The North (Closed)

Across the continent, two dragons flew to an unknown destination. Riley had noticed when the mountains and lands beneath them seemed less familiar. The trip hadn't been hard, but she had been withdrawn. There was one singular thread of consciousness that she could feel from her mother that she clung to with the hope that she would be able to find a cure in time. She couldn't even bring herself to talk to Andre much, simply riding in silence with Marth to try and cope with the enormity of everything. She cried in the night, to herself, hoping that no one else would notice. She needed hope in any way that it came, even if it was the knowledge that Fiona still suffered.

The only time she had truly slept on the trip had been fraught with a terrible image. When she closed her eyes, she could see her mother, pale skin and bloodied as she'd been when she fought Hesperus. Only this time, her eyes were black like a reptile, soulless and staring off into the distance. Her fingertips were black, veins snaking along her skin with the same inky darkness. Fiona didn't respond when Riley had called her name and she'd woken in a cold sweat. She only slept fitfully now, afraid that she might see the same image again.
 
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Landing only occasionally for supplies and breaks, sleeping in the saddle, and regularly checking what maps and directions they had, Andre and Riley had made a weeks-long journey on horseback in only a couple days. With Marth and Rikke able to lock their wings and ride the wind while sleeping, they had avoided camping in potentially dangerous areas for the most part. While they were all trained to withstand plenty of discomfort and could fall asleep almost anywhere, it still took a toll.

The Byzantine Empire, once a section of the long-shattered Roman Empire and former sister of the Holy Roman Empire, was still a beauty to behold. Stories of endless wars and conquests across the continent by the Romans were held in ancient stone constructions and statues. It was almost familiar, like the Roman ruins and buildings and aqueducts still in use in England to the present. Being primarily Greek in language but much less aggressive than Greece in its treatment of outsiders and non-Humans, Andre and Riley found this old empire calmer and quieter than the other they'd faced. The first time they were forced to stop in a town, they earned plenty of curious looks but few hungry or fearful stares. Andre's native Greek and some changes to their clothing also helped them avoid looking like outsiders. But when it came to the city of Byzantium, or its newer name of Constantinople, they would have to be especially careful.

The day they arrived outside Constantinople, Andre was on high alert. Barely east of his former homeland and deep in slaver territory, he was constantly watching Riley's back and carefully hiding his tattooed collar. The dragons were at risk, though perhaps less so as long as they stayed away from settlements. If anything went terribly wrong, they all knew the plan: head for Palmyra to seek Yasmine's family's protection. With Caliph Haroun al-Zariq in the lead, they'd be as safe there as they might be in any allied territory.

"So, we're looking for Byzantine Callers or the family of Valens Maurus," Andre recapped as he and Riley prepared to take on the vast coastal city, looking down at it from afar where their dragons were hidden. "I have no idea how people here feel about dragons and Callers, or if there are still Arbiters. But if we can't find anything out in the city, I'm sure we can find something in an archive or library. Constantinople has several, but there's a major archive near the city center that would offer the most information. It's just a question of whether people will actually talk to a half-blood and a Fox."
 
“There are always those that will talk.” Riley said as she buckled her belt around her waist and made sure that her armor was well positioned. “Ma had her own network of criminals in Inverness that would give information when she was younger. I’m sure this city has the same.”

She held out a bag of gold coins to Andre, trusting him with their funds. “And I’m not wearing a collar. I’m a free fox and they’ll have to deal with it.”
 
"Free werefolk aren't unheard of here, thankfully. But we don't go anywhere without the other," Andre murmured. He tucked their money away inside an inner vest pocket where it'd be impossible to pilfer, and he slung a small satchel over his shoulder. After a brief farewell to their partners, they headed down into the grand city.

