Aurora Wolf

Curing a Plague

By Jeff Bowles

Death had always been a common thing on the moon Edain. It had been common for the ancients, for William and his fellow refugees from Earth. It had been common in the Reformation, when the Brotherhood claimed divine dominion over all others. The Giving Plague made death common now, and though Janar was not yet a man, he had seen plenty of it. His village—like every human village on Edain—had lost many to the plague. Members of the Humanity Movement roared and browbeat and spoke of a cure. Janar knew they were mistaken, that there was no cure, that they were all fools. He knew Kahnis, his own brother, was a fool too.

Janar sat at his father’s deathbed, running audio from his scripture disc as a monsoon blasted the family hut. He would have normally taken comfort in the harsh, driving rain. He would have felt joy at the bombardment of the frond-thatch roof and the thick patter against the walls of mud, weeds and wood. But as Janar prepared his father’s soul for eternity, even the onset of the fertile season did nothing to lessen his worries.

He glanced down at his father, noticed the loss of muscle in his face and the open sores that covered his closed eyelids. He gripped his golden devotion necklace, took a deep breath, focusing on William’s words as they passed from the scripture disc and filled the hut. The coming Emissary would still find belief in the village, even if some had abandoned their faith.

The leaf blanket that covered the hut’s entrance rustled as Kahnis brushed it aside. His pale skin and slight features, common to Janar and most of the villagers, lent him a ghostly appearance as he stepped into the hut’s low light. He stooped to avoid hitting the crossbeams overhead and shook the rain from his close shorn hair and beard. Kahnis acknowledged Janar with a glance, and he then turned to their father.

“How is he?”

“No improvement,” said Janar. “The excess adrenaline has weakened his immune system. The plague no longer strengthens but consumes him.”

Kahnis grunted and slicked the water from his rainbreaker. “It takes the elders quickly. He’ll soon be dead.”

“And this doesn’t upset you?”

“Upset? I’ve seen the plague too many times. I grieved for mother when it gave her good health, and then again when it stole it from her. I grieved less as our sisters and my wife were taken. This man here is no longer our father, little brother. He was dead a week ago. You would do well to remember that.”

Janar brushed the scripture disc to silence the voice of William. He stood to face Kahnis, refusing to feel intimidated by his brother’s greater stature. “And what about this mystery cure your cohorts are so fond of?”

“What about it?”

“If it exists, then why not ask the high priest for a sample?”

“It exists, little brother. That much you can be sure of. I simply doubt the Brotherhood’s willingness to help humans.”

“Blasphemy,” said Janar. “The Brotherhood has taught, fed, and clothed our people for centuries. They’ve asked for nothing in return but our labor and our loyalty. But you and your troublemakers only show them disdain.”

“You’ve yet to see our disdain. This Emissary, this corrupt high priest will come to understand our suffering.”

“And I suppose Rheastin will make him understand? You shouldn’t put so much faith in him. His riot in the rice fields was a desecration.”

“Is he any worse than the slavers you follow?” said Kahnis. “Their souls are as hideous as their alien faces.”

“You’ve never seen their faces. Such a thing would taint their purity and bring the wrath of God.”

“To deny them won’t cause Cerulia to collide with our moon, nor Solsero to suddenly burn out. God could do these things, but I believe God wishes for the Brotherhood’s downfall.”

Janar shook his head. “You shouldn’t talk like this! The price you pay is not just blood. You have daughters. You risk their damnation as much as you risk your own!”

“And you have no children, nor have you ever bedded a woman. Yet you follow blindly as a sheep and as a coward.”

Janar raised his fist and swung in a wide arch. Kahnis gripped him by the wrist. He laughed and forced Janar’s arm to his side.

“I haven’t come to fight, whelp. I merely wish to tell you that the Emissary and his Truth Bearers have been spotted on the road. Not that vehicles will do them any good in mud, but they’re traveling in motorized transports. A forbidden technology, little brother. I wonder: do you doubt their corruption still?”

