Mirth of the Dead

[Moskva, Grand Principality of Vladimir and Moskva]

The acrid stench of death permeated the air, a noxious haze billowing from the relentless fires devouring the city.

The once-vibrant streets now lay empty and desolate, a heartbreaking tableau.

In the midst of the turmoil, a relentless procession of crows swooped in and out, their ebony forms a stark contrast to the absence of doves or migratory birds.

The crows thrived in this grim tableau, feasting on the macabre banquet of the deceased.

Moskva, this once-mighty Rus' city, had been swiftly and mercilessly brought to its knees by a horrific plague.

It was as if the very essence of life had been extinguished by Azrael, the angel of Death himself.

Every home was sealed, a city imprisoned, its gates locked. The soldiers who once manned the walls now sat with bowed heads, awaiting the inevitable.

Not long ago, the city's slums bustled with beggars and the homeless. Now, they lay abandoned, cloaked in an eerie stillness.

No one could comprehend the cataclysm that had transformed this thriving community into a spectral enclave.

Yet, just a short distance away, a grim spectacle unfolded - a towering mound of lifeless, charred bodies. Only the smoldering remnants hinted at the fire that had consumed them.

Amidst the eerie quiet of the deserted streets, a group of enigmatic figures emerged, their attire as foreboding as their presence.

Their heads resembled those of crows, complete with protruding beaks—dreaded Plague Doctors, as they were known.

They roamed the streets with an air of solemn purpose, collecting the lifeless bodies strewn about, carefully loading them onto the carts they pulled.

Cloaked entirely in somber black, they appeared as harbingers of death itself, moving with an almost spectral grace through the desolation.

Not far from this grim scene, a grand palace loomed, its imposing gates sealed shut.

The palace grounds were a stark contrast, marred by a multitude of lifeless bodies, some barely clinging to the faintest vestiges of life, their breaths slowly slipping away.

In the opulent halls of the grand palace, a man in the prime of his life, his features etched with the weight of middle age, stood before a woman who appeared considerably younger.

She lay on a bed, enveloped in thin, white linen sheets, her health deteriorating whilst not as rapidly. Her once vibrant complexion had faded, giving way to a pallid, withered pallor, and the tip of her nails had began to darkened.

An unspoken melancholy hung heavily in the air, casting shadows of despair that seemed to stretch toward the lofty ceilings.

Despite the summer sun outside, the room retained a chill that could rival the coldest of winters.

"Anna," he began, his voice trembling with emotion, "why did you choose to keep this from me?"

Appalled and in disbelief, not even the confines of the palace could contain the growing fear that now gripped the realm, as even the princess herself was afflicted with the wretched 'curse.'

The manner in which the affliction had reached the princess remained a mystery; some suspected she had ventured beyond the palace walls to meet those affected, inadvertently contracting the curse herself.

Others believed it was divine retribution, a punishment from the gods for her longstanding defiance.

Vasily I of Moskva, the Grand Prince, a man of great stature, was profoundly shocked when he witnessed the affliction that had befallen his beloved daughter.

In the depths of his heart, he silently cursed the heavens, a rare act of rebellion for a man of his station.

"Have You now taken my daughter as You took my wife? Why have You forsaken me? What wrong has my daughter committed to deserve such a punishment?" he lamented within, unable to express his anguish outwardly.

"Physician, have you no knowledge of a way to cure my child? Will she meet the same fate as others before her, reduced to ashes in the fire?"

Vasily's voice trembled with desperation as he directed his question toward the man standing beside him in the room.

"I regret to admit, milord, that we have exhausted our efforts. There is no known cure to alleviate her highness's affliction. All we can do now is hope for a miraculous intervention to spare her from this cruel fate," the physician replied with a heavy heart.

"You claim to be a healer, yet you offer no remedy for my daughter? What kind of healer are you? And what good is prayer when God remains silent in the face of my daughter's suffering?"

Vasily's frustration boiled over, his faith shaken by the ordeal his daughter endured.

"Milord, I implore you to reconsider your words. Such blasphemy—" the physician began, but Vasily interrupted him.

"Blasphemy or not, if God truly exists, now is the time for Him to reveal Himself to me!"

Vasily's anger did not stem from a disdain for the divine, but rather from the profound well of frustration and helplessness that engulfed him.

As he witnessed his daughter drawing nearer to death's door with no glimmer of hope for a cure, an overwhelming weight settled upon his heart.

His ongoing dispute with the physician persisted, despite the physician's reluctance to assume the role of royal healer, for he possessed no more answers than anyone else.

Even with his prior experience as the church physician, he had failed to uncover a remedy for the ailment afflicting his daughter.

This mysterious disease had confounded healers throughout the continent, and despite his knowledge and expertise, a solution remained elusive.

Aware of these facts, Vasily couldn't help but feel a growing frustration. Although the plague was a rare occurrence, its lethality remained unchanged.

The church had tirelessly pursued a cure for this ailment, yet after all these years, progress remained elusive, rendering the disease incurable.

"Father..."

A tremulous voice interrupted the heated exchange, causing Vasily to halt and redirect his gaze to his daughter.

"Ah, Anna, my child!" Tears streamed down his cheeks as he felt utterly helpless, unable even to hold his own daughter's hand.