Roman architecture and modern Byzantine improvements and flair greeted them at every turn as they stepped through the open gates of the ancient city. Long cobbled streets were lined with colorful banners, signs, shops, and people from all over the world. As the bridge between two major regions and many major cultures both physically and financially, Constantinople thrived on exotic trade and was full of people from all walks. Even as they went, the couple could spot Mongolian and Russian fur traders, French wine merchants, and Scandinavian artisans. As Andre had said, there were indeed free werefolk about. Many were clad in clothing connecting them to a guild, safeguarding them against capture lest slavers risk the wrath of rich artisans and merchants who relied on the werefolk workers. Some had stylized amulets with seals of important families or businesses who protected them. Despite this, there were still slaves everywhere as well. All were marked with stark metal collars or bands on their wrists and ankles. Some were even muzzled. Among them, blue-eyed half-humans sported the same tattooed collar as Andre, and some were similarly muzzled or had masks with padlocks on the back.

Trying to avoid too much notice, Andre avoided staring at the more brutal situations of some slaves, and he steered clear of a slave auction boasting "savage, powerful beasts from the deep Orient." Lined up like cattle were Indian and Chinese werefolk, some of the likes of which Riley and Andre had never seen. Andre could only look away and focus on their mission. Fighting for the freedom of werefolk was the realm of people with power, influence, and money. For the moment, all Andre and Riley could do was try to save one person they deeply loved.

When they arrived at the archive, they found it surrounded by a small, beautifully green park full of fruit trees and gardens. It was decidedly meant for the educated and well-to-do, as few commoners seemed to frequent the grounds. When Andre and Riley headed in toward the archive, they earned plenty of stares and gawkers. Arriving at the main doors, a guard in finery and symbolic, rich armor stopped them and spoke up. Riley had learned some Greek from Andre, but not enough to understand the conversation. The guard seemed to be trying to tell them off, but Andre was firm. The man scoffed, then pointed to a nearby sign written in several languages. Among them, Riley could see "Constanian Public Archive" written in a few languages she knew. Andre repeated the sign in several languages, baffling the guard. He stepped aside and allowed them in with no more trouble.

"Asshole," Andre grumbled as they stepped into an airy, open hallway filled with sunlight. "'Half-bloods can't learn to read' my ass."

Through another archway, they came into the sunlit, glass-ceiling main chamber of the archive. While the books and scrolls were stored in cabinets to protect them from the sun, everything else was beautifully laid out in light wood and stone with occasional gilding and plenty of tapestries, rugs, and stuffed furniture faded from much use over time. A central desk stood out among the rows of shelves where many visitors were searching catalogs for information on any given subject.

Andre and Riley approached the desk. Behind it, one of the attendants turned to greet them with a friendly smile. He was an older fellow, likely over sixty but still spry and lively. He was clad in simple draping robes and a rope belt like the other attendants, giving them all away as monks. After a brief greeting with Andre, Andre asked if he spoke any other languages. Surprisingly, the monk switched into English with immense ease.

"Why, of course," he spoke with a distinctly London accent. "I was born and raised in England. I was sent here by Mother Church to tend the Archive some years ago, but I've kept my English sharp."

Sighing with relief and appreciation, Andre looked to Riley briefly. "We're looking for information about a few things... A sickness, the people who could treat it, and a family that might've been prominent here a little under a century ago."

Looking to Riley, the monk smiled. He seemed not to care at all that she and her husband weren't fully human. It spoke to his upbringing in England back when King Henry had worked hard to eradicate slavery and make safe havens for werefolk before the Empire took it all away.

"Tell me all you know, and I'll see what we can add. Brother Francis of Southall, at your service."
 
Riley stood silent, staring at all that was around them. Never even in the richest palaces she had visited in her life had she seen anything like the library that unfolded around them for what seemed like forever. She wondered if her mother and father had ever seen anything like this before. She then wondered if they would even get the chance.

She turned to look at the monk as he asked them for more information in what they were searching for. "It's a sickness like the plague. It infests the host and causes them to go mad. In humans, it causes the eyes to go black and reptilian. Their veins will turn black and trace along their skin in the later stages. It might not have been seen in a millinum."
 
Andre added, "There was an outbreak, we think, several decades ago. Dr. Vincenzo Ambrose studied it here and cared for some victims."

