Pentad of Un

Chapter 25 - Shayrow

     Shayrow wasn't sure what made him look up. There had been no sound—nothing at all that drew his attention. And yet, still seething from the conversation he had just had with Luss, Shayrow looked up at the branches of the tree that the merchant was perched in.

     Something snapped in the back of Shayrow's mind, sending him reeling into apothecary mode.

     He honestly wasn't sure how he knew, but he could tell that Luss was in pain.

     After a moment, Luss lifted his chin to look out at everyone—and his gaze met Shayrow's.

     He looked... afraid.

     Shayrow silently asked Luss if he was all right, and the merchant briefly nodded before looking away.

     He wasn't all right. Shayrow could easily see that.

     The look on Luss's face reminded Shayrow of the expression his father had worn on that horrible day. They had been sparring outside, unaware of the news that would reach them that evening—that Shayrow's grandfather had fallen ill, as had several other relatives.

     "Are you all right?" Shayrow asked his father, taking a step back.

     "Fine," his father replied. "I didn't sleep well last night, apparently."

     "Should we take a break?"

     "That's not necessary. Let's continue."

     "Perhaps--"

     "On your guard, Shayrow."

     "Father--"

     "On your guard."

     Shayrow dropped his sword at his feet, shaking his head.

     "You look unwell," he said quietly, carefully. "Let's get you checked, at the very least."

     His father refused. Shayrow told his uncle, and they managed to drag him to a healing center—which had been recently set up as the epidemic had become a threat. The apothecaries from nearby counties had been alerted in the event they were needed.

     "I'm all right," Shayrow's father scowled.

     But he wasn't.

     He had contracted plasmidkhor.

     Shayrow's world started to crumble.

     His grandfather was dead. His father was ill. And then his mother fell ill, and his grandmother, and his aunt, one cousin after another...

     He found himself standing in the shadows of a tree, staring down at a village of tombstones. He had been lucky enough to say his farewells to all of them before they passed. He wasn't at risk like the others, so he was permitted to be in the presence of the sick and dying.

     It felt like he had nowhere to go—no one left to turn to, no one at all.

     Shayrow returned to The Academy after a long absence... with one thing in mind.

     He would make them proud, no matter what.

     What would they think of me now?

     Shayrow ran his fingers along the hilt of his sword, absentmindedly stroking the weapon.

     He had never wanted to be a spunter, oddly enough, despite already having much of the training under his belt. Being a spunter was an honor for many, seeing as they guarded the towns from all sorts of threats—including magical ones.