After an hour or two of sulking, Appo came to regret his outburst. He acted like a child. Still, he was being asked to undertake yet another journey so soon after his recovery, one that required more disbelief than he was willing to offer. If he were being honest, he wanted to leave. But where could he go? Even if he returned to Jyväsk, the already hostile terrain between here and there had become even more treacherous.

Instead, Appo returned to the yak post at the edge of the dune. He couldn’t see any screamers but he could hear their echoes. They were still pouring out of Ash. If he had been unconscious for most of the fortnight and they were still coming through, the plague must have struck at the worst possible moment. Hundreds could be roaming the desert now. Perhaps thousands.

“The Heads should have listened.”

Appo turned. Gizzal stood behind him, slouched over the yak post he was once tied to. Appo sighed, looking back out over the desert horizon. “Not that it matters. It’s too late now.”

“Say what you will about the Merck and his necklace,” replied Gizzal. “I’m not sure I even believe what he says, but this?” He gestured out towards the screams. “Who could have been right about this? The Heads all wanted you to be wrong, regardless of the cost.”

“Yet you once voted for me to speak.”

“That’s not true. I abstained. Big difference.”

Appo smiled. Gizzal spoke with a frankness that was refreshing to hear from someone with his influence. “So… why?”

“My father taught me Ati sees all misdeeds. He knows every whore we bed and every desertfolk we swindle. Call it a guilty conscience, but I realized my place once Isbibarra returned. People died because of me. I could never confess to the high priest, but a part of me hoped you could do what we brought you here to do.”

“That was foolish of you.”

“Just like it was foolish of you to come here.”

“It was,” said Appo. “I should have left. I could have chartered a boat to anywhere in Ostior. Preferably somewhere with rain.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“I don’t know.” Appo paused, reflecting on the consequences of his once altruistic actions. “I thought I could make a difference… I wish I left. I will wish so until the day I die.”

“You may be the most depressing man I’ve ever met,” replied Gizzal. Appo was numb to the insult, though he didn’t disagree with him. Still, it was far from the best thing he needed to hear at the moment.

Before Gizzal could leave Appo with his own thoughts again, he crouched down and handed him a piece of jewelry. It was a ring adorned with a bright red gemstone. It was massive and lopsided, garish in appearance. “It’s beautiful, no?” asked Gizzal. “Tell me what it’s made of.”

Appo was not receptive. “To be entirely honest with you, I really don’t give a shit.”

“Guess. I insist.”

“I don’t know… ruby?”

“It’s ghormite,” replied Gizzal with pride. “Colored rock. Red shale. Desert polyp. Traders have many names for it, all adequate in describing how worthless it is. Looks pretty though, doesn’t it?”

“Why are you showing me a fake rock?”

“I always carry fake rocks with me. When you’re known for selling minerals, it pays to advertise your product. It also makes me a target. Losing a shipment of true gemstones would ruin me. But losing a shipment of ghormite? I’d be more upset if I spilled mead.”

Appo recalled his first few meetings with the Head. His jewelry had been sparkling and vibrant, almost tasteless in presentation. To see him now, adorned in nothing but a white tunic, was striking. He was no longer a Head, but a real, vulnerable person. Overweight but not sedentary. An expressive face with sad eyes. It was the face of a man with little confidence, but with an awareness to recognize it.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Most of what I own is ghormite now,” Gizzal continued. “What little gemstones I have are stored in a vault somewhere in Beyshran. Enough to get me through a year if it ever came to it. Gemstones have become difficult to sell in the desert, even during a holiday. My family was close to destitute even before I was born.”

“So it’s an act?”

“Oh certainly! But as you can imagine, us Gizzals never got to where we are from kindness. My family has many enemies, but we’re saved only because of our status amongst the Heads. Without that and that alone, we are no different than desertfolk. I’ve known this my entire life, even as I brandished the jewelry and paid my merchants, only I pay with credit my family has taken out for years.”