"Megáli peína," the monk said somberly, crossing himself. "Those poor souls."

"'Great... Hunger?" Andre asked, translating the Greek term.

"Indeed. I learned about it while studying the history of the archive's monastery. It struck a camp of soldiers after a terrible battle with a dragon who'd been ravaging the fields and livestock outside the city. From what I read, the doctors agreed that it was contact with the dragon's blood and fire. It drove the patients to the same bloodthirsty madness that the dragon had displayed."

"So there are books, then?"

"Yes, a precious few and doctors' treatment notebooks. Come." Brother Francis turned and waved them on behind him, leading them deeper into the grand library. They passed a number of students, parents teaching their children to read, and several scholars researching the city's history. The books grew older the further they went back, til they were old enough to be locked in cases for only careful handling. Not too far back, he turned down a row and began scanning for labels and descriptions inked on the wooden shelves. His fingers ran along a few spines til he plucked a red cloth cover book from the row. He retrieved two others and presented them to Andre and Riley.

With Andre translating, the Brother read them several sections, peering down through wire-frame spectacles as he scanned. Through military reports, letters, public articles, and doctors' records, a story began to unfold.

An adolescent dragon, estimated fifteen years old and still not full-grown, was spotted snapping up cows at several farms around the city's outer hamlets. The "emaciated beast" looked as if it hadn't eaten in weeks, but quickly regained its strength after being too clever or quick to harm for several months. Finally, enough farmers were losing precious cattle and sheep that the local barons gathered a few professional soldiers and a small levy to pin the dragon down and kill it. Among them, the roster of professional soldiers mentioned a "Judge" named Ceros. This Ceros led the party in setting a trap for the dragon, hiding ballistas and net-throwers along the wooded edges of a field while the dragon feasted on cleverly-laid bait. The dragon's wings were pinned and it struck out in all directions with claw, tail, jaws, and then a wild ring of fire setting everything ablaze. Ceros charged into the blaze holding a shield made of strange bluish steel and brandishing a similarly-hued sword. He cut the dragon's throat and it staggered and writhed in its death throes, blood scattering everywhere. With its last breath, it snapped out at Ceros and its jaws closed around his forearm. It nearly tore off, and would have to be amputated later. The wounded and dead were dragged away, and the remaining soldiers were ordered to cut the dragon into pieces to be carted away from farmland and burned.

The letters and doctors' journals painted the next chapter, describing several dozen soldiers, watchmen, and hunters growing weak and feverish as their veins turned black around their fingers and toes. As the disease visibly progressed up their limbs, they grew weaker and weaker til suddenly becoming easily agitated, nervous, and even hallucinating. Then it progressed to violent outbursts, assault, and even murder in one case. Several of the most violent patients were executed or imprisoned due to the danger they posed. The local baron, about to lose a large part of his military, sought aid from all over the center of the empire. Many doctors came but only a few could come up with treatments to slow the illness or help the victims' minds remain peaceful or at least subdued. None could find a cure.

At that point, the "Judge" Ceros reappeared in the story, this time called "Ser" and "Lord." He had returned from his recovery to take on an advisory role beside the local baron as a sort of reward and retirement. He pointed to a group he referred to as his Order; the Ararat Judges. Ceros had dark veins all over his arms and legs, but they were slowly fading under the close care of a Leopard woman dressed in his order's colors. He claimed that his fellows knew ancient rituals that could reverse the disease. Few were willing to allow werefolk near them, much less to treat them. Even fewer thought it was even the truth. They believed Ceros was selling a false hope, and using makeup to look as though he was healing slowly himself.

