Quest for a Cure...

When a village is consumed by a horrible disease, that's one thing.

When the disease begins to spread across the nation, then it becomes another.

One girl. One man. One goal, and one ultimate destiny...

* * * * *

"Mother, Father! Wake up! Please, wake up... Don't let this thing defeat you... Wake up..."

"Ivan! Ivan, it's a dream. Open your eyes!"

The mage's eyelids fluttered open as he gave out a deep, shuddering groan. He laid there for a few moments, breathing hard; he could feel that he had broken out into a cold sweat while asleep.

"Ivan? Are you feeling all right?"

Shaking his head once, firmly, the emerald-cloaked mage sat up from where he was lying in the bed of the inn. "I'm fine, Pon. It's as you said, just a dream..."

The small black snake coiled gently around his left arm. "It's not fine. You were in distress and I couldn't help you. You were 'back then,' weren't you?"

Ivan smiled at his familiar. "I was. And you did help me. You woke me up before... the Last Stage happened in front of my eyes."

Momentarily, the dark-haired mage placed his hand over his eyes, trying to compose himself. Pon gave his arm a comforting squeeze.

"I'm here for you, Ivan."

"Thank you, Pon." Those words did make the mage feel better. He stood and let Pon loosen himself from his arm before slinging his traveling bag over his shoulder.

"Wait! You can't leave now. You still have to eat your breakfast." Pon aimed his snout at a tray set just inside the door. "I had the innkeeper leave it for you there."

The corner of Ivan's mouth quirked upwards. He squatted to pick up the tray, sitting back down on the bed in order to rest it on his lap.

"You're a good familiar. Always looking out for me."

He swore that Pon's chest would have swelled with pride at the compliment if it could. "Of course! No point in searching if you don't first fill your stomach. Hurry and eat your porridge before it gets cold and then we can leave. I was looking around and they have an apothecary's shop where you can restock some of your ingredients."

Evelyn thrust her dagger forward before spinning backwards with a high kick and finishing with a low kick that would've knocked anyone's knees out. her long brown hair flowed outward as she spun as did her dress. She stood casually, breathing hard as she finished her practice for the day. She took a cloth and wiped the sweat from her neck, chest and face before stomping up some wooden stairs and going into the Inn.

With her mother and father dead from the plague, she and her older brother were in the hands of her father's best friend and his wife. They were good people, but had no idea how to raise a child so they let her and her brother do as they pleased which suited her just fine. Evelyn tied her hair back and went behind the bar. A older woman who worked as a waitress motioned her over.

"There's an old witch there in the corner who's been wailing for you for almost an hour know. Go see what she wants and please, just get her to shut up." The old woman told Evelyn. Evelyn looked through the empty bar room and spotted the witch the old woman was referring to. Evelyn approached the witch with some caution but then sat down across the table from her.

"Miss Ira spoke of you wishin' to see me?" Evelyn asked. The witch looked at her with wide eyes, then grabbed her hand forcefully and laid it out on the table palm up.

"You! You! Oh how our species has been cursed! An impossible cure that an impossible child can get. The King's men! They go searching for the flower, the flower that could cure the world of this disease. You must go as well, you are part of the key to finding it, GO!"

Evelyn stumbled backward as the witch threw her hand away then swiftly exited the Inn. Evelyn went to her quarters and grabbed her cloak. Her brother had started showing signs of the disease and if there was a cure, she would find it. She left the Inn out the back and went the main hall in search of this party of King's men who were going looking for the cure.

Ivan's head jerked up from his morning meal; tilting it to the side, he appeared to be concentrating on something.

Pon spoke up. "Ivan? What is it?"

"...I feel something. A powerful magical presence." The mage stood, his meal forgotten. Adjusting his cloak that he always wore, sleeping or not, he grabbed his bag and strode out of the room, down the stairs, and out the door of the inn.

"...There," he murmured to his familiar who had wound his way around his master's ankle beforehand. To the untrained eye, Pon could appear to be simply a dull black anklet.

The snake glanced around at an old woman standing in the middle of the street, attracting many stares. She appeared to be muttering to herself, wringing her knobby hands.

Ivan walked up to the witch--for he could feel that she was one--and held out his hand to her. "Grandmother," he said respectfully, but solemnly. "I am a magic-user, like you. I am searching for a cure for this horrible disease that spreads over the land... I am in need of guidance. Please, read my palm and tell me what you see for me."

For the mage, like all magic-users, could not read his own fortune.