Jere screamed as he rose from his bed. Mena and the shaman were gone. In their place, at the corner of the room, was a somewhat perturbed Appo.

“Didn’t mean to disturb, Jere,” Appo muttered.

Jere clutched his chest. He could still feel the dead woman’s body crushing his ribs. Her organs pooling out across their squished abdomens. The pressure was fading, but slowly.

“Knock next time.”

“You had a nightmare.” Appo approached with apprehension. “But that means you were asleep. That’s good, right?”

Jere didn’t want to think about it. His thoughts were coming back to him. Sneaking into the temple. The desecration of Mena’s body. Pretending to be a priest. Surely the Gods were not looking kindly upon him as of late. He remembered how terrified he was of his wakefulness. He was terrified that he would never be able to sleep again, and that he would turn into one of those screaming monsters. He thought about how if he hadn’t fallen asleep, he would have slit his throat with his scimitar, just like Duncic before him.

More than any of this however, he realized how he had acted in front of Appo. How fearful he was. It was utterly embarrassing.

Jere glimpsed out the thin slit in his wall. The desert light was dimming. “How long have I been out?”

“Most of the moon. I would have been here sooner, but Adok was… less friendly and refused to let me in. I waited until he left.”

Jere nodded. He had put the young guard through a lot of trouble the previous night, and he hadn’t exactly given him the warmest welcome upon his return. No wonder he was cranky. But Jere had trouble believing that he had slept as long as he did. He missed a lot.

“What of the witch?” Jere asked.

“Exiled.”

“You did all you could have done. More than anyone else.”

Appo frowned. “I discovered who infected Twol. Who actually did.”

“Who?” Jere leaned forward, intrigued.

“A treasure hunter named Mikal. He came from the desert twenty moons ago and attacked Twol. Eevi told me, it appears he and his partner almost died of dehydration crossing the Eivettä and came to her for water.”

Jere laughed. “Eevi and her stories. You need actual friends, healer. She offer a drink too?”

“Well, she did before she told me-”

“You’re convinced this plague is real, healer, yet it seems as though you enjoy witch hunts yourself.” After years of listening to Eevi’s ridiculous tales to patrons, Jere had grown to distrust the woman. They were too plentiful and too entertaining for someone who poured drinks for a living. “If I were you, I would just ask for the Big Man’s coin and be on your way. Stop talking to Ashfolk before you attract worse attention.”

“I can’t do that.” Appo sighed, “Twol wasn’t the only one attacked that night. Before Mikal ran out of the bar, he attacked a man named Amaren.”

Jere recognized that name. He hadn’t heard it in years, but he was rocked with the significance of it. “Amaren Ealamassi.” He almost whispered it. “The desert woman’s husband… and Mendalla’s son.”

“You knew him?”

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Jere shook his head. “Not personally, but Mendalla’s told me stories. Suppose we have to find him then? Or what’s left of him.”

“It’s too late for that,” Appo sighed. “He’s dead as of this morning. We received the news during a meeting with the heads. Mendalla’s distraught, understandably.”

Jere rose from his bed. He realized that was still wearing his trousers from the day before, but he didn’t care. He thought of what to say, but nothing came to mind.

Appo continued. “Did they have a falling out? I gathered they weren’t particularly close.”

“Amaren was a fool, nothing more. Doomed himself by competing with Urash and falling in love with a desertfolk girl. I pity Mendalla but I’d rather us not waste time tracking every idiot that travels through.”

“You’re missing the point. Amaren wasn’t scratched! If Eevi is right, Mikal spit water into Amaren’s mouth that night. We know the disease travels by blood, but if water gets contaminated then everyone could be infected.”

“That’s not a problem. None of the wells are being used right now.”

“What? Eevi told me the city had a multitude of wells.”

“Yes but…” Jere’s thoughts trailed off as it occurred to him why the wells weren’t being used. He felt a pit in his stomach.

“But what?”

“They’ve been closed off for the Day of Akkavan. For the last fortnight. They save the water for the holiday. Try to purify it. They rely on water traders until then.”

“Jere, we need to talk to the Heads now! If this plague spreads by water, the entire town will be infected tomorrow! We need to tell them before it is too late!”.

“Was Mendalla at the execution?”

“No, I didn’t see her. Boah took her place.”

Jere’s said nothing. He turned to the bed, lifting his mattress to the wall. Underneath were several knives and scimitars, along with accompanying straps. There were at least ten of each. He took one knife and lifted up his trousers, showcasing his muscular legs. He began wrapping the knife to the inside of his thigh.

“What’s wrong?”

“If the Big Man is in charge, that is a very bad thing for us.”

“What do you mean? Don’t you work for him? Isn’t he on our side?”

“Boah is on Boah’s side. He does what is best for him. No one holds a better grudge.”

“But he’s been helping us, right? He was the one that called for me in the first place. Wouldn’t he want to know about this disease?”

Jere tied the strap to his leg, grabbing another to wrap around his waist. “I was at the vote. He only called you to undermine the others. Boah broke rank to make Mendalla look foolish. That is the only reason he has brought you here. Now that there’s no one to undermine, he has no reason for you. He will toss you aside, especially now that he’s in charge. He won’t want you stopping anything.”

Appo was stunned. “What makes you so sure?”

“I’ve worked for him for five years. He hides behind a friendly face, but I know his mind. I’ve seen him use his son - that dimwit, Juddken - to rip out the teeth from beggars and cut off the feet of thieves. He revels in it.

Appo sighed. “To be honest, I was becoming suspicious. I had planned to go to Mendalla-”

Jere waved his hand. “Don’t. If Boah is conducting exiles then Mendalla is irrelevant.”

“Then what should I do?”

Jere sighed. For as smart as the healer was, he was lacking a particular level of common sense. “What do you mean? You leave Ash, now.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes you can. If you don’t leave now, you won't be able to later.”

Appo paused. “I don’t even know if I believe you.” He met Jere’s concerned gaze. “You’ve been skeptical of every single person that has crossed our way. You’ve doubted me the entire time, belittling me and criticizing my methods. Why should I trust you that Boah would want to do all these things to me?”

Jere hated to admit it, but he had grown to respect the healer. Not that he liked him - his righteousness grated Jere to no end - but he was impressed by the healer’s resolve. He was unlike any he had ever met before, and he had met plenty of priests, shamans, and healers over the years. All of them, without question, were either con artists or condescending sycophants. But this unassuming healer had surprised him at times. Jere smiled, and sat again on his bed.

“You’re right. I don’t speak your tongue. But understand the last thing I want is for you to travel all this way just to die. Besides, ’those who are dead may not give thanks.’”

Appo couldn’t help but chuckle. “That creed would make sense coming from a mercenary, but from what I’ve heard that’s not even true.”

Jere scoffed. “Most seem to have forgotten. I often forget myself.”