Three Moons Until the Day of Akkavan

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The healer Appo rode atop an elephant along the northern ridge of the Thorne River. They were still on the Loam Road, but the path here was long neglected. Few traders ventured this far west from the coast, and most travelers had little motivation to traverse endless hills of sand and steppes and rock. The only information Appo knew about this region of Ostior was that departure from the river would mean certain death from dehydration and sunstroke.

“Curse this land, it’s too hot,” he swore to himself. Appo pulled his scarf over his head, but he continued to sweat.

Appo’s elephant plodded along the path. If she was encumbered by her journey, she did not let it show. Appo was grateful for his sturdy companion and patted her head. This far north, elephants were the most convenient and reliable form of travel, provided they had consistent access to water. They moved at a steady pace, and their large size prevented most travelers from becoming prey. Appo wasn’t unfamiliar traveling with them, but he was uncomfortable traveling alone, especially this far from the Republic. Elephants were normally far out of his price range, but the payment the courier provided had been generous.

Appo knew the elephant had a name, but it was long and difficult to pronounce. He had forgotten it only moments after he left Lockwood. He doubted the elephant would care.

The tediousness of the trek made it easy for Appo’s mind to wander. He mostly thought of how he ended up here. Months prior, he had settled in the small village of Lockwood treating tooth rot and jaundice. Common ailments of northerners, indeed most in Ostior. Most treatments were simple and required little strategy. The most difficult part of jaundice was convincing its sufferers they need not drink the liquor that caused it. That liquor tended to be saved to treat those with tooth rot, which required little more than a hammer and a strong arm. They were frustrating and unappreciated duties, but Appo’s methods were effective and his patients paid a livable wage.

Appo would’ve been content to continue his thankless job if he had not been found by the odd courier, adorned in nondescript beige robes commonly worn by desertfolk. “Greetings healer,” the courier had begun, “your services are requested at the city of Ash. A plague of which the cause is not known is in dire need of identification. Ash is approximately twenty five leagues west of Lockwood along the north bank of the Thorne. You will be greeted by a mediary four leagues from Ash, who will guide you the rest of the way. Coin will be provided for travel, and successful treatment and guidance will receive five times as much.”

Before Appo could accept or deny the payment, the courier handed him a bag of coin, and continued eastward. Seemed the courier had absolutely no intention of returning to Ash.

Looking back on it, Appo could have easily used the coin to travel east as well. He could have purchased a camel for a fifth of the price of the elephant and be well on his way to the coast, where the weather was cooler, and the environment was a little more forgiving. Still, it was in a healer’s nature to help those in need.

As the temperature continued to rise and the sun’s rays bared down, Appo wished he had been a little more selfish.

Appo consulted his map again. He had never been to Ash, and other than their extravagant holidays he knew little of the people from there. Ash didn’t reside along the riverbank, which frustrated him. “Do Ashfolk not drink?” he wondered aloud. He had no idea how to measure a league. How many had he traveled over the past few moons? A dozen? Perhaps he bypassed it. He didn’t even know for certain whether his mediary would show. His gut told him he was making the right move, but he couldn’t help but be cautious. Trusting people was a common way to get killed in the north.

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Looking up, Appo spotted a lone figure in the distance. “Bless Lowya”, he muttered under his breath.

As Appo approached, he made out the features of this mediary. He was tall, which was unusual. Most desertfolk didn’t have enough food to grow as big as they could. The closer he got, Appo saw why; this man was a mercenary. He looked as though he hailed from the savannas or even the steppes. His face was tan from the sun, and under his tunic Appo could make out a muscular frame. Like most mercenaries, he carried a scimitar around his waist. Unlike most mercenaries, Appo figured he knew how to use it. His posture was too confident to appear otherwise.

Appo let the elephant stride until he could make out the mercenary’s face. This man was unlike any other mercenary Appo had seen before. Most were young, overconfident children too big to stay at home and too foolish to do much else. From Appo’s experience, they tended to strut around brandishing swords, talking too much and saying too little. They often ran at the first sign of a legitimate threat.

When Appo read this mercenary’s face, he sensed only boredom. That both intimidated and comforted him.

