Boah led the six men to the outskirts of town. They walked down a brisk path before approaching a small hut assembled from fired mud bricks. Beyond the hut, Appo could make out a multitude of stones jutting out from the ground. It appeared to be the city graveyard, and many of the graves were freshly dug. The hut’s entrance was flanked by two guards, through which a quiet moan escaped from inside.

Boah broke from the group to speak to the guards. As he did so, Juddken leaned closer to Appo. “This is where we’ve been taking the most recent plague victims,” he said.

“Why here?” Appo inquired. “Surely this can’t be where you hold all of them?”

Juddken shook his head. “Some have had the fortune to ask for death before they lose the ability to speak. This is where we cure that.” Juddken spoke with a matter-of-fact tone. Whether he felt one way or the other about them was lost on Appo.

“How many people in Ash have the plague?”

“Not sure. A dozen, maybe? I forgot how many are in the cells.”

“And how many have come here?”

“At least five. Father won’t let us cure them unless they’re able to give the go-ahead themselves. Says it brings ‘misfortune’ to the city. After what they’ve seen, if given the chance all of them come here.”

Appo didn’t like how Juddken spoke. The fact these men wanted to die seemed inconsequential to him. Still, Juddken wasn’t attempting to hide anything. The more Appo knew, the better. “Who are the people getting sick? What were their professions?”

“Mostly cell guards and traders. A few kids.”

Appo felt like he was punched in the gut. Diseases truly spared no one. He continued his inquiry. “To the best of your knowledge, did everyone contract the… ‘curse’ after they visited the shaman?”

“Yes, as far as I know. Obviously not everyone told us where they got it, but at least three guards and two traders visited the shaman before they started feeling sick.”

“So that’s five. What about the rest? Were they all proven to have gone to the shaman at least once at some point? Do we have witnesses?”

Before Juddken could respond, Boah returned from his conversation with the guards. He spoke with urgency. “I’ve been informed that Bjorn has begun to pass over. If you want to see this plague in full force, Appo, I suggest we move quickly.” Boah moved behind Appo and Juddken and pushed them through the hut entrance. Jere followed closely behind them.

The interior of the hut was lined with mud and a paste Appo didn’t recognize. The hut would’ve been adequate protection from the humidity, were it not for the source of heat in the hut’s center. There stood a bed that contained a single bearded man. An older woman adjacent to the man placed a wet rag on the bearded man’s forehead. He grunted in response.

The first thing Appo noticed was the smell: it smelled like death. Appo was well acquainted with the sticky-sweet smell of death and decay, but its source could always be traced to a corpse or a rotting limb. This smell didn’t make sense, though. It was concentrated, but Appo couldn’t see why. From the outset, the bearded man looked no different than many other infected persons Appo had encountered over his lifetime. He was skinny, but not unnaturally so. His skin was white, and his forehead was perspiring. The hair on his beard was somewhat thinned. What stood out was the bearded man’s face, as he appeared to be in an unbearable amount of pain. The bags under his eyes indicated a lack of sleep. He held his hands at his sides, guarding his abdomen. It was only then that Appo noticed the man was tied down to the bed at his feet and his neck, and that his left hand was bandaged.

With horror, Appo realized where the smell was coming from. A pile of mush formed between the man’s legs as they all stood around him. It looked to Appo like intestine. The older woman was quick to scoop it away into a bucket below the bed. Appo was used to gore, but he could tell the other men weren’t. Several guards held their mouths over their faces in an attempt to not retch. One of them seemed to fail, for he ran out of the hut.

Boah walked alongside the bearded man’s bed and looked him over. He turned to the old woman, “How far along is he, Eanna?” The woman simply frowned as she reached for another wet rag.

Boah moved to the far end of the bed and addressed the group. “This poor soul is Bjorn. He is a cell guard. For the last few moons, our jail has served as the site for those afflicted with this blight. Soon, it became clear that the jail was no longer adequate for the cursed, so the decision was made to condemn the site. As the men boarded the windows, poor Bjorn here was scratched. This curse spreads by blood, you see. He immediately volunteered himself to the hut in case he turned. Unfortunately, it appears to be the case. He has not eaten since the attack, and he has not slept in three moons.”

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Appo looked over his case yet again. The bearded man, Bjorn, had lost all muscle tone and fat reserves. The bandages covered the scratch, whose indentions seemed to protrude from the wraps. Bjorn pressed his hands deeper into his abdomen.

“Okkan, help me…” Bjorn muttered pathetically, “it hurts so much.”

Eanna approached Boah with hesitation. “Sir, I’m afraid that Enlil has yet to return. He hasn’t read Bjorn his Last Rites.”

“Yes, so I was told. ‘Too busy planning the Holiday’, cowardly bastard. Some high priest he is…” Boah gestured at Appo. “No matter! Appo, you’re a priest, aren’t you? All healers I’ve met are.”

