In the Land of Stories Old

Chapter 31

Rumors, in societies without the capability for quick communication over distances or even an organized system for moving mail and such, are the way news travels from place to place. A comment from a trader to a merchant here, or from a sailor to a barman there, and soon many people know something. Not an efficient system, and prone to transmitting embellished tales rather than factual information, but even still rumors can travel surprisingly fast if the content is exciting enough that people will want to share what they hear. And so rumors that some sickness was on the move in the farther-out islands to the North spread relatively quickly through the network of sailors and traders and those who regularly dealt with them, and from them to fishermen and merchants and townsmen, and finally to magistrates and lawkeepers and lords. The unfortunate part was, the rumors were incomplete. They told of outbreaks of something resembling a stomach sickness, the kind that makes people miserable for a day or two and then passes with no lasting effects. But that was just how this particular sickness started, and since the afflicted were mostly closeted in their homes being miserable by the time the sickness worsened, nobody knew that this sickness worsened to a very bad condition indeed.

And nobody had yet connected the sudden, sporadic outbreaks of wood-rot on certain ships with an illness that was affecting people, because why would they? The fact that the rot would spread and could only be managed by removing the affected wood and burning it was something the traders kept rather quiet about when they were on shore, and only talked about in any detail amongst themselves—no one wanted to give the dockmasters at their regular ports cause to bar them from coming in. Although a few broke this self-protective silence when they saw familiar spots of rot starting on the piers, and quietly advised the dockmasters on how to manage the problem. And then those dockmasters kept this quiet for as long as they could, out of fear that they might be blamed for not taking care of the piers in such a way as to prevent the rot from happening. The fact that no one knew how the rot got started in the first place save for a few wild rumors about cursed black arrows being used by raiders didn’t matter: it is the nature of the animal that is Man to protect himself above all else, and not many men are able to resist the pull of such an instinct when it comes to their livelihoods.

Now, the Black Isle was near to the center of the group of islands known as the Fairy Isles, and so her prime business was maintaining a market where goods from other islands might be sold. She had a fairly extensive wharf along the western side of her harbor which was backed by shops and eating-places, and it stretched around to the pier and the floating docks where the ships and smaller boats put in. No rot had yet been seen on any of these places, although the dockmaster knew of it from his friends on the ships and kept a sharp eye out for problems. They’d had so many raiders simply appearing on the island over the past year, after all, that he thought it entirely likely that eventually one of the mythical black arrows might show up as well. But so far, none had. What did finally arrive, though, was news. Very bad news.

The letter that was brought up to the Black Castle looked like it had seen better days, and the royal seal which had once been holding it closed was broken. “We didn’t know what it was, Your Highness,” the sailor from the Northern Rover apologized as he nervously handed it off to the Prince Consort of the Black Isle, who happened to be the person the battered letter had been addressed to. The fey creature who had escorted him into the throne room still looked displeased, although Prince Consort Merlin did not. “A bird fell on our deck, carrying this letter. Once we realized…well, Captain Roberts changed course at once to bring it to you.”

“And I greatly appreciate that he did so.” Merlin was frowning over the letter. “What did your captain have to say about this?”

“He said he was glad we don’t normally go to Odinson,” was the man’s response. “There’ve been rumors about a sickness going around, but nothing too alarming until this.”

“We’ve heard the rumors as well, but not nearly enough to be alarming.” The Prince Consort tapped the letter against his hand. “It sounds like it came on very quickly in Odinson—they’re trapped in the castle with a ravening horde outside the walls who used to be their citizens.” He appeared to make a decision. “I need to speak to your captain without delay. Would it be possible to bring him here?”

“I can.” But the man hesitated. “Can I tell him what you’re wanting from him, Your Highness?”

“I’m wanting to negotiate for the use of his ship,” Merlin told him. “It’s the only one here, and we need to get help to Odinson as quickly as possible.”

“But, the sickness…”

“We’re not going to dock there, it would be too dangerous” Merlin assured him. “I just need to get into their harbor, that’s all.”

The man bowed and left in a hurry, and Merlin left in a hurry in the opposite direction, going to fetch his wife and his friends, the rest of the Fearless Seven. They had been making plans to go hunt down a certain master vampire who needed killing, but a situation such as this took precedence. It seemed the trouble they had all felt coming had finally arrived, and they were going to need to get more information as quickly as possible. With any luck, they would find some of that information once they reached Odinson.

fanfiction In the Land of Stories Old