Kahnis laughed once more as he released Janar’s wrist. With a final glance towards their father, Kahnis pushed the leaf blanket aside and stepped into the monsoon. Janar stared after him for a time, and then he kicked at the coals in the fire pit and growled.

He crossed to his father’s side, though he took care not to touch him, and said a quick prayer before reactivating the scripture disc and slipping into his rainbreaker. As Janar exited the hut, he was nearly swept from his feet by a driving blast of wind and rain. He blinked a few times to clear the water from his vision and scanned his surroundings. Huts lay scattered amongst mud and rock, their earthen facades fading into the downpour. A rapid flow of red and brown water cut a path through the village and sloped gently into the wilderness. Janar traced its line and squinted to glimpse the surrounding primordial jungle, but could see nothing apart from the vague outlines of the tall, thin marrow trees.

As Janar adjusted to the monsoon, he saw villagers emerge from their huts and tramp sure-footed towards the common. He followed, hanging his head to keep the rain from his eyes.

He came upon the common quickly and found the entire village gathered. It seemed that the high priest’s visit had taken everyone’s mind off the Giving Plague. Most spoke in raised voices and adjusted golden necklaces to stand out from their leather clothing–though Janar noted a few were not as excited as the rest. At the center of the open ground stood a small lashed wooden platform, built to the precise traditional standards of three meters by three.

He moved to stand at the edge of the small crowd, scanning the gathered villagers to see his older brother near the platform. Kahnis’ two daughters laughed and teased a large Edainian toad, but Kahnis paid them little attention. Janar followed his brother’s eyes towards Rheastin, leader of the Humanity Movement and the man who had caused the field riot weeks before. Rheastin nodded to Kahnis and slid a finger from his jeweled earring to the purple scar at his neck.

Janar’s focus was disrupted as a low grumble filtered through the rain and caused the puddle at his feet to ripple. The gathered villagers craned and angled to look at the road.

The two transports appeared at the tree line, struggling along the mud road and splitting the jungle as a river deepens a canyon. William’s symbol of radiating concentric circles shone along their steel and glass bodies as they passed into the village.

Janar looked over the crowd. They shifted and murmured at the sight of motorized vehicles. Janar himself fought to suppress a sudden wave of anxiety. He glanced at Kahnis to find his brother grinning back.

The vehicles came to a stop next to the platform, their monstrous engines quieting while doors slid open along their sides. Four white-robed Truth Bearers exited the first transport. Two moved to the platform’s steps while the others erected a collapsible canopy and brought it to the second transport.

The high priest climbed from the vehicle, his long arms and legs sweeping in motions of grace and elegance. His flowing crimson robe fit snugly to his tall, slender frame, while a bronze mask completely obscured his features.

The group mounted the steps and faced the crowd, the high priest remaining motionless under the canopy while two Truth Bearers stood out front. One pulled a scripture disk from his robe and began William’s Recitation of the Faithful. The savior’s voice boomed across the village, unhindered by the monsoon’s fury. Most bowed their heads and chanted along; Janar spotted the few among them who did not.

Once the Recitation ended, the Truth Bearer slid the scripture disk back into his robe. He addressed the crowd, pitching his voice to rise above the wind and rain.

“Devout humans. In this, the fourteenth month of two ninety six Pos Renas, his holiness, high priest Ja’thad, has graced you with his presence so that he might allay your fears and anxieties after the recent riot in your fields.”

The crowd remained motionless.

The Truth Bearer continued. “In the centuries since Project Exodus arrived on this moon, our common ancestry has allowed for a peaceful coexistence. You have been good to our Brotherhood. You have worked our fields and mines. You have done so without complaint. Our Brotherhood has been good to you. We have taught your children the great sciences and histories of Earth. We have provided you with the means and knowledge to sustain yourselves.”

Janar looked at his brother. Kahnis ground his jaw but remained still.

“And so, it is unfortunate that high priest Ja’thad should be here today. When word of your riot reached our Brotherhood, his holiness was dispatched here with all haste. The high priest wishes for a peaceful resolution. He is more than willing to offer forgiveness.”