As the first few deaths through violence and suicide rolled in, other patients grew nervous and agreed to let the Ararat werefolk treat them. When the dark veins began to retreat and the fevers grew lower, most of the infected came rushing in for help upon hearing the news. Then, travelers from afar arrived seeking the same treatment. A small but steady stream of such pilgrims continued trailing in for months while the first infected fully recovered. Then one morning, Ser Ceros and his companions and all the healers of his order were all gone. No one had seen them leave, not even the night watch. Rumors spread that the order had received death threats from those opposed to the werefolk's presenced, or that several of the healers had been captured and enslaved. The baron received a letter a week later from Ser Ceros, stating that they had all been summoned to suppress a small outbreak of bubonic plague on an island off the coast. They never returned nor emerged publicly anywhere else to treat those infected with the megáli peína, or "great hunger" as it was named for the victims ravenous bloodlust and biting in moments of unchecked madness. Bite victims would then in turn come down with the same illness.

"It's happened once since," the monk explained when he closed the last book. "Some... oh, twenty years ago. A very young dragon- no more than ten- came rampaging through as well, eating all he could til a bunch of farmers on horseback managed to get a net over him. After the dragon was killed, the farmers and some of their wives and children came down with megáli peína. Half had died when a stranger came through claiming to know who could heal them. Only a few people followed him, and by the time they returned healed, the others had all died as well. The survivors said the man never gave a name, and he took them to a mountain where an old Fox put them 'under a spell.' They awoke many days later, healing and growing stronger with their sickness cured."
 
Riley listened intently to what was being said, her mind already dissecting the information to try and figure out where they were going to go next. A fox with the ability to heal sounded like the Blackstone side of the family, even though it had been long believed that Ephriam, Owen, and Fiona were the last of that line. It would mean that there was family still out there, still working as healers for both humans and dragons alike.

"My great-grandfather came from this part of the world. He never truly spoke of his life or his family. At least not that Ma remembers. I wonder if there is more out there than any of us realized. Surely Uka would have found them in his travels. Twenty years ago, he would have been a prisoner in Spain in the mines." Riley murmured, her brown furrowing and her ears folding back as dread washed over her.

"Brother Francis, I need the medical notes, even if they might seem inconsequential. Koah, you need to go to the slave sale. Find someone there that might know the tribe of leopards, buy their freedom."
 
"I'll gather all I can," the monk assured her. "I believe there is a reference to a nearby hospital as well. I'll send a runner to collect anything they may still have on record."

Andre was prepared to go the moment Riley delegated to him, but he hesitated before leaving. "Where will you be, love? Should we meet back here, or go back to Rikke and Marth?" He didn't dare mention that their companions were dragons aloud, lest the monk be alarmed or someone else heard them. He wasn't sure, with local fear of wild dragons, whether their companions would be safe from capture or harm.
 
Riley reached up and touched her husband's cheek, giving him a small smile as he asked where she might be if she was sending him off on a mission. "I have to go somewhere that you don't belong. My mother made her early life with a certain group of people, and I have to hope that there might be someone out there that can help us for her sake. A former soldier will be sniffed out in a minute. You're more use to me seeking out a former slave."

"We will meet back here once we have what we are all searching for. I believe this is the safest place for all of us, no?" Riley murmured, knowing that Koah would argue with her but she was too stubborn to let him win.
 
"I'm not sure you should be going around the underbelly of a city like this when you can't speak Greek," Andre murmured worriedly. "Are these people your mother actually knew?" He knew he wouldn't get far with an argument when Riley had her mind set, but he was too afraid of losing her in a massive city not to try.
 
"Who says I need to know Greek? I can speak more than one language, Koah. I'm sure that there is someone out there in this city that I can communicate with." Riley reminded him as he tried to come up with an argument that would keep her from venturing into the underbelly of the city that surrounded them. "Perhaps they'll know my Ma. Most likely they won't. What I have to hope for is that one of them has heard of Valens Maurus. And I know they won't talk to a soldier, reformed or not."
 
Andre sighed quietly. "I know you'll manage, whether I like it or not. You always do." He hugged her tightly to his chest, his grim determination for their mission giving way to a moment of exhaustion and concern that he'd only show to her. "Stay as safe as you can, Ri... I love you."
 
"You'll go home to them if I don't come back." Riley whispered softly in Erygonian. "Not that I expect to never return again, but I know you'll do the right thing for my mother."