Appo began to sweat even more than the stuffy hut had already done to him. Appo figured now wouldn’t be the best time to admit that he worshiped the Goddess of Pestilence to these timorous people. She could forgive him for lying just this once. “Um… I’m not a priest… I know some of the words, but I’m not consecrated with any of the gods, so the words would be meaningless. Perhaps maybe-”

Jere cut him off. “Stop blabbering, healer. Sir Awil-Ishtar, I admit I am not allowed to speak the words of the local gods, but I could speak the words common amongst those in the south. It’s been a long time, but consecrations are forever binding. It won’t be from Okkan, but they’re something.”

Boah nodded. “Forgive me. I forgot who you once were in another life. The words don’t matter as much as the person doing it.”

Appo couldn’t believe it. He had imagined Jere with a litany of former professions. Never in an eon could he have predicted Jere was once a holy man… and still was. He didn’t think Jere believed in any god. Perhaps a god of cynicism?

Jere approached Bjorn and outstretched his hands. With his scimitar still attached to the waist, his look couldn’t have contrasted more with what he was doing. He looked a little uncomfortable; it was clear he hadn’t done this in a long time. He spoke to names of a god Appo didn’t recognize. “Bjorn, son of…” Jere looked to Boah with reluctance. “Do you know his father’s name?”

“Bjorn.”

“Ah… Bjorn, son of Bjorn, I hereby read you your Last Rites. May these words comfort you as your soul leaves our plane.” Jere cleared his throat and looked to the ceiling, eyes closed, and arms rising.

“The end is the beginning

Spirits pass through time

As water returns to the sea

Through the mountains

and the riverbanks

In the ocean they are free.”

Bjorn was past the point of recognizing where he was. During Jere’s speech, Bjorn began scratching his wrists. His eyes rolled into the back of his head. Still, Appo could sense in the air a modicum of comfort. The stuffy room that smelled of death became a little more tolerable.

“Now we wait,” Juddken said.

Moments passed. Bjorn continued muttering to himself, praying to Okkan over and over again. After a while, he began whispering the names of other gods as if he were running down a list. It seemed he had given up on Okkan to save him.

“I see it.” Bjorn said. “I see it. I see it. I see it.” He repeated it slowly, with increasing fervency.

Eanna reached over to grab the rag off Bjorn’s head. It was soaked in his sweat. As Eanna grabbed the rag, Bjorn’s eyes widened, and he lurched forward.

“Don't touch me you wicked bitch!”

Eanna jumped back. Boah nodded to Jere, who reached for his scimitar. Bjorn flung his head back into his bed, his crisscrossed tracks of veins pushing through the skin. His muscles spasmed, and he thrust his abdomen as far in the air as he possibly could. He had bitten his lip earlier, for his mouth was bleeding.

“Don’t fucking touch me, don’t fucking touch me, don’t fucking touch me…”

Bjorn scratched his wrists with increasing intensity. His skin became red, followed by a low trickle of blood. Skin and hair pooled under his fingernails. “The noise… It’s making me itchy. Oh gods, I’m so itchy. Make the noise stop please I don’t want to hear it anymore.”

Thoughts were running through Appo’s head. “Insanity. That’s what this is. That would explain the self-mutilation. It’s the only logical explanation.”

Bjorn’s bloodshot eyes opened wide. Too wide. The creases at his eyelids began to bleed. He struggled to breathe, and his mouth sputtered. “Oh, gods no, what is that? I see it! I see it! Make it stop oh gods please make it stop!” His voice rose louder and louder. “It's so loud please make it stop!”

Bjorn opened his mouth wide, as though unseen hands were pulling his jaw apart. He took a deep breath and released a bloodcurdling scream. He screamed louder than Appo ever thought a man was capable of. He screamed for several moments, before taking a deep breath and screaming with the same ferocity. His back arched higher and higher, and he looked as though he was in danger of tearing his bonds. His eyes bulged from their sockets. He didn’t sound human.

Without a word, Jere walked over to the edge of the bed, lifted the scimitar over his head, and brought it down through Bjorn’s neck. Bjorn’s head dropped to the floor and rolled away. His face was left in a permanent shriek, eyes bulging and mouth agape in an eternal scream. Blood pooled from Bjorn’s body as it gradually relaxed.

Appo too, had his mouth agape. He had no words for what he just saw.

Boah walked over to Jere. He patted him on the shoulder. “Remember to leave the scimitar here. The blade carries the curse with it.” Jere nodded in response. Boah approached Appo, who stared dead-eyed at the corpse.

“Appo, things have changed since we called for you. You’re not here to diagnose and cure these wretched men. You’re here as a figure of authority. I need you to assure that those here for the Day of Akkavan are none the wiser to keep this city from panicking. You do this for me, and I promise you on my family’s name you will receive your full payment. Does that sound like a deal?”

Appo wasn’t quite sure he heard everything Boah said, but the words were coming back together somewhat. He nodded. Boah stuck out his hand.

“I need you to shake my hand, Appo.”

Appo did so.

Boah beckoned to Juddken. “Go tell the guards to take care of the body.” He turned to Eanna, “clean this up as much as you can. I don’t need to warn you not to touch his blood.” Boah left the hut.

Jere pushed past Appo without a word. He was expressionless.