Nostradamus was sitting in his office as always, writing prescriptions and combining ingredients to ‘cure’ the plague. That cure was of course ineffective, but it gave people a sense of hope, so he seemed to make it more and more.
Then, a man entered his office, wearing his plague garments, and he looked at Nostradamus while leaning against a wall. “You should stop, Michel. Your gout is getting worse and worse.”
“Maybe just a couple of weeks more.” answered Nostradamus, he walked to his chair slowly, his legs practically killing him. “I don’t really have anything to do besides this.”
The man sighed, and walked to the chair in front of Nostradamus. “Just retire, get married again… your late wife would probably allow it.”
Nostradamus gulped. “I- I don’t think–”
“I think you can.” cut the man off. “Stop sulking, you have to face reality. I hear that the rich widow in town is interested in you.”
Nostradamus chuckled nervously. “Thomas, even if I get married, how long will I be alive? 3 years? 4 years? This gout is literally killing me, if I have children with another woman, I won’t see them grow up.”
“Then don’t have children.” scoffed Thomas.
“Easy for you to say.” said Nostradamus, shaking his head.
Thomas sighed. “Michel, it’s okay, my wife and I will take care of this place, you could retire and live peacefully after this.”
“You just want to take my position…”
Thomas rolled his eyes. “I’m serious Michel, you’re dying.” he said.
Nostradamus clicked his tongue. “Fine, if you want to get rid of me that much.” he stood up, groaning in pain a bit. “But I will not get married, unless a miracle happens.”
Thomas perked up on the words ‘miracle.’ “What miracle?”
Nostradamus scoffed. “If my gout ever gets cured, I will marry that widow,” she swore. “But no children!”
Thomas chuckled. “You sure about that friend?” he said teasingly. “You may have to eat your words.”
“My gout will not be cured.” Nostradamus stated. “So it’s practically impossible.”
Thomas laughed, and stood up, before walking away from Nostradamus. “We’ll see friend, we’ll see.”
Next morning, Nostradamus had just woken up from his nightly slumber, he sat on his bed, before standing. He walked towards a table, and drank water. When he gulped the last drop of the water, he noticed something, he was standing perfectly fine, no pain, no weakness, nothing.
He looked towards his foot, and he saw that there’s nothing wrong with it. He could jump, he could run, in fact, he felt like he was young again. He walked towards the mirror, and saw that his skin looked like it was de aged, like he was in his twenties again,
“What kind of witchcraft is this?” questioned Nostradamus suspiciously.
He examined his body once more, and he found a ring on his finger. It was a dirty golden ring, shining faintly as he touched it. “What is this?” he murmured.
He tried to take it off, but it was of no use. He spent almost all his morning taking off the ring, but it won’t budge at all.
He panted loudly as he was tired of trying, and sat down on a chair. “I- What in god’s name is going on…”
He then just decided to hide it for a while, and he prepared to go to work, to the hospital.
He entered his office back in the hospital, his face looked pale, still confused about what had happened to him. It was a miracle that his gout was cured in a day, sure, but if people somehow discovered it… would it be considered blasphemy? But then again, the catholics are losing their power more and more, maybe it won’t come to that.
He put his belongings on the desk, and started to wear his garments quickly, hoping that no one would notice that he could ‘walk’ normally now.
But then, a certain man entered the room.
“How are your legs, Michel?” questioned the man, smirking as he leaned against the door frame.
Nostradamus flinched. He turned around, and saw Thomas, smiling smugly at him. “D-Did you do this? H-How?”
“What are you talking about?” Thomas said innocently. “I just noticed that you’re walking fine, so I was just asking.”
“Don’t lie to me Thomas.” said Nostradamus, rushing towards Thomas, grabbing his collar, a feat he couldn’t do until today. “I- I know you’re somehow involved in this.”
Thomas just smiled, and patted Nostradamus’ shoulder. “How are your legs, friend?” questioned Thoams again softly.
Nostradamus froze, and he released Thomas’s collar. He took a step back, and sat down on the chair.
“How?” he questioned weakly.
“Me and my wife have been watching you for a while,” said Thomas calmly. “You’re a kind man Michel. You spend your whole life devoting yourself to help people in these times… even if you have severe gout that could possibly evolve into something worse…”
“Who– What… are you?” stammered Nostradamus. “You came out of nowhere… volunteered to help the infected, at the time where people are sick with it.”
“I’m just a simple man.” smiled Thomas. He sat down in front of Nostradamus, and calmly stared at Nostradamus. “I saw that you’re talented with astrology.”
“Yes… I told you many times about my family…”
“You’re quite talented with it.” continued Thomas.
Nostradamus just nodded weakly, confused on where Thomas is going with this.
“You see the ring on your finger?” pointed Thomas. “Focus your consciousness on it.”
“W-What?”
“Just do it Michel.”
Nostradamus then stared at the ring. He gulped, and he focused on the ring. Sooner or later, his eyes rolled back, his body spasm, and he began to sweat profusely.
Nostradamus woke up on a wide street of a city. He looked around, and saw crimson flames around him. Heat was heating every inch of his body, the sting of the fire could be felt, making his body sweating heavily as he had trouble breathing.
The city, is burning.
People were running away from the fire, some had burn marks, blisters in their skins, some brought their things, panicking as the fire spread.
He could also see rats coming out of the warehouses, a lot of them didn’t make it, burned, roasted alive as the fire kept spreading.
Nostradamus couldn’t move. He tried to touch the running people, but they just passed through him.
His mouth then moved on his own, speaking on his own.
'The blood of the just will commit a fault at London,
Burnt through lightning of twenty threes the six:
The ancient lady will fall from her high place,
Several of the same sect will be killed.'
After he spoke, he was jolted awake, the fire was gone, and he was back at his office, with Thomas staring at home with a strange smile.
“W-What was that?” questioned Nostradamus, swiping his sweat from his forehead.
“So you have talent.” nodded Thomas. The man then stood up, offering his hand to Nostradamus. “Welcome back, my new apostle.”
Nostradamus just stared at him confused. But something inside him was compelled to grab Thomas’s hand, sealing the deal.