Kahnis surged forward. “Forgiveness! Nonsense!”

The Truth Bearer shot his eyes towards Kahnis, but continued unabated. “Therefore, he wishes to meet privately with Rheastin Olsesh, so that peace may be restored.”

“Nonsense!” repeated Kahnis. “We don’t seek forgiveness, nor do we believe a private meeting will solve our troubles.”

The crowd glanced around nervously, mirroring the Truth Bearers’ apparent uneasiness. Janar looked at the high priest. He suddenly became uncomfortable that Ja’thad’s face was covered.

The Truth Bearer shifted his weight and raised his voice. “His holiness will accept repentance from Rheastin Olsesh. He will then bless this village and pray for good health to return.”

“Prayer will do no good!” said Kahnis. “We need your cure!”

The Truth Bearer spoke again, but was silenced by a deep, melodic voice: that of high priest Ja’thad.

“Be still, Truth Bearer.” Ja’thad moved forward, his crimson robe darkening with rain as he left the canopy’s protection. “Who speaks?”

Kahnis hesitated for a moment. When he spoke, his tone lacked its previous confidence. “I do.”

“I see,” said the high priest. “And you are Rheastin Olsesh?”

“No. Just as your Truth Bearers speak for you, I speak for Rheastin.”

“I am speaking now.”

“Yes…and a lovely voice you have.”

A few villagers laughed nervously at this remark. Janar looked to see Rheastin grinning.

“What is your name, human?” said the high priest.

“Kahnis. Kahnis D’Ashen.”

“And you are a powerful man in this village, Kahnis?”

Kahnis smiled. “Only the power of truth, your holiness.”

“I too possess the power of truth. You see? Our peoples have much in common. We can coexist.”

“Your people may have been human once, but we aren’t alike. Human beings would help their fellow man. They’d cure their sicknesses.”

“Perhaps,” said Ja’thad. “And so would the Brotherhood, if such a cure existed.”

“It exists, and you have it.”

“I assure you, we do not. It defies logic that we would withhold a cure. Have we not combated the Giving Plague since our ancestors’ arrival on this moon? The Brotherhood’s scientists work towards a cure for this strain even as we speak. That we have had no success is unfortunate, but it not due to complacency or malicious intent.”

“So you say. And yet I see that you and your Truth Bearers are perfectly healthy. How is it that none in your Brotherhood have taken ill?”

“We are not unaffected. If you could only see that we suffer just as this village suffers-”

Kanis swept his arm. “We are nothing alike, priest. Your mutation goes beyond physical appearance. You’re aliens now, bearing more resemblance to the Giving Plague than us. You also give and then feast on humanity. Yes, you are the real plague.”

An uproar grew in the crowd. Each side, believers and malcontents, began to shout at and jeer one another. The four Truth Bearers pulled weapons from their robes, but they were not the traditional blades. They were instead firearms. The villagers went mad at this. They tore at each other’s rainbreakers, fell to the mud and beat one another, and fought to rush the platform. The members of the Humanity Movement, the same men who had refused to honor the high priest, pulled knives and threatened those in their reach.

Janar was tossed aside in the fray. He landed in a puddle and was kicked and trampled. He thought he’d never break free, but the chaos suddenly ceased. A gasp erupted from the crowd. Janar slowly climbed to his feet, and as he looked at the high priest, he too gasped.

Ja’thad still stood at the head of the platform, hands clasped together regally. But his mask lay at his feet, his divine face now visible to all present. The high priest’s head was large and hairless, his skin the color of olives. His eyes were deep, intelligent, egg-shaped. A thin nose stood out from his face, and a tight scar rose at the top of his head.

Many in the crowd, including a few members of the Humanity Movement, dropped to their knees and averted their eyes. Janar’s first instinct was to follow, yet he hesitated. He looked to see Kahnis visibly taken aback, but standing all the same.

“Yes,” said the high priest, “we are not human. But let none of you forget that William himself made us so.”