The elephant halted and bellowed a light squeak. Appo looked as accommodating as he could to the mercenary, who continued to glare with disinterest.

“I take it you’re the mediary to Ash?” Appo asked.

The mercenary stood a second or two longer than Appo was comfortable with before responding. “Anyone stupid enough to travel the Thorne alone must be a healer,” he said.

Appo was surprised. Most northerners reacted with hostility to healers, and he tried to not let it bother him. However, most responded this way because they were afraid of what healers were capable of. Few had reacted to indifference. None had called him “stupid.” He hated to admit it, but Appo was offended.

“Worry not,” Appo responded as courteously as possible, “I’m capable of defending myself, as deceiving as my looks may be. I know this land. I know that raiders will pass me in favor of the traders, and whatever beasts I encounter will do best to avoid picking fights with an elephant.”

The mercenary was unimpressed. “I’m not talking about the beasts and the raiders, you ignoramus. Your supplies. You’re not equipped to survive the desert.”

“Ignoramus?" Appo thought. "The nerve of the bastard.” Belittling was something he wasn’t used to. Northerners were suspicious, but they were polite even in their roughness. Most traded for a living, and needed charm to survive. Appo was acquainted with their niceties, as superficial as they may be. This man had no such qualms, it seemed.

“Do you greet everyone this way?” Appo replied.

“Just ones I don’t expect to survive.” The mercenary approached the elephant and rubbed its trunk. “She is thirsty. Have you told her to drink?”

“You mistake me for a shaman. I don’t talk to beasts, and I don’t talk to trees.”

“Healers, shamans… all the same. Magical fools.” The mercenary continued to caress the elephant, who relaxed a little. “You need to remind them to drink. They suffer from the heat too, but their spirits are stronger. Won’t complain until they’re dead.”

Appo huffed, but the mercenary had a point. He himself noted that the elephant had been moving slower recently. He hadn’t thought anything of it.

“Have you come just to insult me, mercenary?”

The mercenary released the elephant’s trunk. “You can call me Jere.” He beckoned the elephant to the riverbank, and the elephant eagerly dipped its trunk into the water. Appo could do little but begrudgingly scorn.

“Pleasure to meet you, Jere,” Appo said with just a hint of frustration. “Can you enlighten me on the situation in Ash? Anything helps.”

“Nope,” replied Jere, “I’m but a lowly and humble servant of Boah Awil-Ishtar. My duty isn’t to think. All I can tell you is that there’s a plague. Nothing quite like it. If it were up to me, I’d let it do what plagues are meant to do, and let it take the city. Place is cursed, after all.”

Appo saw this as an opportunity. Most in Ostior couldn’t tell the difference between a disease and a curse. “What exactly do you think I plan to do once I get to Ash?” Appo asked.

Jere grunted. “If you were a shaman, you would say some words and splash some water. That’s what holy men do. But since you’re a healer, my guess is you’re gonna ride up, say ‘there’s nothing I can do’ and leave with our coin.”

Appo understood. The unfortunate reality of being a healer was understanding how little you knew. “I’m not a raider,” Appo replied. “I’m not here to rob your people. I’m here to provide guidance. Even if there is nothing I can do against this plague, there are ways to prevent it from spreading.” Although Jere had never quite looked away from Appo, it appeared as though he finally met his gaze. “To put it in a way a mercenary would understand, ‘I can’t make money off of you if you’re dead.’”

Jere couldn’t help but smirk. As if he hadn’t expected the gall from a healer. Appo may have butchered the creed, but Jere seemed to respect the effort. “’Those who are dead may not give thanks,’” he recited back.

Appo nodded. “Ah, that’s it.” At this point, the elephant appeared to have gotten its fill of the water. Appo turned the elephant back up the riverbank. “Shall we move on, then?”

Jere turned towards the hills. He brought his fingers up to his lips and blew a loud whistle. A short distance away, a camel groaned and rose to its feet from beyond a nearby rock cropping. Jere leaped with ease onto the camel and rode up the side of the riverbank. Appo followed suit, noting that his elephant’s pace had improved.