The Elder Origins

by Bre Faucheux

  Jayden directed Madison farther down the streets. Mud began to seep through her leather shoes. Her cloak became heavier with each step and she felt the urge to remove it. But with the cold beginning to drift in the air, she knew she would appear strange should she be seen without some kind of covering. She attempted to gather some of it in her hands, but the skirt of her newly acquired dress was then exposed to the mounting grime of the streets. She resolved then and there that she would only ever wear dresses when it was necessary for appearances sake. She preferred men’s trousers over all other clothing. But being seen in such garb was not to be born amongst others.

  She could see that beneath the mud had been cobble stone. Although most traces of it were left indiscernible. Gazing down the length of the street, she could see two bodies had been thrown from their lodgings to remain on the street until gathered. Loved ones had clearly become no more than carcasses when disease was intent on spreading.

  “We shall meet tomorrow, then? Just here by the docks?” Jayden said expectantly.

  “Pardon? You do not intend to leave me here alone?” she protested.

  “This is a trip I must make alone, mistress.”

  “And where am I to take lodging tonight in this hell hole of a city?” she said.

  “I will be back by dawn,” he said. “You are perfectly capable of handling yourself for a matter of hours, are you not?”

  She knew this was an attempt to make her sound weak. She stood defiant before him but didn’t immediately answer.

  “Good, settled then,” he said.

  “I will be listening for you, I’ll have you know,” she said. She glared at him once more and he could feel her frustration for his decision.

  “Stalk my every step if you wish with your keen hearing, mistress. But I have accompanied you for over a month. I need this one night for my personal affairs,” he said.

  “As you wish, sir,” she responded. She wasn’t eager to appear frail from his absence in any way, thus she let him go quietly and walked away without looking back at him. Toward what, she was less certain.

  She had never seen the city. By the outskirts of it, Jamison had been right. It was not to her taste. But with the night yet to embrace the city, she resigned herself to walk the streets for the evening, not fully prepared for the full length of terror surrounding her.

  It suddenly became apparent to her why Jamison had required that she always stay at the other end of the Thames in their temporary lodgings the previous year. There were ropes tied from one side to the other end for men to tow boats to and fro across the river. The murky water and hazy clouds made seeing the other side nearly impossible. Such things before her transformation would have frightened her. The journey they were bound to make was enough of a concept to overwhelm her without having to take the daily journeys Jamison required meeting with their voyeurs to plan the crossing.

  The city itself was completely enclosed. The river to one side and the remains of a stone wall from the other kept it relatively safe from intruders. Or in this case, she thought, a perfect area for disease to trap its victims. As she walked into one of the streets, the foul scent was nearly enough to topple her over. Her enhanced senses made it undoubtedly worse than the average person’s sense of smell, but she couldn’t envision it any easier for others to handle.

  A woman from above opened a window. With the towering buildings overhead, Madison thought the woman might be able to reach her arms out and touch the other building across the street, both nearly swallowing the narrow alley below. She took a wooden bucket and threw its contents down below. It landed with a splatter that only missed Madison by a matter of inches. It was human waste. Small droplets of it spread and trailed the edge of her dress. Still holding her cape up slightly in her hands, she walked around it.

  Many of the houses had red slashes upon their doors, marking where the sickness had been. People here were not occupying the ale houses as they had in the previous villages she encountered. They didn’t drink away their sorrows.

  A squeaking came from just beside her. Something was trying to climb up her leg. With a yelp she kicked it off and it crashed hard into the building nearest to her. The black rat quickly recovered and scurried away. She realized within seconds that these small beasts were everywhere. They busied themselves on the couple of corpses that lay outside houses, taking what parts they could. If Madison could become ill, she believed that this would be the time would she would have lost her food from genuine disgust. Even the crows were making their presence known about the bodies that lay on the street, taking what remained of them before they could be carted away.

  Madison quickly walked over the grime in the streets to get away from the sight before her, finding it difficult to keep her balance in the muck of the streets. She felt as though she were sinking deeper into the filth with each step she took. She could no longer see the tan color that her shoes had once been. And new garments would be required as soon as she left this sordid city.

  She rushed into the oncoming street and down an alley that appeared cleaner, only to find that the local butcher left no further peace for the neighboring resident’s sense of smell. The parts of pig he didn’t require, and the shavings from its skin, were all thrown into the street. Continuing forth, she ran down the alley directly opposite, not caring should anyone see her unnatural speed. Discretion was her last concern by this point.

  The large stone structure before her looked like a cathedral. She pushed on the large expansive door and let herself in. She hoped that this may be the one area that Londoners thought to keep clean. She was shown no mercy. A man stepped in just behind her. She heard him close the door with his foot. She turned to see him carrying a small child; a daughter as frail as she had been, although quite younger. Her long hair trailed beneath her revealing a large blackened circular mark upon the back end of her neck. Her fingers were blackened and her nails protruded yellow pus. Her shoes had been left off, showing her toes to have the same likeness. The man didn’t even see Madison as he passed. He called out for the priest who lived within the large structure. No light shined from the stained glass throughout the building, leaving it dark and difficult for the man to navigate. Not even a candle was lit for those who were dying everywhere. The man continued to call out a name, becoming more distressed with each breath.