Kahnis moved his daughters to his back and stepped forward. “It’s difficult to remember anything when your Truth Bearers threaten us with firearms. Tell me, your holiness, are those weapons no longer forbidden?”

“They were only forbidden to limit the violent nature humanity demonstrated on Earth. Such a prohibition seems pointless in light of the murder of three Truth Bearers during your riot. Would you begrudge us protection?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Janar spotted Rheastin edging around the crowd with knife in hand. Ja’thad, his Truth Bearers and the villagers seemed not to notice.

“The violence was your doing,” said Kahnis. “You were the first to mistreat our workers. You were the first to stray from the one true path. Perhaps you would like to explain the lifting of your veil? Or the motorized transports?”

The high priest smiled and shook his head. “We employ and eat the cattle, sheep, and chickens brought from Earth, do we not? The rice you cultivate for us descends from our collective birthplace, yes? And we do not shy away from the old knowledge. Why, then, should we fear Earth’s technology?”

Janar watched as Rheastin moved to the back of the platform, still unnoticed.

“That’s not for me to know,” said Kahnis, “but it was your Brotherhood that established these laws. You bent William’s beliefs and his distaste for technology. You took samples of his voice and emulated a reading of the holy texts that you wrote.”

“Yes, we wrote them. Ages ago. New blood and new thoughts have changed our Brotherhood. William only hated technology because it allowed humanity to become too large, too destructive for Earth. We have evolved since then. This technology will not grow beyond our control as our ancestors feared. We now seek to harness it, even if it is not used for spiritual purposes as the old ways demand. Did William himself not employ technology in his great works as a biologist?”

Rheastin crept across the platform and drew his knife behind the nearest Truth Bearer. A murmur slipped from the crowd. Janar was compelled to cry out, but something stayed him.

Kahnis’ eyes followed Rheastin. “Our people are dying by the thousands and you make excuses. We only want justice. We only want a cure!”

A sickening groan sounded from the platform. The Truth Bearer slumped to the ground, Rheastin’s knife protruding from his back. Janar watched in horror as the other Truth Bearers turned and fired single shots into Rheastin’s chest and head.

The gathered villagers screamed and thrashed. Some, regardless of their beliefs or affiliation, rushed the platform and tore at the high priest. The remaining Truth Bearers opened fire, uncaring of who they hit. The villagers ran haphazardly. They pushed each other from their paths and stumbled through the mud.

Janar forced himself to move. He weaved through the chaos, struggling to make it to Kahnis and his daughters. When Janar arrived, Kahnis bared his teeth and pulled a knife. He pointed to his daughters.

“Get them clear, Janar!”

Janar glanced at the knife. “What will you do?”

“End this madness.”

“Kahnis, you can’t-”

“I don’t want to argue, little brother!”

“They’ll kill you. Please, don’t go.”

Kahnis stared at his brother for a time, before glancing back at the platform. “I have to. Keep my girls safe.”

Janar opened his mouth to speak, but Kahnis rushed past him and towards the high priest. Staring after him only long enough to decide, Janar gripped his nieces by the arms and ran.

Kahnis’ littlest began to cry. “What will happen to papa?”

“He’ll be fine,” said Janar. “God will protect him.”

As they cleared the stampeding villagers, Janar stole a backwards glance. Kahnis had made it to the platform. He stabbed a Truth Bearer and pushed past him towards the high priest. Janar turned and crouched in front of his nieces.

“Go to the jungle but not too far. Stay there until I come, understand? Don’t come back to the village.”

Kahnis’ oldest daughter nodded, but his youngest shook her head. “What if the bad men come?”

Janar bit his lip. “Then you run. You run to the next village.”

He hugged the two girls, lingered to be certain of their safety, and then he stood and ran towards the common. He didn’t stop as dead villagers appeared in the mud and puddles; he never faltered as the screams grew louder. He arrived at the platform to find his brother and high priest Ja’thad struggling amongst the bodies of villagers and of all four Truth Bearers. Kahnis’ knife had fallen from his hand, and he gripped Ja’thad’s arms, trying desperately to wrench a firearm from the high priest. Janar looked on as Ja’thad forced his brother to the platform. The high priest put the firearm to Kahnis’ head.