When she pulled away, she gave her husband a small smile, touching his cheek once more before she turned to look at the monk. "Anything you can find while we are gone would be appreciated, Father. Anything, no matter how big or small."

With that, Riley pulled her hood up over her ears and made her way towards the door, intent to see where this new path might take her.
 
The back streets and slums of Byzantium began to unfold before Riley once she got her bearings. A clever word here to a shifty merchant, a coin here to a barkeep, and she slowly discovered the flow of a stream of illegal and stolen goods that led her toward the thieves responsible. Perhaps one of the only advantages of being a Fox in Constantinople was that in the dark underbelly, money was money no matter who gave it.

That was how Riley eventually found herself at a bar in the south harbor. She had seen no werefolk-owned shops, only small ragged stalls. This particular bar was little more than a repurposed, crumbling townhouse with a long bar counter and a vast array of mismatched furniture. But the owner and barkeep was a large werelion with a dark mane and gold hoops in his ears. He was muscular with a barrel chest and absolutely littered with African tribal and Erygonian-style tattoos, and he watched over his little bar with sharp, dark amber eyes. One look from him was enough to settle most drunkards about to start a fight. But as Riley stepped in, she witnessed firsthand when the Lion snagged a rowdy sailor by the back of the neck and marched him out the door and sent him stumbling face-first into the street.

When the Lion and his small staff returned to their posts, the Lion eyed Riley curiously. It appeared to be mostly free werefolk and sailors at his bar. Riley had spent years working on docks and didn't look out of place, but the Lion seemed interested if wary of new folk who weren't his regulars.

When Riley approached the bar, the Lion greeted her in Greek, pointing to a chalkboard menu written in a few different languages. Among them was Erygonian, listing different drinks, limited food, and services.
 
The atmosphere around her was familiar, just like the inns that lined the docks in Trondheim. She didn't feel out of place, even when she was greeted with a foreign tongue that she barely knew. Her stare was schooled and blank as the lion addressed her and then pointed to the menu next to him. She gave him a shrug, her eyes drifting over the scrawled languages before she looked back at him.

"You speak Erygonian?" She asked softly, leaning her elbows against the bar. "I recognize your tattoos. Of course you would speak Erygonian. Probably other tribal languages as well, but you've kept those to yourself."
 
The Lion regarded Riley for a long moment, guarded but intrigued. When he finally spoke, his accent was incredibly familiar, just like Qira's and Dazu's back home.

"All my life," he confirmed in Erygonian with a rich West African accent and similar dialect to the Corel Tribe. "But you speak with a northern accent," he noted with a raise of one eyebrow. "Odd to see a Fox here, much less a new one."
 
“My father taught me Erygonian. The whole family learned from him, actually.” Riley said as the lion observed that she was new to the city. “It’s about as odd as a lion running a bar in the middle of a slave city. My great-grandfather was from these parts. I never knew him, but I guess there’s a small part of me that recognizes all that surrounds us.”

She extended her hand towards the lion to shake, trying to make herself seem as non-threatening as possible. “My name is Riley.”
 
The Lion didn't seem overly wary, dealing with strangers often thanks to his line of work. He met Riley with a firm grip and a stern handshake, giving her a look at a trio of silver rings on his hand. Two were traditional mourning rings that she knew from many northern and tribal traditions, and one was a snake wrapping around to eat its own tail.

"Hadizo," he introduced himself. "So then, Riley. What are you looking for in the old Queen of Cities? You don't strike me as a tourist. You look too... sure of yourself."
 
"I'm here looking for something." Riley answered with a small nod. "I am in need of a healer that practices the old arts. Medicine from long ago. There is an illness in the East, not the were plague, but something darker and more sinister. Where might I find someone like that in this city?"
 
The Lion's head tilted ever so slightly, then his eyes flicked to someone else in the room. "Hoban!" He barked, catching the attention of a young but grizzled Jackal drinking with a table of desert Wolves. The Jackal looked like he'd been through a fire, his fur patchy in a few places and burn scars on his right side, and his right ear was missing entirely. The left ear stood at attention as Hadizo motioned him over. Hoban glanced at Riley, drained his tankard, and excused himself from his table of companions.

