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VIII

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Spain, 1609

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Winter was approaching.

It could be felt in the wind as the temperature dropped day by day.

Juan Carlos was taking care of Rocio, his mother, who was sick with cold while his brother was recovering from the strange mixture of herbs that his own mother had given them a couple of days before.

All because of the plague.

His father was the first to die.

Juan Carlos squeezed the tanned cloth he had in a tub of water. He folded it several times and placed it on her forehead. 

He used all the blankets he had in the house, but it didn’t seem to be enough. From time to time, he lifted his head to check on his brother who slept like a bear in hibernation. 

He tried to wake Francis to help him with their mother. Not even slapping him managed to wake him up.

Sigh.

He felt a strong pressure in his chest. He knew it was the pain of losing his father recently and now he would have to suffer a second loss, his mother's.

He felt his eyes sting.

How could all this happen? It had been a little over a year since his beloved Cecilia had died. He didn’t want to think about her. It hurt like hell every time he did.  Now, it would be his parents. Life was being cruel.

They were good people.  They had lived for some time on the outskirts of Valencia. They sowed and harvested their own food. From very young, Juan Carlos and his brother, helped their father with everything. Even when they took fresh food to the nearest village to sell. They did not earn very much money, but it was enough to pay for what they needed.  His father wanted to buy more land and expand his fields. He was convinced he could earn a lot of money with oranges, but it was not going to be possible.

He returned home with the disease in his body.

Rocio was so devastated by his death, she began making strange decisions. 

She did not want to lose her children too.

So without thinking about the consequences, she prepared an herbal tea.  It was a family legend, like those stories your grandmother tells you before going to bed.

No one knew if the herbal tea worked. 

No one dared to try and prove its effectiveness because Rocío and all her female ancestry were very powerful healers. They were not witches. They did not know about spells, but they did know about herbs.

Rocío tried to save her husband with herbs but it was too late for him.  That was when she began to panic about losing her children also. 

She didn’t think. She didn’t waste time. 

She prepared the herbal tea according to the legend her mother told her and gave it to her children.

She also drank it, within a few hours, her children fell into the deep sleep of eternal life, and she then understood it was too late for her.

She cried as much as her tired body allowed her. She resisted for two days before succumbing to the pre-death state, because she had to make sure her children would be okay.

Juan Carlos was the first to wake up after sleeping for two days and two nights, as did his brother.

The infusion of eternal life was working for them.

When he woke, the first thing he saw was his mother lying on her bed. Rocio’s body burned with fever and her mind would not last much longer.

He rushed to her side. She took his hand and kissed the back of it. 

“The herbal tea worked,” said Rocío with a weary thread. Nothing can kill you. You must leave here as soon as possible, or else the inquisitors will come for you. "Juan Carlos squeezed her hand.

“Mother, you're delirious, we've only slept at night. As usual. And soon, "he sighed," we will fall ill too. Just like you.”

She shook her head.

“Don’t forget the legend, Juan Carlos,” she whispered, “Please do not forget it.”

At the moment, Juan Carlos didn’t have time to remember that legend. He had to do something to save his mother's life.

He got up and went looking for help. A doctor perhaps, although he knew that no one wanted to approach the plague sufferers. Not even the doctors.

Everyone was afraid of dying.

Spain had fallen into total misfortune.

The plague was destroying the population. Valencia, was forced to close the gates to the city. Nobody came in and no one left so as not to spread the contagion.

The disease spread through the air and reached every corner, even though the doors were closed.

He went outside to get a breath of air. He needed to feel his lungs with clean air.

After a while he heard a loud noise coming from inside the house.

He hurried inside. His mother tried to stand up in a moment of lucidity and strength. She tried to get to where Francis was, who seemed to be waking up.

“Mother!” Exclaimed Juan C., and rushed to her aid. You must not get up.

He laid her down on her bed again.

She smiled at him and took him by the hand.

“Take care of your brother, I love you.” Her words were barely a whisper before she plunged into a dream in which she would know death.

She took her last breath.

Juan Carlos felt his heart shatter. The ones he loved the most in the world were gone forever and he could do nothing to stop it

He wept over his mother's body, screaming for her to wake up. He had recently had the same reaction, only that time, he was mourning the loss of his beloved Cecilia.

Francis, still drowsy, joined in his pain.

And there, as they wept for the loss of the woman who gave them life twice, many things happened outside that would change the fate of Juan Carlos and Francisco Requena.