Chapter 22: The Fate of Pennar
Pennar clung to the spark of life harder than Dremasul had expected, but even he had to admit the young wildclaw was fading rather than improving. Perhaps, had they a better access to herbs he would have a better chance, but the wasteland was sparse and unwelcoming to life of any kind.
He had not yet the heart to tell Palla of her brother's impending doom, but surely she must know how hopeless the situation was. She had grown more irritable with each passing day, and Dremasul had now found himself having to break apart fights between Pyrite and Palla when they arose. Those two were too hot-headed for their own good, Dremasul thought to himself with a shake of a head as he squeezed water out of a rag and into Pennar's mouth.
Then one day,
they came. Two plagueborn dragons, a nocturne and a guardian, red eyes glinting harshly at the assembly of wildclaws.
Dremasul was alerted to their presence by harsh shouts from Palla and Pyrite, demanding to know what they were doing here. Both looked ready for a fight.
"You better stay away from us, you rancid-breath carrion-eaters!" Palla spat, pulling an arrow from her quiver and aiming it squarely at the eye of the nocturne.
"You think a feeble arrow will stop us?" The guardian scoffed, raising a paw to push the smaller wildclaw aside. Palla stared at the guardian in indignation, and opened her mouth to respond, but Pyrite cut in first.
"You don't really want to get any closer." Pyrite warned. "One of our number has the Wyrmwound Plague. Save yourselves and leave."
"Why do you think we are here, idiot child?"The nocturne spat back.
"What do you mean? Are you here to help my brother?" Palla asked, sounding more hopeful than Dremasul had heard her sound.
"Help?" The guardian began to laugh.
"We are here to take him away." The nocturne explained.
"If you lay a single talon on him-" Palla began to growl before Dremasul stepped up to intervene.
"Calm down Palla. Let me handle this."
"Finally, someone reasonable." The nocturne rolled her eyes. "Lovely children you have here."
"They are not my children." Dremasul corrected. "But they are all under my care.
Including the infected." His eyes had a steely warning within them now.
"You don't make the rules here." The guardian growled. "
All dragons with the Wyrmwound Plague go into quarantine, so their stupidity doesn't kill everyone else."
"And are you doctors?" Palla piped up again, accusingly.
"Quarentine is not a place to go to get healed. There is no cure for the Wyrmwound plague. It is a place to go to die, away from everything and everyone else." The nocturne explained.
"We appreciate you offer, but we can handle this. I have experience with death." Dremasul warned once again.
"Quit talking like you've got a choice." The guardian growled once more. "This is protocol. No one is exempt. It's our job to ensure the plague does not spread. We were spared, when we caught it, but most are not so lucky. For every survivor there are a million dead. Can you imagine that loose in the Scarred Wasteland? In all of Sornieth? The wyrmwound is a cocktail of disease formed by the Plaguebringer itself. Some say it's a living beast, that it can think and plan and strategize. It's more than your simple common cold or bout of food poisoning. This is out of your hands. This is why we, as the Plaguebringer's exalted, must contain it."
"Deny us, and you'll be denying the Plaguebringer her plan. Do you really want to be on the receiving end of that?" The nocturne warned.
Dremasul could see there was no way out of this. Both dragons before them were flexing their talons and teeth in preparation for a fight. No doubt they had strong elemental plague magic too. They could all fall deathly ill if they resisted. he was going to have to break his promise to Pennar to guide his soul to safety. He would have to find his own way.
"Very well." He said with a defeated sigh. "Take him away."
"What!? No!!" Palla screeched, eyes blazing with fury towards Dremasul. "You can't!!!!"
"Palla, he's pretty much dead as it is. We lost him the moment he slipped into the Wyrmwound." Dremasul reminded her.
"But
I can't let this happen! He's my brother! This is all my fault!" Tears were beginning to form in Palla's eyes.
"It's not your fault Palla, accidents happen." Dremasul soothed, trying to pull her into a hug. She stepped back, out of his reach.
"But it was
me who wanted to stay in the Plaguelands! I should have listened to him! Instead I got us crashed. He's the only one who understands me and now he's dead all because I didn't listen! I didn't care enough about him!" Palla said bitterly.
Oh Palla, I understand better than you think. Dremasul found himself thinking.
The guilt of someone else's blood on your hands is something you can never shake. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, but he knew she was inconsolable. Nothing he could say would soothe her grief. Instead he took a step back, and let her dissolve into herself.
While Palla shouted into the air, Pyrite showed the two servants of the Plaguebringer into the tent, and watched as they loaded a sickly Pennar onto a sort of stretcher. Then they stepped out, and took off to the skies. Pyrite could do nothing but watch as Palla tried to fly after them, shouting and crying. The sight of Palla's brokenness struck him like a dagger to the heart. Had he ever felt this way about his brother? About Aleksei? About Fire? He had given himself up for Fire, but was that out of love or selfishness? He had already turned his back on his family. He had never even tried to return to Fire after Aleksei had aided his escape. He had felt too much like a failure. A failure as a thief and a failure as a brother.
"Palla, come back. Let's get you some tea." Dremasul said softly, trying to gently bring Palla back.
"No." Palla growled.
"There's nothing more we can do, Palla."
"No, I mean don't call me Palla." She spat. "From now on, my name is Plagueheart, as a reminder of what I've done.
The quarantine stretched for miles, and it reeked of disease and sick. Each 'patient' was allotted no more than a single ragged cloth to separate them from the pulsing, fleshy earth believe. Every 6 hours, an exalted would come around to check for pulses, and the dead would be dragged away to be left elsewhere, to make room for a new infected. The living would be given a few scraps of food and a few mouthfuls of water.
Pennar was barely aware that he was there, but as time passed, he gained more and more consciousness. The first thing he became aware of was the sheer amount of dragons surrounding him. After some time, he pieced together how things worked in the quarantine.
One day, an exalted came to check on him, and he was once again to full consciousness. He felt weak, but more awake than he had felt in a long while.
"Well I never." The exalted, a small mirror, murmured to herself. "We have ourselves here another survivor! Count your lucky stars, young one. The Plaguebringer must look kindly upon you."
Pennar was then moved to a different facility, a group of tents. There he was given a proper meal and wash, and he was given his own quarters. After a few days of regaining his strength, he was told the time had come for him to leave.
As he wandered away from the quarantine, he couldn't help but have a spring in his step. Something felt different, the plague had altered him in some way, but he was alive. Completely and utterly alive. It was a true miracle.
All that was left was to find his sister again.
And here we go! Pennar's fate is finally revealed! The vote is over, and 75% voted that the others think him dead, but he actually survives. He will no longer actually be apart of my clan, and I will likely send him out as a traveling dragon soon. He will likely return to the story someday, but only when he returns again to my lair.
I had Pennar taken to the quarantine because I knew that with Dremasul's knowledge of souls and skills as a reaper he'd be able to tell with absolute certainty if Pennar was dead or not, which would of course defeat the purpose of them not knowing he's dead.
I expect there is only about a chapter or 2 left in this arc, but I am not yet certain.
