direction when they saw Marie and Cerin, wrapped in the telltale signs of the sickness. Marie was beginning to suspect that the bandages stood as more of a warning to the people than a precautionary health measure. The plague had ravished this once bustling town, leaving its inhabitants afraid to venture outdoors.

  Marie knocked on every single door she wearily stumbled across as she made her rounds up and down the street. Most people pretended they weren’t home, and those that actually opened their doors immediately slammed them shut as soon as they caught sight of Cerin. She was quickly losing her gumption alongside the meager remnants of her resolve.

  “People here don’t take kindly to strangers, I’m afraid.” An elderly woman, looking every bit the part of a sweet, old grandmother, approached Marie and Cerin.

  “So I see,” Marie nodded, flashing a nervous smile. This was her one shot to find out about the witch doctor. She better not screw it up.

  “I’m Sage,” The woman inclined her head.

  “I’m Carrie, and this is my son, Darren.” Cerin hid behind Marie as she curtsied, peeking out from the folds of her dress with a wary eye. “He’s a little shy at first,” Marie laughed, shooting him an incredulous sidelong glance.

  “Normal for a boy his age, I reckon,” Sage smiled. “Is he...unwell?”

  “Yes,” Marie nodded somberly. “The physicians in my village are at a total loss as to what to do for him, but I’ve heard word of a doctor that works miracles in this area, and decided to check it out myself.”

  “You thought it wise to make your boy travel in his condition?”

  “We...” Her question had caught Marie off guard. “I had no other choice. Following rumors is our only hope, and he can’t possibly get better at home,” Marie did her damnedest to look distressed. It wasn’t too difficult considering how anxious she was.

  “I see.”

  “I hurt all over.” Cerin sniffled.

  “You poor things. How would you like to come back to my house for some delicious pearl tea? There’s nothing more soothing than a good cup of tea, I always say.”

  “That would be lovely,” Marie returned her smile with a genuine one of her own.

  Sage’s home was an ancient cottage at the edge of town that looked twice the age of Sage herself and barely big enough to accommodate the three of them. It sat crookedly perched atop a corpus of craggy hills, overlooking a precipitous drop that made Marie’s heart catch in her throat.

  Thick vines of ivy laced over the bare wood panels of the house, as if on the run from the persistent weeds that bled into the cracks and penetrated the foundation with voracious tenacity. Large fruit trees formed a fragrant barrier around the perimeter and provided much needed shade from the ruthless sun.

  Wildflowers adorned the voluminous swards of grass, creating a beautiful distraction for any wildlife that might be tempted to wander into the vegetable gardens that flanked the stone path leading up to the house.

  Sage led the two of them up the path and herded them into the cozy cottage. The inside was a wide open space with no more than two small beds and a large woodstove that quickly became the focal point of the room, serving dual purposes as a source of heat and a cooking stone. The iron chamber burned white-hot and made a congested garbling as it churned through the last vestiges of dying embers, huffing and puffing like an old smoker.

  Colorful herb boxes filled the windows in the kitchen, filling the air with a bittersweet odor that made Marie curl her toes and heave a contented sigh. To the left of them, below a small loft brimming with scraps of cloth and homemade toys, slumbered a boy no older than Cerin, wrapped from head to toe in bandages.

  “That’s my grandson, Christopher. He’s caught the sickness as well.” Cerin instantly stiffened. “Please try not to wake him. He needs his rest.” It was more of a command than a request.

  Sage busied herself preparing the tea. She flitted about the kitchen like a chicken with her head cut off, knowing if she stopped moving for even a second, she might break down and cry. Christopher’s condition grew steadily worse, and she simply didn’t have the funds to pay the witch doctor.

  She had gone door to door herself earlier today in a desperate attempt to save her grandson. The townsfolk – sympathetic as some might be – had their own children to worry about, and couldn’t spare a dime. She had no idea what she was going to do. If she didn’t come up with the funds, he was going to die.

  Lost in her thoughts, Sage handed Marie and Cerin two cups of boiling water, nearly scalding them when she mindlessly plunked a pearl into the bottom of each cup. Marie was too fascinated by the chemical reaction immediately taking place in her teacup to accept Sage’s murmured apology.

  The iridescent skin of the pearl quickly dissolved, releasing a dollop of cream that swirled in the water and created a small vortex of energy that stimulated the rapidly cooling liquid. An explosion of large sugar crystals splayed across the surface like a sea of diamonds. The water slowly turned magenta as it absorbed the crystals, reflecting the light with a rainbow sheen. It tasted of strawberries and cream, with the slightest hint of blueberry.

  “This tea is delicious! I’ve never had anything like it,” Marie announced enthusiastically.

  “Really? That’s strange. It’s a rather popular tea,” Sage remarked, eyeing her skeptically.

  “How long has your grandson been sick?” Marie q
uickly changed the subject.

  “Oh, a few days. I told him to stay indoors until the plague had passed from these lands, but, being a boy of ten, I suppose he couldn’t help himself. I can’t watch him all the time,” Sage frowned. “How long has your boy been sick?”

  “A few weeks.”

  “That’s an awfully long time. I’m surprised it hasn’t-” Sage quickly cut herself off. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I nearly spoke out of turn,” she said as pursed her lips.

  “No, please. What were you going to say?” Marie encouraged.

  “A few weeks is an awfully long time,” she repeated, shaking her head. “I’m surprised the disease hasn’t claimed his life. It gives me hope,” Sage half-smiled, deepening the maze of wrinkles woven into her withered face. “You see, while the plague has yet to take any young lives, most people around here have the funds in abundance. I don’t,” she admitted, embarrassed. “Because of my shortcomings, I’m afraid my dear Christopher might defy those odds,” she frowned.

  “Don’t think like that! I’m sure you’ll think of something!” Marie encouraged, seeing the old woman on the brink of tears.

  “Unless I can find the money, there isn’t much else to be done. The witch doctor is ruthless.”

  Marie began to wonder if the only reason Sage had invited her here was to beg for funds. Alex had given her a gross amount of wooden coins to lure Laylia in, but if she had to use them instead to loosen Sage’s tongue, so be it. Fortunately, Sage seemed more than willing to talk about her grandson.

  “What are his symptoms?” Marie asked suddenly.

  “Same as all the other children. Stomach pains, body aches, headaches, and the like.”

  Those are all symptoms that could easily be psychosomatic, Cerin mused. He now understood why Laylia’s con specifically targeted children. Children, in general, had a tendency to be hypochondriacs, and were easily influenced by the power of suggestion. As soon as they heard word of the plague, most would get scared and assume the symptoms, while their deep-pocketed parents would pay whatever it took to save them. It’s quite brilliant, really. Cruel, but admittedly clever.