Appo sat at the end of the courtyard waiting for the sun to go down. He was tired, for he had spoken with nearly the entire Guard Corps. Or at least he tried to. Most were unwilling to talk or treated him with distrust, but Appo was finding commonalities in the few stories he heard. He was writing his thoughts in his journal. He found himself constantly scribbling, comparing ideas before scratching them out. There were definite symptoms that seemed universal amongst the diseased: fever, the inability to sleep, the inability to consume, severe stomach pains, and general irritability. And then of course, there was the inevitable screaming.
Despite his progress, Appo found himself fraught with questions. He was unable to visit the new cordon, as the guards refused to let outsiders within for fear of infection. Despite Mendalla’s blessing, he was far from having complete access to the city. He had seen the diseased on at least three separate occasions by this time, but each encounter was brief and terrifying. Appo never had the time to study either Bjorn or Mena before they were killed, and there was no chance he would ever willingly set foot in the condemned cells again. He needed to see more.
Appo looked over his notes and listed the names of all the infected he knew of. There were five guards, three traders, three prisoners, and two children who were either held in the cells or had been exiled. The list did not include the four infected who were attacked by Mena that morning. That left a total of seventeen known cases in Ash.
“Potentially eighteen,” Appo thought, remembering Jere’s situation. Appo was disheartened to be reminded of his cantankerous friend, who was ordered to stay at home for the time being. Still, the more Appo learned about the disease, the more he was convinced that it only spread by blood. In general, physical contact alone didn’t seem enough for transmission. Otherwise, there would be far more cases by now.
“Better to be cautious until I know more,” he thought.
From what Appo was told, the first person confirmed with the disease was an outsider. He did not live in Ash, and it is unknown whether he interacted with any traders or sold anything in the city. No one knew his name. In fact, nothing was known about the person. All anyone knew was that at one point, this person began screaming and running around the roads of Ash. A guard named Twol confronted the person and was bitten and scratched in the process of jailing him. Twol developed a fever and began screaming after three moons. Shortly after, a guard named Riina complained of she could no longer drink shortly after visiting the local shaman. From that point on, every person that had the disease either caught it after visiting the shaman, or after getting scratched or bitten by the diseased. The shaman was apprehended, tried, and sentenced to exile shortly before Appo’s arrival in the town.
The Heads had assumed the shaman had infected everyone, but Appo had reasons to be suspicious of this. First was this unknown first victim; no one knew with certainty whether he visited the shaman. Appo considered the possibility that this person acquired the disease elsewhere, as he had encountered numerous diseases that spread from town to town. Second was Mena; was it possible that she had visited the shaman before she was apprehended? Appo was doubtful. From what he understood, after contracting the disease people always began screaming within four moons. The shaman had been captured for at least six. The timeline didn’t quite add up.
Appo looked up from his journal. The courtyard was nearly empty, apart from two guards and a lone townsperson. The sun was touching the horizon, and although it never got incredibly dark in the Eivettä, Appo preferred not to be out at night. He packed up his journal and made his way over to the pillories.
Before, Appo had to fight through the crowds to get a view of the shaman. Today there was no such obstruction. He saw three pillories upon a raised platform, though only the middle was occupied. The shaman was still naked, but now Appo could see how skinny she was. In fact, the woman was so skinny that she could have easily slipped out of the pillory. At first, Appo was worried that she herself was infected. Her face was black, her eyes were swollen, and her crooked nose was broken. She had a massive abrasion under her eye that left the right side of her face stained with blood. However, Appo noted how calm she looked. Despite how bruised it was, the woman’s face was content.
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
Two guards flanked the ends of the pillory and stared ahead. The only other person in the courtyard was a short woman in dusty clothes. She carried a large bag, from which she was tossing rotten pears at the shaman. She was quietly sobbing.
“May Ati curse you, witch… May Ati curse you.” The woman repeated this as she threw more pears at the pillory, though most were far from hitting their target. As Appo closed in, he saw a rough line drawn in the sand that the woman stood directly behind. He assumed this was as close as anyone could get to the pillories. He noticed several footsteps that went well past the line.
“Curse you, demon… A thousand curses upon you.”
The woman pathetically tossed more pears before her tears prevented her from more movement. After a moment of sniffling, she turned away and left the courtyard. Appo looked around and figured this would be the best chance he would have to talk to the shaman alone. He moved as close as he possibly could to the pillories, stopping at the edge of the line.
Appo spoke in a whisper. “I have questions for you.”
The shaman didn’t respond. Her eyes were so swollen that Appo was now having second thoughts on whether this woman was even conscious.
“Please, shaman. I don’t have much time.”
To this, the shaman reacted. She opened her one ‘good’ eye, which barely registered as a squint to Appo. “A shaman?” She spoke in a croaky, drawled voice. “That’s one way to address a witch. Do you not fear me like the others, boy?”
“I don’t think you are a witch. I also don’t think you’re behind this plague.”
The shaman gave a wounded chuckle. “Oh, but I am, stranger. Descended from the lineage of Sabatath. You’re foolish to think otherwise." She began a furious coughing fit, from which she spat out a glob of blood.
Appo hadn’t expected her to say this, but he wasn’t shocked. From his experience, shamans were odd at best, and utterly insane at worst. It reminded him why he avoided shamans, and why he was annoyed by the constant comparison between shamans and healers. Nevertheless, he continued his inquiry. “If that’s the case, then why curse the town now? What do you have to gain from it?”
“It is not what I command, but what Vijar commands. I am but an instrument of his desires.”
“Vijar?” Appo was somewhat familiar with the name of the lesser god, but only in passing. He wasn’t sure with certainty of the total number of gods in Ostior, but then again no one was. He knew there were hundreds, and that was mostly due to the endless number of lesser gods that were worshiped in small pockets throughout the land. He thought Vijar was the offspring of a major god such as Okkan, or perhaps the offspring of that offspring. Or perhaps he was a bird? Appo wasn’t sure and didn’t care. Shamans always flocked to lesser gods for the vague hope of becoming magi, or being blessed with magical abilities. Lesser gods were grateful to the foolish few who decided to worship them. It was rarely worth it; what the lesser gods have to offer is little, and it certainly wasn't worth the social isolation that came with it.
The shaman continued. “Vijar has determined that the old gods are dead, and the new ones be false prophets. Through me, he has decided to wipe the slate clean and has presented me with his will. What you call a curse, I call retribution.”
Appo wasn’t convinced. “I never said this was a curse, shaman. I said it was a plague.”
“A plague?” The shaman was shocked, as though she missed the word the first time. “I’m surprised you know of such terms. Are you a medicine man, stranger?”
Appo hated the term ‘medicine man.’ It implied that he too was a shaman. Although shamans and healers both dealt with medicine, they had vastly different methods of practice. Healers were practical with their knowledge and learned through years of study, apprenticeship, and experience. Most were well-educated, and all had gone through the rigorous path of priesthood. Shamans, on the other hand, ate enough berries and herbs until they found out which ones weren't poisonous. Both care for health, but Appo was angrier to be associated with one over the other. Few in Ostior made the distinction.
Appo decided to give a safe answer without lying. “I am a healer. Like you, I care for the sick and wounded. You may call me Appo. I hail from the coast.”
The shaman smiled. “Hello, Appo the healer. Vijar calls me ‘Malefica.’”