"Please don't blame the poor man. I was to blame for my condition..."

Anna spoke slowly but steadily,

"Please say no more, and no, it was not your fault but mine, as a father, I feel I failed you..."

"Oh father, please don't be..."

"Is... Is there anything you desire, my love?"

"John... I want to meet him again, just one last time..."

Silence.

Vasily was rendered speechless by the princess's unexpected request. Meeting with John? Though he knew little of their relationship, it was merely a one-night meeting, and he knew nothing of what transpired afterward.

"So sudden? However, considering your condition now, I can't, in good conscience, send you on such a journey, especially since you are afflicted with this illness..."

"That is true, Your Highness. Your condition is not at its best for travel at the moment."

Anna could only manage a feeble attempt at pursing her lips.

Turning her gaze to the royal physician, she inquired, "Mr. Physician, based on your assessment, how much time do I have left?"

The royal physician was taken aback by the question, his eyes shifting nervously toward the Grand Prince, silently seeking his consent to deliver the truth.

With a weary sigh, the Grand Prince nodded, allowing the royal physician to speak.

"Since it has been three days since you were afflicted," the physician began with a heavy heart, "I fear you may have no more than two to three weeks before your body starts to lose its functions..."

"Is... that so... *cough* *cough* *cough*"

"Anna... Water, quickly!"

"I—I'm fine... But Father, I implore you one last time, please, permit me to see His Highness John once more..."

Hearing his daughter's heartfelt plea, his heart grew heavier. Should he continue to discourage her? But to do so might only break her heart, and sow the seeds of future regret should the worst come to pass.

"I understand... then... Ivar!" Vasily I called out toward the door.

Almost immediately, the door swung open, revealing a robust and tall man; it was Ivar, the Grand Prince's personal guard.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Escort Anna to Constantinople, and take good care of her. Inform the captain to prepare the ship."

"Understood, Your Highness."

The towering guardsman promptly obeyed the orders and exited the room, leaving it back to the trio once again.

"In that case, royal physician, prepare the necessary medicine for the princess's journey..."

"Of course, Your Highness."

The royal physician also left the room. Now it was only Vasily I and Anna who was left.

With that, their warm conversation began. Anna recounted what had transpired after their return from Constantinople a few months back and her growing relationship with John.

As Vasily I listened to her story, his expression interchange frequently, but laughter still permeates occasionally.

It was a peaceful moment between them, even though Anna was weak at the moment. She muster enough strength to share her tale with her father.

For once, the Grand Prince felt grateful toward John for treating his daughter well. While marriages were often treated as political alliances, it was evident that John and Anna genuinely cared for each other, warming his heart.

Though he had initially seen John as a frivolous young man, he had come to view him as a man of potential, even a future great ruler.

The young co-emperor had singlehandedly saved the Byzantine Empire from decline and set it on a path to revival, a feat few rulers could achieve.

Just imagining the future between his daughter and John brought a smile to Vasily I's face.

However, the recent tragedy that had befallen Anna seemed to distance that dream further from reality. Two weeks – that's all the time Anna had left to live.

The plague had cruelly robbed her of her promising future, and as a father, Vasily I couldn't bear to accept this cruel fate.

"Why her, of all people?" He wondered aloud. "It's as if God wouldn't allow her to be happy and instead chose to make her suffer for eternity."

As their conversation continued, the day seemed to stretch out before them, each moment weighted with the unspoken knowledge that it might be the last time they saw each other. Vasily's heart ached even more, especially for his daughter.

"I'm truly glad," Vasily began, his voice tinged with sadness. "His Highness John is indeed a remarkable man, and the Empire appears to have a bright future ahead, unlike my own."

A heavy sigh escaped him as he remembered his principality's struggles.

Unlike John, he felt unable to make it stronger and had been forced to become a vassal of the Golden Horde, remnants of the once-mighty Mongol Empire. He couldn't help but doubt his abilities as a ruler.

Seeing the melancholy in her father's eyes, Anna reached out to comfort him.

"Father, you are a great man in your own right," she said reassuringly.

"Our principality has endured through the years, thanks to your tireless efforts. Please don't underestimate yourself. To me, you are the greatest."

"Oh, Anna..." Vasily I could only manage to hold back his tears as he heard Anna's heartfelt words.

Shortly thereafter, Ivar and the Royal Physician reentered the chamber where Anna and Vasily had taken refuge.

Accompanied by a group of attendants who would see her off to the awaiting ship, the atmosphere in the room grew heavy with impending farewell.

For the final time, the father and daughter exchanged their parting words.

"I... I hope to see you again," Vasily whispered, a painful acceptance of the seeming impossibility in his voice.

"Please, Father, don't say that," she implored. "We will see each other again, I promise."

Her lips formed a gentle curve, though it didn't radiate the same brilliance as before, it still warmed the hearts of those who witnessed it.

"Well, in that case, I hope it will indeed be so," Vasily replied, returning her smile.

Gradually, the servants escorted her out of the chamber, their figures shrouded in veils.

One by one, they departed, and Ivar, with a respectful bow to Vasily I, hesitantly exited, leaving Vasily and the Royal Physician alone in the room.

In a final act, Vasily offered up his prayers—prayers filled with hope, beseeching whatever higher power might exist to answer his pleas and work a miracle for his daughter.