Appo woke in an unfamiliar place. He was wrapped in a thick blanket with his arms crossed over his chest. He was groggy, his thoughts lost in a thick fog that encompassed his entire being. He knew not where he was or how he got there. He knew nothing except that he was weak and tired.

“Ash. I’m in a city called Ash. Four leagues north of the Thorne. I rode an elephant.”

Wherever Appo was, it was outside. It was nighttime, indicated by the iridescent moon overhead. He lay next to a fire pit, its embers long burnt out. He was surrounded on all sides by a rock face as though he were in a trench. Despite his lapse in memory, something about the scenery clashed with what he imagined Ash looked like.

Appo attempted to rise but found his strength lacking. He placed his hands down at his sides and was surprised when he fell over on his left. As his blanket rolled off his shoulders he realized why he was off balance. His left arm ended midway down his forearm.

It was starting to come back to him now. “Screams echoing in the darkness… Juddken and his scimitar… That bastard cut off my hand. I’ll never do surgery again.”

“You would have died if I didn’t remove it.” Appo gazed past the ashen fire pit. It took a moment, but he eventually recognized the figure’s hazy blue eye and weathered skin. Appo couldn’t recall his name just yet, but he knew he had met him before.

“The hand was… lost,” replied Appo. Speaking was a struggle, for he hadn’t used his tongue in some time. “Did it fester?”

“Worse.” The old man spoke in a low whisper, matching Appo’s volume. “Blood rot. You should be dead.”

Appo nodded. He had treated victims of blood rot in the wards of some towns he visited. Almost none survived by the time the delirium set in. He wondered what the blind man had done to save him.

“I would thank you… if only I could remember your name.”

The old man smiled. “Isbibarra. We spoke infrequently.” That name brought back more memories. Isbibarra saved him from the pillories. Maybe it wasn’t his imagination: Isbibarra was the one who shot Juddken with an arrow. Appo also recalled that Isbibarra left him in the pillories, but that was far from his mind. Even further than that was how he related to the plague.

Instead, Appo asked a more pertinent question. “Where are we?”

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“Somewhere in the Rust Waves. About eight leagues west of Ash. I found you and your elephant outside of Ash. You were close to death. I have nursed you back to health since then.”

Appo had never heard of the Rust Waves, though he knew of nothing west of Ash other than the Fincurs. “For how long?”

“A little more than a fortnight.”

“A fortnight.” Fourteen moons. Nothing but a blur to him. No wonder he was so weak. Appo adjusted his position but the revelation made him woozy. He leaned back onto his blanket.

Isbibarra approached. “Careful, Appo. Try not to make sudden movements. This is not the first time you have awoken.”

Appo held his balance, but it was taking all of his strength. “What do you mean?”

“Blood rot takes time to recover from. This is the third time you have spoken with me in the last few moons before you would fall back asleep. Fortunately, you may stay with us if you take it slow.”

“But…” Appo struggled to piece together his situation. “What of Ash?”

“Do not worry of such things now. You must regain your strength.” Isbibarra held out a bowl. “Yak soup. Drink slowly, you are still recovering.”

Appo didn’t hesitate. He was ravenous. The soup was meaty and lukewarm, but despite Isbibarra’s suggestion, he downed the entire soup in a single slurp. Isbibarra must've been keeping him hydrated in the meantime. Maybe fed him some camel fat while he was asleep.

Before Appo could ask for a second helping, a heavyset man made his way to the firepit. He appeared to be in a rush. With his mind working a little faster with some nourishment, Appo quickly recognized Gizzal. His appearance here was strange. “Why was he here? Did Isbibarra work for him?”

“Ati’s dirt… you’re awake!” Despite his excitement, Gizzal spoke even quieter than the other two. “Will he stay with us?”

Isbibarra shrugged. “What is going on?”

“I count twenty outside. They’re moving past, but they’re close.”

Isbibarra nodded. As Gizzal turned away, Isbibarra helped Appo to his feet. “Come. You need to see.” His legs were uncoordinated and unbalanced, but Appo held his own. He put his good arm over Isbibarra’s shoulder, who propped him up with his free hand. Appo was surprised the old man could carry him.

Appo made sense of his surroundings, leaving the fire pit to a more open clearing. Appo spotted his elephant, comfortably nestled between several yak and camels. Despite their calmness, there was a sense of urgency in both Isbibarra and Gizzal that unnerved Appo. If they were in the Eivettä it could mean that raiders would be a threat.

Isbibarra assisted Appo to the edge of the camp and sat him down. As Appo looked out, he realized how high they were. He could hardly see, but the desert was barely outlined from the darkness of the horizon. As Appo adjusted to the dark, Isbibarra placed his hands on the ground.

“I do not sense anything. Are you sure they are out there?” asked Isbibarra.

“Yes. They’ve been coming through for the past hour. Another dozen at least. They haven’t stopped.”

“Good. Let them pass. If they approach, I will know.”

The three of them sat on the edge. As Gizzal and Isbibarra conversed in short quiet bursts, Appo made out the distant silhouettes of figures in the distance. They were spread out over the desert, lurching between dunes. Their arms were slumped and the gaits crooked. Appo couldn’t see what they were wearing or what their faces looked like, but the noise they made was unmistakable. Their faint screams echoed as they lumbered through the desert.