Griibus

The illness had struck some time ago. The dragons now stumbled through the quarantine zone like zombies: lowered heads; dull, bleary eyes...At times someone recovered, only to relapse. Fenris thought he had recovered the other day; the Doctor had pronounced him fit and given him a final dose of medicine. But the fever had returned—and now one of his children had caught the disease.

The Doctor looked down at Fenris’ daughter, meticulously recording her symptoms in the tome that hung at his side. “How very unusual...Bring her here,” he muttered.

They trudged through the quarantine zone together. The groans of the afflicted welled up around them, and Fenris clutched his daughter close. They soon found a spare cot for her. The Doctor now began taking bottles and bundles of herbs from his bag. Some of them Fenris had seen before. Others were unfamiliar.

“Where did you get those?”

“Outside. I gathered them myself.” The Doctor’s reply was noncommittal as he poured sweet-smelling syrup into Fenris’ daughter’s mouth. The Guardian asked, “Will that help her?”

“It will bring down the fever.” The Doctor capped the bottle and gave Fenris an annoyed look. “Now, why don’t you take a walk? Exercise is good for the body.”

Fenris gave his daughter a last pat. As he trudged outside, he passed the Doctor’s familiar: an Otherworldly Aura. Some of the weaker patients had panicked upon seeing it, mistaking it for a specter of Death, and he hoped it wouldn’t come near his daughter.

He returned to the perimeter where his son, Jotun, was still waiting. “It’ll be OK, son. The Doctor gave her some medicine,” Fenris said, trying to sound cheerful.

Still, Jotun was uneasy. The younger Guardian mumbled, “I don’t like him. He’s creepy.”

“But he’s been helpful. And he seems to be the only one willing to risk his neck for us.” Fenris clenched his teeth. “Those other clans keep saying, ‘Let Nature take its course.’ It isn’t their families on the line!”

“There’s some good news,” Jotun began, hoping to reassure his father. He leaned closer and reported, “The Plague healers sent word ahead.”

“Will they be let through?”

“It’s still dicey, with the First Seed being unleashed and all, but this is a mission of am...um...amnesty. I don’t know when exactly they’ll come. I’ll keep you posted.”

Fenris thought about telling other patients the good news, but decided against it—if the healers got turned away, the disappointment would be devastating. There was no reason to spread hope when there was a chance of it being false.

They did owe the Doctor, however. He was the first healer to arrive and had willingly quarantined himself with them. Still, Fenris was glad not to run into him again that day—he was somewhere else in the infirmary, perhaps.

The Guardian fell asleep beside his daughter...and then suddenly it was morning. Around him, dragons seemed more animated than they’d been in weeks. His ear frills perked up. “The healers...They’re here!”

The palisade had been opened to let the Plague healers through. They were now beginning their examinations while the guards organized the patient. Fenris saw a female Wildclaw nearby. “Disgraceful,” she was muttering, “simply disgraceful.”

“Please, my daughter...” Fenris began. The healer looked up, showing an old, surprisingly kindly face. “Yes, Guardian, we’ll see to her. Let’s get everyone organized first.”

Her expression darkened as she looked around. “You have a healer amongst you? What a shoddy job he’s been doing! Still, I suppose it was difficult, handling this place alone...although I wonder....Very well, where is he? Something isn’t—”

And then she and the other Plaguelings froze, their faces masks of shock: the Doctor had stepped into view. As everyone watched, his face drained of color. He stepped back as the Wildclaw advanced—no longer a kind old granny, but a beast thirsting for blood. “Griibus,” she spat, and the venom in her voice could have melted stone. “So this is where you’ve brought your vileness, you despicable worm!”

In three great strides she reached the Doctor, and with a vicious slash she ripped open his bag. Jars and bottles smashed upon the ground.

“You’ve been poisoning these dragons, you quack!” she shrieked. Fenris looked on, wide-eyed, as several things began to slot into place. How the illness faded...so they received a “final” dose from the Doctor...and after a couple of days the fever would return. And the plants, gathered from...outside? Fenris was a Nature dragon himself, yet he hadn’t recognized them. What were they? Where had they come from?

“Poison!” the Wildclaw screamed again. And Griibus, realizing defeat, flipped his tome open. He and his familiar vanished from the camp, swept away by a teleportation spell.

“What’s happening?!” Fenris gasped. The other patients were groaning, wailing and crying....The guards screamed for order even as the Wildclaw explained: “He is Griibus. He calls himself ‘the Doctor’, but he’s no healer. He is...a monster, I should say.”

Fenris stared in horror at the shattered bottles. Evil-looking vapors wafted from them, and he caught a whiff of sickening sweetness. His stomach heaved.

The Wildclaw noticed his discomfort. “If ever there was an illness, it doubtless ran its course days ago—but we’ll go over each and every one of you to make sure. You’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

“But what of...?”

“The charlatan?” Her face darkened. “Ah, he’ll be caught soon. The authorities will run him down....”

The Wildclaw accepted Fenris’ gratitude graciously, but her mind remained far-away. She and other healers had heard of Griibus. Worse still, they had seen the results of his handiwork. They had gotten here in time, but others had not been so lucky.

And he had escaped to continue plying his evil trade. Where was he now? The healers could only wonder...and hope that the next time he struck, they or their colleagues could undo the damage in time.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users