  His sobs were eventually heard and a man appeared from behind one of the small wooden doors within the stone wall’s columns. He was obviously a priest, although Madison could just barely see his features. The man with his daughter in his arms could see him with even less clarity.

  He spoke to the priest, trying to contain his sobs. “Please, father,” he managed to speak.

  The priest faltered and stepped back shaking his head.

  “She is only a child, you must give her rites, please father,” he continued. “I have here in my pocket four pence should you be willing.”

  The priest took the door and slammed it shut, locking it quickly and moving up the column of stairs within the stone pillar. The man looked down to the ground, not making a sound. Collapsing to his knees, he cradled the child in his arms. Madison could feel his emotions throughout the entire cathedral. They were more powerful in his grief than any she had ever felt. The man sobbed quietly, taking his child’s head to his.

  Madison came up from behind. He didn’t hear her walking to him. She extended a hand to his shoulder and did her best to calm his weeping as she penetrated his aura. She knelt down in front of him, not taking her eyes away from his, although he could only look downward. He slowly stopped crying and his composure changed slightly. He seemed as though he were in the same state she had been once she realized her grief for Jamison. Sorrowful, but with an acceptance for what had transpired. She reached for the child and took her into her arms. He let her go and stood up. Madison took her to the altar at the end of the church and laid her upon it, folding the child’s arms across her chest.

  Walking back to her father at the other
end, she took him by the arm and escorted him out. He seemed tranquil, but not undisturbed. She doubted he would even remember having seen her in times to come, or that she had tried to help him. And yet, she only hoped that she had helped to quench his sorrows for the briefest of moments.

  He slowly turned away from her and walked down the street from where he had come, no longer weeping, and no longer crippled by his loss. He was merely lesser for it. Of all the abilities Madison had come to harness, she quickly began to like this one the best. If she could ease such pain in others, then she could be satisfied with her new state of being.

  Watching him walk away, Madison then heard a sound in the distance. It was hardly a sound that she expected to hear in the depths of grime within this city. It was the sound of children, and they were laughing. They were playing in fact. It was a few hundred yards away, but it was a distinct sound.

  How could children possibly find happiness amongst all of this mourning?

  She slowly walked forth to where the clamor came from, relieved that anything joyful could be heard. Within a few minutes she was in an open area. Tall buildings still surrounded it, but the space appeared as though it may have been a market of sorts. All tents for selling were now gone, and only the hay and waste of animals remained on the ground.

  Five children held hands and circled around one another. A few dances nearby and more chased one another about. Not a single adult was in sight. Their song echoed throughout the area. The mist of rain and grey clouds peering above didn’t stop their play.

  Ring around the rosey,

  Pocket full of poesy,

  Ashes, ashes,

  We all fall down!

  They sang as loud as their voices could carry before a few stopped to chase the others again, slipping and sliding in the muck below their feet.

  If their parents live, let them be damned for allowing them to play in such filth.

  They repeated the rhyme again and again, not even noticing her watching them until she stepped forward. A few stopped and looked at her, their giggling still resonating throughout the space.

  She took to her knee to be eye to eye with a young boy before her. She reached for his hand and he took it, smiling at her.

  “Where is your father, little one?” she asked.

  He shrugged and merely pointed upward to the sky. It took little effort to decipher what he meant.

  “Me mum says he went to heaven,” he said, as though he expected him to return within a short time, and not fully comprehending what those words meant.

  “What of you all then? Where are your parents?” she said loudly, looking to the others who had also stopped their play.

  One came forward, a young girl. Her long black hair reminded her of the native children she had once seen playing with one another. But her skin was as pale as her own and her eyes a pale green.

  “We five are of the same family,” she said, pointing others. “The three there come from down the lane.”

  “You are all from the same street?” Madison asked. The little girl nodded in response and stepped closer to her. A few of her teeth were missing, but her smile still beamed.

  “Your mother does not mind you out here alone then?” said Madison, keeping her tone as gentle as possible.

  “I should not think so, miss,” said the girl, “We cannot be allowed inside.”

  Curious, Madison looked at her strangely, revealing her eyes from beneath her hooded cloak.

  “Why do you have violet eyes, madam?” said the little girl. Madison ignored the question. “Have you been sick with the others?” she asked.

  “No, dear child, I have not. But I am curious as to why you cannot see your mother? Why can she not come to retrieve you?” Madison reached her other hand forward and the little girl took it, her suspicion for the intentions of strangers clearly not adhered.

  “Because she is locked inside, madam,” she said, as if the answer were obvious.

  “And why is that?”

  “She has the pestilence.”

  “And she is not allowed out?” said Madison, revolted by the action.