“Ah.” Appo had briefly lived in Beyshran, one of the larger cities along the Thorne. He was familiar with their bands of debt collectors, who passed from town to town pitching loans to desperate traders and farmers. If the debt could not be repaid, the collectors would return in full force. It was not unheard of that debtors were sold into slavery. They were a group Appo made sure to steer clear of, even at his most impecunious times.

Gizzal continued. “I can be long-winded, but I want you to know I understand where you are. That feeling of losing everything.”

Appo laughed unkindly. As if a man with the privilege of Gizzal could possibly know his struggles. He had more money at his poorest than Appo would ever have at his wealthiest. It was the mindset of a man who desperately wanted to feel bad for himself.

“Okay, that was presumptuous of me,” Gizzal corrected, “but understand that my family comes from coin. From my great-grandfather, Barnabas, to my father, Abu, we have known nothing but wealth. And for me to lose that… I might as well have lost both my hands.”

“I would gladly trade places with you, for I’d be whole again and richer,” Appo replied.

Gizzal sighed. “I do not apologize for who I am, only for what I have done. And for the people who I have sent to their deaths.”

Appo was becoming annoyed. “Do you wish for forgiveness? For sending Isbibarra in search of cursed treasure? Even if I were still a priest I wouldn’t be the one to forgive you.”

“It wasn’t just Isbibarra and Mikal. It was the other five I sent before them. All of them perished.”

Appo scoffed. “Maybe they fled with your coin.”

Gizzal shook his head. “No. I know deep in my soul that the desert claimed them.”

Despite his best efforts, Appo was becoming Gizzal’s confessor. He wasn’t sure why, Gizzal had little reason to trust Appo with anything, and Appo had given little reason to prove himself sympathetic. Yet Gizzal clearly was suffering. He needed to share his state of mind, and it appeared he wasn’t going to do it with Isbibarra, no matter how long the two shared space on the dune.

“So you sent them after a gemstone mine?” Appo had given up. Cruelty wasn’t in his nature.

Gizzal nodded. “Barnabas was a strong man. He was the commander of a Jyväskan outpost when Alicudi the Great ruled these lands. He braved the desert to reach Zabukama. He left with a garrison and returned alone with enough gemstones to enrich generations. But the stories he told my father of that place and the things he encountered… Stories of half-men and infinitesimal tentacles and beings that can crush a man in their fists, not to mention everything in the Rust Waves… I could never go myself.”

“And you sent Isbibarra despite all that.”

“I had also heard stories of a blind sellsword through the sand. He sounded formidable, but I’ve come to discover he is even more than that. I believe that he made it to the city. I also believe him when he speaks of making things right. Mercks are closer to the gods than we are, they are more in tune with their plane… he understands these things more than we do.”

“If he is so formidable, why does he need us? Why would he go out of his way to bring us along?”

“He speaks to me often of his blindness. How sensitive he is to the movement of others. But the sand makes that difficult. Out here amongst the dunes, he truly is blind. That is why he traveled with a partner. I also believe there is no one else he could reach out to. He spoke only to me and you in Ash. We are the only ones he trusts.”

“I’m not so sure about that. He stayed with Eevi, the owner of the tavern, for almost a fortnight. They trusted each other far more than either of us.

Gizzal shrugged. “Then I don’t know. Mercks and their code of honor?”

The two fell quiet. The distant screams had been drowned out by a hollow breeze that passed over the dune.

“I appreciate you speaking to me,” said Appo. “You are kinder than I expected. But please, I need to be alone. I need time with my thoughts.”

“I understand,” replied Gizzal. “I’ll just leave you with this: when the Merck and I were first brought to this place, I had no jewels on me. Nothing but these ghormite rings. The Merck kept them in a bag, so maybe he thought there was some value to them. I know the raiders did. But when they brought me to that tent back there, I was prepared to give them everything. I would have offered them what little I had left… Once I thought that would have been the end of me. Offering up the last vestige of my great-grandfather’s sacrifice. But when presented with the possibility of death at the hands of those raiders… never did I ever more wish to live.”

Appo didn’t respond. He had grown tired and had little else to say to the fallen gemstone merchant. But those final words stuck in his head. He would ponder them long into the night.