Appo spent much of the following moon sitting cross-legged over the edge of the dune, watching screamers tumble through the sand. They wandered like a child’s scribble before eventually moving elsewhere. Every gangly body served as a reminder of everyone Appo had failed. And they never seemed to end. The moment one would disappear from view and move on, another or two would take its place. The more Appo’s health improved, the more depressed he became. His eyes often fell to his left-sided stump and his thoughts overwhelmed him. He had never felt more useless. He wanted to fall into a grave and be buried alive.
Isbibarra and Gizzal gave him space. Gizzal periodically returned with yak steak and water, though Appo consumed little, preferring to leave most of his meals to his elephant. It would’ve been but a wafer to the massive beast, but true to her character she never squeaked for more. Whether the neighboring yak appeared to mind was lost on him, but he was far from finding any humor in the situation.
At moonfall, Gizzal returned again to Appo. “The Merck requests an audience,” he said.
Appo sighed. He didn’t respond, but he raised his good arm and allowed Gizzal to pull him off the ground. He never thought to connect Isbibarra to Merkamensa before. Appo was familiar with the land of bamboo forests north of his hometown of Jyväsk. He had read of the many bloody wars their civilizations fought hundreds of years ago: Jyväsk had won, but the animosity had died out long before Appo was born. He and many others admired Merkamensans when encountered. It was no surprise he didn’t recognize Isbibarra as one: most were tall, dark-skinned, and had a variety of hair that spanned the color of a rainbow. Isbibarra was anything but, but Appo also knew they lived long and robust lives. Maybe Isbibarra's was approaching his end.
They also despised the word ‘Merck.’ Appo had treated foolish drunkards who threw the word around Merkamensans with reckless abandon. The few who survived their respite never uttered it again. Gizzal would be wise to keep it to himself.
Gizzal led Appo through the trench and into the tarp. The breeze of the figweed plants hit Appo like a wall. His wounded arm stung, and a numbness shot up his shoulder.
The previously messy space had been almost entirely cleaned out, as Gizzal preoccupied himself for two moons by disassembling the bizarre throne conglomeration of elephant bones. At the end of the room sat Isbibarra, smoking his pipe. He turned his head upon the two’s arrival, aiming his ear directly wherever they stood. Appo and Gizzal approached, and Gizzal helped Appo back to the ground. Appo wasn’t sure why he let him. His legs worked perfectly fine.
“Gentlemen,” Isbibarra began, “it is time I explain our purpose here. Our paths have crisscrossed for many a fortnight, and it is by fate’s will that we are together in this foreign place. There is much to do and much to prepare for, but with the healer returning to health I believe it is time to resume our journey.”
Appo didn’t like the sound of that. He was not just growing tired of the desert, but of life itself. The very act of existing exhausted him. “And where would this be?”
“Zabukama: the buried city of the fallen dark empire.”
Gizzal laughed. “So you did find it.”
“What dark empire?” asked Appo, “I’ve never heard of such a place.”
“I forget that you are an outsider, Appo,” Isbibarra replied politely. “You are unfamiliar with the histories of the Eivettä. For this assumption, I apologize… This desert once belonged to the people of Shaddon. They built the stone temples many desert cities are centered around, Ash included. They were a brutal and callous people. They killed many of my own many centuries ago. I believe you are familiar with their corporal punishment, are you not?”
Memories of Juddken’s scimitar flashed through Appo’s mind. “Shaddon Law.” Callous was too kind a word.
Isbibarra continued. “Two months ago, Digram Gizzal hired me and a companion of mine to traverse a region past these dunes in search of gemstones. We were guided by stories from desertfolk and the routes of the raiders. To say travel through the Rust Waves is dangerous would be an understatement, but Mikal and I were well-trained for the journey. He guided me through many of the obstacles we currently face.”
Appo nodded. He recalled Eevi’s story of how Isbibarra and his companion collapsed through the doors of her tavern. More specifically, that he was the earliest known person to be infected with the plague.
Isbibarra continued. “After much searching and sneaking, we found the city. Leagues upon leagues of half-buried pyramids. Black spires and monuments all weathered and crumbling. But in between all of this is an odd temple, almost sunken into the ground, that is filled to the brim with treasure. Gold, silver, diamonds, rubies, opals, garnets… All ripe for the taking.”
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Appo was skeptical. “So you say. Why would it be there after all this time?”
Isbibarra frowned. “There are… things… in the Buried City. Things that I will not speak of for they will make our destination less enticing than it already is. Mikal and I were far from the first ones to explore this area of the desert.” Appo noticed Gizzal lowered his head, perhaps out of shame.
“As we filled our pockets, Mikal discovered something. A necklace made of platinum, worth a fortune to the right buyer. It alone would make generations wealthy.” Isbibarra took another hit from his pipe, inhaling long and deep. “With that he awoke something. Something ancient and evil. It attacked us and wounded my friend. We barely escaped the city with our lives.”