“Is this how you repay our kindness!” roared the high priest. “Do you wish to join God?”

Kahnis huffed and grunted between words. “If I must…but every human on Edain…will know what you’ve done.”

“Every human on Edain will be made a slave after this! We do not tolerate blasphemy.”

“Kill me then…cease your babbling.”

Ja’thad tensed just as Janar lifted a knife from the ground and leapt to the platform. He put the tip of the blade to the base of the high priest’s neck.

“Stop! I’ll kill you if you pull that trigger.”

Ja’thad froze. “…And who is this? He sounds too young to belong to your movement.”

“He’s my brother,” said Kahnis.

“I see,” said the high priest. “A heretic in training, perhaps?”

Janar’s hand trembled. He was certain Ja’thad could feel it through the knife. “No, I’m a believer.”

“Yes? Then you must realize the eternal penalty for threatening the life of a high priest.”

“He realizes it,” said Kahnis. “Do it, little brother.”

Ja’thad laughed. “Do it? Do you seek damnation, boy?”

Janar stuttered.

“Do it, Janar.”

“He’s too frightened,” said the high priest. “As he should be.”

“I’ll…” Janar’s hand began to slip from the knife’s handle. “I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t think you will.”

Kahnis pounded the platform. “Do it!”

“I’m going to pull this trigger, and you will not stop me.”

“Janar!”

A loud, vicious pop sounded, its echoes dying instantly in the pouring rain. Janar looked at the body of his brother and groaned. The high priest began to turn, but in one swift motion, Janar sunk the blade into his neck and slid it along his vertebra. Ja’thad slumped to the ground, immobile, but croaking and eyes darting madly.

Janar looked over the fallen priest. His robe lay open. A syringe full of clear liquid rested in a pocket, beside a folded piece of paper which bore the seal of the Brotherhood. Stooping down, Janar numbly lifted the syringe. He held it to his eye, allowing the liquid to distort Kahnis’ mortal wound. As a final croak sounded from the high priest, Janar fell backwards and screamed. He screamed to God and William. He screamed as a believer and as a blasphemer.

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Nearly a week had passed. Janar stood in the village’s graveyard, a respite in the monsoon finally allowing him to bury his brother. Yellow-orange light fell on Kahnis’ grave as Janar shoveled the last bit of soil. Solsero lit the red sky, while the blue gas giant, Cerulia, loomed above.

Janar looked at his nieces and reaffirmed his desire to raise them as Kahnis would. They would know of their father’s life, and they would always bear his memory. The girls wept for the time being, but Janar vowed they wouldn’t cry forever. He vowed that none of his people would weep for much longer.

He glanced down the row of graves. His mother, sisters, and Kahnis’ wife all lay at his feet. Janar was nearly overwhelmed with grief, but he fought the urge to break down in front of his nieces. There was no time for pain. Women and children could cry, but men had to remain strong.

As Janar packed the earth with his shovel, his father came to his side. The old man had already regained some of his muscle, and the open sores had healed somewhat.

“There is no shame in your actions, son,” said Janar’s father.

“I know. The high priest had to die. I only wish…”

“There is no way of telling how you’ll act in a situation. Many would have crumbled after seeing a loved one die so horribly. You did right and saved more from Kahnis’ fate.”

Janar nodded and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Perhaps. But it’s not over.”

“No,” said his father. “What will you do now?”

“The communiqué from the Brotherhood was clear enough. They distribute the cure amongst themselves in case of infection, and keep it from humans to weaken us and slowly force our subservience. Now that we know they mean to enslave us, the Movement will grow strong. I‘ll fight with them. We’ll mobilize our greater numbers and make them cure every village on this moon.”

Janar’s father smiled. “Good. A man must be more than words and actions. He must have faith in himself and what he’s doing. He must trust his own beliefs, before he trusts the beliefs of others.”

Janar and his family walked from the graveyard, while Cerulia and Solsero filled the heavens above.

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