Day 27 - A Feast in a Time of Plague
Sometime in the Dark Ages
There was much rejoicing. It was nice, Tevis thought, to see a little merriment. Though the air had a chill, people gathered outside, wrapped in blankets or huddled around fires. People sang and danced. There was music. Pots of tea and coffee and mulled wine sat warming by the coals. Some of the larger fires had spits roasting flanks of meat. The fat dripped and sizzled, filling the entire village with an intoxicating scent.
It was amazing to see the place come alive. Just a few days ago it had felt almost desolate. The streets had been mostly empty. There was a plague in the region; The Warlords, Risen like Tevis who did not get sick, mostly ignored it. The people suffered. The rickety church here had been converted into a field hospital, though there was not much anyone could do besides keep the dying comfortable. As if the plague were not enough, the last year had been a hard one and most people were going hungry.
He’d arrived to find a dying town. Most stayed inside, huddling by meager fires and praying that the sickness would pass them over. Those that went out were filled with grim, weathered determination or shuffled between the buildings with a blankness in their eyes.
All it had taken was some nabbed food stores and a Golden-Age robotic nurse and the town had reborn itself. They had no flags but they waved threadbare ribbons and beat on handmade drums. Tevis had been delighted to find a guitar among the supplies he’d stolen and plucked out a few tunes to the awe of the children. It was nice to find a little cheer in such a hard time.
He knew the consequences would catch up to him, he just wasn’t expecting it so soon.
Lord Citan’s arrival was announced by a sudden silence. People let conversation die in their throats and hid their faces. The Risen strode through the village like a glacier: inexorable, crushing anything left in his path.
Tevis put aside the guitar and stood to meet him. The Warlord came to a stop a dozen feet away. People scrambled to vacate the area, but they didn’t go farther than the nearest cover. Wide eyes peeked out from windows and doorframes.
Lord Citan crossed his arms. “You dare interfere with the lives of my people?”
Tevis supposed he should be groveling. He didn’t. “I just brought some food and medicine,” he reasoned.
“Without my permission.” Citan took another step forward and Tevis had to force himself to not take one back. “I provide my people with what they need. You challenge my authority over them.”
Tevis would be incredulous if he hadn’t seen the state the village had been in two days ago. “I didn’t even steal from you. Lady Jenka was distracted. I took her stuff.” Tevis doubted she’d miss most of what he’d taken. What good was medical technology to someone Risen, whose Ghost could cure any sickness and mend any wound? What could guitars and sacks of rice and beans do sitting in abandoned store-sheds? No skin off of Citan’s back, right?
Wrong. Citan took another step, anger growing. “Worse, then, you circumvented my taxes and invited Jenka’s anger. Your disregard for my law and my authority over the people will be punished.”
“Your food will rot in your warehouses while your people starve,” Tevis said. “Are they even yours?”
“Are you challenging me?” Citan growled. The Warlord cracked his knuckles in anticipation.
Tevis was not the ruling type. But maybe, if everyone was here, if they could see the shackles Citan had put on them, they might just stand with him. He thought maybe he’d found somewhere worth staying. But when he looked to the people huddled behind him, he saw no determination, no anger. Just fear. It was always fear.
It was too late to back down now, though. Citan let Arc crackle up his arms. Tevis reached for his gun.
He quickly learned how Lord Citan had claimed and held such large territory. A glancing blow to Tevis’s chin sent his ears ringing. Another punch knocked his wind out and sent him stumbling backwards. A third sent him sprawling.
There was a weight on his chest and Tevis felt the crack and the sharp bloom of pain that meant a broken rib. Citan had a knee on his abdomen. Tevis struggled to breathe, struggled to move.
“I think it is time you learned your place, Risen,” the Warlord growled. “Shall we start with a finger or two?”
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