As Isbibarra told his tale, the atmosphere seemed to change. With the wind blowing against the tarp, the scene reminded Appo of old campfire fables his father used to tell him as a child.
“Mikal worsened. He couldn’t sleep. He wouldn’t eat or drink. But he refused to die. It strengthened my resolve to get him help… only now do I realize how helpless he was. When Mikal began screaming, he was taken to the cells, and from there the disease began to spread… I stayed in Ash to save him, to help him recover or see if he would improve. I listened to the townsfolk, the Heads, the shamans, and at times even I became convinced by their words and theories. All that talk of witchcraft… all nonsense. I broke into the cells and I saw what he became. He could not be saved.”
Isbibarra reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace. It was lustrous and polished with a jagged and spiny chain. What Appo couldn’t look away from though was its centerpiece. Its symbol was unmistakable: it was the three crisscrossed lines of Lowya, embellished and magnificent.
“I cradled this necklace for three moons. I don’t need eyes to recognize its design. I knew not who it represented, but there were times I prayed to them. I feared I had been ignored and this would not be surprising, but something about your arrival attracted me from the very beginning. When I heard stories of the guards discussing a strange outsider who wore this symbol, I knew that my prayers had been answered. Your god wanted me to find you.”
Isbibarra handed Appo the necklace. Appo caressed it, his hands sliding over the platinum glistening. He had never seen his god associated with such fine jewelry. “Lowya is her name. She is the goddess of pestilence.”
Gizzal laughed. “Ah, what a coincidence then! Maybe she has something to do with the plague?”
“She is the plague," replied Isbibarra. "Disease, pestilence, all of it. But it is not so simple. Appo, I know you are an outsider. Cityfolk from Jyväsk. I know not how you came across your Lowya, but perhaps you did not know that she is an ancient Shaddon goddess. One that was worshipped by men whose once great empire is now but dust.”
Appo did not. Other than himself, only a few healers followed her doctrine. None knew her history. He stared deeply into the necklace.
“Us three are like the lines in your god’s pendant, that is no coincidence. From the beginning, I wished for you to accompany me. I believed that was lost when I encountered you at the pillory, when you were maimed by that vengeful guard. But your god gave me a second chance when I found you in the desert. Through me, she has saved your life so you can make things right again.”
“And how do you suppose we do that?” Appo had not looked up from the necklace.
“We right what was wrong and return what was stolen. Shaddon is a cursed civilization, rich though they were. Their ruins are haunted by the ghosts of sins committed past. Like a body unbalanced, the action of Mikal and I disturbed your god. The only way to stop this disease is to return this necklace to its rightful place.”
Appo took it all in. To see the symbol of Lowya on such fine jewelry. To hear Isbibarra’s tale. To know that everything that had taken place could be made right with one simple action.
“Bullshit,” Appo muttered.
Isbibarra furrowed his brow. “Pardon?”
“I said ‘bullshit.’ Are you deaf as well as blind?”
Gizzal chuckled nervously. “That wasn’t called for.”
“I… um...” Isbibarra tried to grin but he was clearly slighted by the curt response. “Have I offended you?”
“I’ve listened to Ashfolk drone on and on about curses, and you wish for me to trade one curse for another. You mock me and my profession. The idea that something as simple as returning jewelry would make everything right… This will bring nothing but our deaths.”
“The Shaddon do not operate like your scrolls, healer,” replied Isbibarra, attempting to stay civil. “Their gods do not like their toys trifled with. Their power is immense. These are not mischievous godlin deities that court the minds of shamans.”
“What you speak of is hardly better than witchcraft!” Appo had never been this cruel to anyone before, but the circumstances were piling on top of each other. His voice rose as he riled himself up. “We sit here in the middle of this godforsaken desert, surrounded by enemies on all sides. You preoccupy yourself with fables and you’ve actually convinced yourself that you live in one! This isn’t something a quest can fix!”
Gizzal shushed at Appo. “Stay quiet! Our enemies have sensitive ears!”
“I LOST MY HAND!” Appo was roaring now. “My livelihood, my purpose to live! All because you waited until the last possible moment to save me! You were not there for me, Lowya was not there for me! I survived because of me! I wanted it! And for what: to help you on some fucking treasure hunt?”
Isbibarra let a moment of silence pass by, allowing only the rustling of the wind to truncate the quiet.
“I see I have upset you,” Isbibarra finally said. He spoke in a delicate manner. “For everything, I again apologize. Perhaps we should continue this conversation another time when we have calmer dispositions.”
Appo didn’t disagree. He tossed the pendant over the fire, it barely passing Isbibarra’s head and tumbling over the rug behind them. He immediately turned and left the tent.