Mary pulled the shutters closed before sinking her face onto the rough, hard mattress in sheer disgust and lingering terror. Her thoughts drifted back to the gratitude she owed the man who had once raised her, yet he was no longer here to protect her.
"O' Grandfather... I miss thee dearly. If anyone were to listen to my reasons, second to Father Sereza... it would be only thee. Wherefore can no soul come to my aid? No matter how many times I offer my prayers, I feel no relief from the agony inside my head. Hath the Lord truly forsaken me, Grandfather? If thou canst hear me, I pray thee, succor thy righteous child."
Ending her prayer, she drifted into sleep, only to awaken once more as the first rays of sunlight broke the horizon. Yet, Mary found herself awakening amidst a vast wheat field. The maiden felt an uncanny sense of familiarity with this place, though she had never laid eyes upon it before.
Suddenly—THUD! THUD! THUD! Heavy pounding echoed from the door outside.
"Hey, Mary! Do not forget to buy the book for my granddaughter! Thou hast slept the morning away; awaken lest thou be late for thy chores!"
The old woman's voice jolted her out of her dream. Marilyn rubbed her face to shake off the haze of sleep, folded her blanket, and stepped out of her bedchamber.
"Right away, Grandmother. But what manner of book did she desire?" the maiden probed.
"I know not! But the girl hath complained endlessly about thee. Just go and get it for her," the old hag replied.
"If I bring home the wrong one, she might..." Mary cast a fearful glance at the impending consequences.
"What can that girl do to thee? Art thou not the very grandchild I raised with mine own hands?"
"I meant Jezibel... She might be deeply aggrieved, Grandmother."
"Hmm~ Then try buying one of those sweet romance tales for her to read. I see that girl casting longing eyes at the blacksmith's lad day in and day out," Mrs. Bishop answered.
"A tale of love, Grandmother?" Mary raised a hand to touch her brow in doubt.
"Mm-hmm! That very thing! And what of thee? Hast thou no lad of thine own like the others, Mary?"
"In such times as these facing our land, it would prove most difficult, Grandmother. I know the truth of our plight all too well."
"Ahem! Hem! Why art thou dawdling? Wash thy face and be on thy way!" Mrs. Bishop pressed her hands against Mary's back, nudging her out of the house.
The hurried maiden ran to the well of fresh water, pulling up the rope to fetch a bucket and washing her face clean. Soon after, she crossed through the gates of Caslette once more.
Upon the hill at the center of the city stood the dilapidated royal palace, crumbling from long years of abandonment. The maiden navigated the streets where villagers went about their daily trade. She steered clear of the crowds, slipping through side paths until she reached a small apothecary of books and scrolls. Opening the door, she was greeted by the warm glow of a hanging lantern suspended from the center of the ceiling, flanked on both sides by wooden bookshelves.
"What brings thee here, young lady?" the elderly shopkeeper asked. Taking the opportunity, Mary addressed the old man.
"Dost thou happen to have... a-a sweet romance book?"
"Ah~ A book to satisfy worldly desires, art thou?! Ho ho! The shelf to the left, just beyond the middle—there shall be a sign posted."
"Thank thee kindly." The maiden offered a gentle smile to the old man before inspecting the shelf, carefully choosing as her grandmother had instructed and reading through a passage to be certain.
Before she realized it, time had slipped away. As she walked toward the counter to pay, a particular book caught her eye—its cover engraved with the symbol of an eight-pointed star overlaid upon a cross. Mary read through its pages as time bled further away, becoming utterly captivated by the volume as though it answered the very questions lingering in her mind. Yet, a sense of wonder washed over her, for the text revealed baffling secrets—intricate numbers, advanced theories regarding the human vessel, the phenomenon of apples falling from trees, methods of brewing remedies using unknown flora, and even structural diagrams of steel-clad war vehicles.
"Young lady, thou hast read past thy welcome hour. Dost thou intend to buy that?" the old man's voice called out, breaking her trance.
"Oh! Pray grant me but a moment longer!" Mary held the strange treatise alongside the other two volumes to pay, inquiring of the old shopkeeper about the peculiar journal. "I need to ask."
"Hmm? What might that be?"
"Who was it that wrote this book?"
"If memory serves me right, it was likely the very first owner of this establishment. He wrote and sold books to earn his bread. By history's account, he was once a wanderer across the land. Legend even says he served as a gravedigger for the Divi Church by night. But alas, when that bloody war erupted a century ago, great tragedy followed in its wake. Every soul sacrificed their lives to fight for our land. Well... be it peasant or serf, all suffered the bitter plight."
"The bloody war a hundred years ago? I have never heard such a tale from any other's lips."
"Because such matters have been turned into fables to teach children," the old man smiled faintly, casting a secretive glance at her.
"Because they wished for none to remember the tragedy that once befell us," Mary nodded in understanding.
"Thou hast eyes unlike any I have ever beheld before," he noted, staring unblinkingly into her imperial-green eyes.
"How so?" Mary asked in doubt.
"I cannot quite put it into words. Very well! Consider that journal a gift from me, let us call it meeting halfway."
"My deepest gratitude from the bottom of my heart. Thou art truly generous." The maiden handed a sum of coin to the elder.
"Hmm. Take care of thyself, young lady. Danger lurks out there at every hour of the day."
Mary tucked the three books into her cloth satchel, heading toward the Southern Wall where the central infirmary stood. She pushed through the crowds, wrapping her cloak tightly around herself. She passed the foul-smelling fresh meat market, greeted by the wet chopping sounds of butchers carving pork, a sight that unsettled her spirit and made her quicken her pace through a narrow connecting alley.
There, she stumbled upon a throng of villagers gathered around something. Out of curiosity, Mary stepped into the crowd of onlookers.
The sight before her eyes was horrific: a plague doctor had bound an emaciated, homeless man to a wooden frame. Dark, rotting tumors had spread across his limbs from necrotic decay.
"Lord Almighty! I beseech Thee, take thy child into Thine arms!" the man screamed as he was strapped to the wooden bed. A priest in white chanted prayers while splashing holy water to ward off evil. The plague doctor drew a razor-sharp blade from his sheath to commit a terrifying act, prompting the onlookers to cover their eyes to avoid the gruesome spectacle.
"Even if I must forsake my useless knee~~~~~~!!!!~~~~~~"
CHOP!!
The sound Mary heard was a scream straight from the depths of hell, drowning out all else. The plague doctor pressed his cane firmly against the dark, severed wound of the patient. Without missing a beat, a red-hot torch was branded directly onto the fresh surgical stump!
"ARGH~~!!! ~~ It's burnt! I can bear it no longer~~!"
The agonizing shrieks caused several townspeople to bolt from the scene to vomit, unable to stomach the horror. Mary clutched her chest, feeling a surge of nausea mingled with the freezing chill of dread. She hastened her steps to flee, pressing forward until she came to a halt before the final infirmary of Casletia.