"Ti chreiázesai, xáderfe?" Hoban muttered, looking between the Lion and the Fox.

"Erygonian, from up north," Hadizo explained with a motion to Riley. "Looking for an old world healer. Your sister works at the hospital, right?"

"Mm. Only Human doctors there, though," Hoban explained in fluent Erygonian with a mild Arabian accent, his dialect similar to African Erygonian but a bit more lyrical.

"But they consult with Steris."

Hoban glanced at Riley suspiciously and inched back from her. "Old Steris doesn't take patients anymore. Too much risk involved. If you're sick, go to the village south of town."

"She's not," Hadizo said confidently, turning his gaze back to her. "Steris might talk to you if it's out of the ordinary. Hoban's sister is the only apprentice he's ever taken on. He's a private fellow, but he takes on cases that the Humans won't, especially werefolk and rarer illnesses. Do you know what you're dealing with exactly? Or is it something no one's seen?"
 
"Well, it's a good thing that I'm half human." Riley said as the jackal discussed the various places that she could go. "And I'm not that one that is ill. It's my mother."

"My family are Callers and my mother was forced to act as arbiter to a dragon that had lost his mind. We have found that he was overcome with an illness that affects that blood. It drives a person crazy from the inside out. If I don't work fast, I'll lose her...and most likely a war."

"It was seen here a long time ago according to what we found at the great library. This dragon had been sleeping since then, infected by a family member and driven insane by the same illness. So rare...yes, I would say it's very rare."
 
The Jackal didn't seem much convinced til she began describing the illness. Something dawned over him and his tall, pointed ears tilted back in growing shock and horror. Hoban leaned in close and whispered with tears brimming in his eyes, "Oh, Gods... You mean Hesperus. Then your mother is... The Rider Queen has the Hunger?"

"Don't say that word," Hadizo hissed softly, but the news seemed to have struck him just as deeply, his ears laid flat and his hand clutching some sort of religious tattoo on his opposite arm. "You'll start a panic."

"Dear Gods save her," Hoban murmured shakily to himself, touching his forehead in a motion of tribal prayer. When he looked at Riley again, she saw all suspicion replaced with shock and awe. "News of Hesperus's awakening spread across the world like wildfire. All of Byzantium was warned to be on alert in case he returned to lay waste here again like he once did... And when he was felled, news spread even faster of who our savior was. The Daughter of Margaret finished her forebear's work. And that means you... You took Hadrian's Wall."

"Not just Riley, then... Riley Ghis," Hadizo murmured in awe. Neither spoke loud enough for anyone to hear them, but a few eyes were turned their way wondering what had the bartender's rapt attention and had Hoban in tears.
 
Riley suddenly felt the weight of many eyes on her as the scene unfolded there at the bar. She pulled her hood further over her ears and lowered her head.

“Stop your tears. She’s not dead yet.” She hissed, her heart racing. “And you will not speak my name around here. You’ll get me sold to the next ship out of here.”

“I need to know that you are sending me to the place. That this healer can and will help. She doesn’t have much time.”
 
"You need the Judges of Ararat," Hadizo whispered. "They know this sickness better than anyone else alive. But they're not to be taken lightly. If you are..." he paused, knowing not to speak her name again, "if you are who we know you are, they may help you if they find you and your mother worthy. It may cost you everything, or they may do it without asking a thing. No one knows what they'll ask."

"I'll take you to them," Hoban muttered, trying to gather himself quickly. "I know how to approach them and I'll vouch for you. My sister... she's training under Steris to join the Judges. They know me."
 
Riley stared at Hoban before she gave a nod. "Speak of this to no one. I do not wish it to be known that I'm here."

"And you. You won't take me any further than you need. I can face them alone." Riley had always been a confident fox, but in that moment, she had no fear. She only wished to do the best that she could by her mother and honor her family name. If she had to give up her life or freedom to do so, it would be worth it. "Now, get yourself together and let's go. We don't have much time."
 
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