  “And I not allowed to enter,” said the little girl, her cheeriness suddenly diminishing. Madison did her best to keep her sorrows away by continuing to hold both their hands.

  It was then that she realized something was odd about these two children. She extended her senses outward slightly and saw that the other children were just the same. Buried within their emotions, there was something she had not noticed until now.

  It was numbness. There was a still aura throughout the air around them and on their person.

  “What is that in your pocket, child,” said Madison.

  “Poesy, madam,” she said calmly.

  “Yes, the dark haired man gave it to us a fortnight ago,” said the boy.

  “May I see it?” she asked. The boy eagerly took it from his pocket and placed it in her hand. It was as she suspected. Lying within her hands was the same likeness as the substance the healer had given her. And yet, it was a dried flower petal. She had never seen this flower in the lands she had left. And yet here it was before her.

  “Who was the man that gave this to you?” she asked. “Did you learn his name?”

  The child shook his head.

  “He was tall and had dark hair,” said the girl.

  The boy nodded beside her in agreement. “He said it would protect us if we kept it with us,” he said.

  Madison took it and placed it within the young boy’s pocket once more. “Then you best have it with you,” she said, taking his hand again. “Did you happen to see where this man went?” she asked.

  The young boy shrugged, not knowing nor caring particularly about her questions. She tried to maintain his patience as long as possible as she held both their hands in hers.

  “Go back to your game then,” she said, letting go of them. Within a moment they had forgotten her presence all together.

  Madison amplified her senses to try to pick up on the trail this man had left. It was no wonder she hadn’t sensed it before with the fowl aroma of the streets penetrating every other sense she had. And yet, within a few yards of the open space it was floating inside a well. “Posey,” as they had called it.

  From house to house, there was a scent that followed. The doors had been smeared with it. Remnants of the poesy was nearly everywhere. Even a few people who dared leave their homes carried it on them. But not in the same way the children had. It was inside them. They had consumed it from the well. Walking back to the Thames, she noted its presence again. The mixture was in the river itself. It was subtle, yet it was there. Even on one of the corpses on the ground, it was present.

  Madison looked down at a man on the ground, lying dead before her. He too had the substance within him from taking of the water in the well. It was not until she truly looked at him that she noticed what others would not. There was no black mark upon him. He didn’t even appear to have suffered from the sickness. Although there was one feature he had that she knew quite well by this point.

  Bite marks.

  She examined him more closely, looking for anything other than grime and the poesy upon him. There was only blood and the scent of a man. It was one she immediately recognized.

  Madison stood and instantly felt an aura penetrate hers. It was even more anxious than she was.

  Jayden appeared from the dark corner of the street, his cape dirtied and dragging along behind him. “Couldn’t wait until dawn to see me, could you?” he said smugly.

  “It’s Lyndon. I can smell him,” she said.

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You know?” she repeated in disbelief.

  “And it appears as though he is not alone.”

  PART III

  19

  European Continent

  Rome, Italy

  Four Days Later

  The sickness showed little mercy to who it struck before Madison’s eyes. She never realized that it had spread as far as sh
e now bore witness to. England was not the only country affected by its vicious grasp. She hardly expected to feel empathy for the French people, who she held responsible for the taking of her home as she and Jayden quickly followed Lyndon’s trail into France, and yet before her lay victims everywhere. Nor had she expected to find remnants of her own countrymen in armor on French shores, having partaken in the same treacherous acts that had left her without a home. It took little to no time for her to recognize that neither the English nor the French could individually be blamed. Both caused destruction beyond what she had once thought men capable.

  The shores of France were littered with as much blood as her own village had spilled, and all caused by English swords. She no longer had an inkling as to why such things were done and why these two countries caused such harm to one another. And for the briefest moment, she felt relieved that the plague had temporarily put a stop to it.

  Madison was excited by the prospect of hearing that Lyndon and Caspar were indeed alive, somehow making their way back to Europe long before her or Jayden made the journey. She was less excited to know that they had left a trail of bodies wherever they were. She and Jayden didn’t find it difficult to trail Lyndon as he quickly made his way through France and Italy. Only the prospect of finding Lyndon could have convinced her to journey into France. Nor had she expected to find the people there as normal and quaint as she had once been. The French held little to no differences to her, only angering her further at the knowledge that two close nations could find the energy to loathe one another to such a degree.

  The gentleman Jayden visited was brief with him. The sight of Jayden had apparently frightened the poor man nearly to lose himself to shock. Madison learned that his name was Allister, and he lodged alone in London. She was curious to learn how Jayden had known him, but not enough to ask.

  Madison saw Rome as a city of little interest as it would more than likely resemble the sight of London in her mind. No other land they had approached held the same veneer as London had. In respect of the sickness, it was no different, but in structure, it was completely varied. The detail given to one building or another was astounding. The homes and alehouses were more sandy than grey. Timbers appeared thicker and sturdier. There was more color in the stones and roof tops. The mark of nobility residing was more evident, and much more forceful. There was a beauty to it that England had not become accustomed.