It took Appo a moment before his eyes adjusted to the dark. Although the torch did its duty, he struggled to make out his surroundings. First, he found the counter. Then barrels. He saw runic stone carvings on the counter. Finally, he saw the entrance to the cells adjacent to the counter. It appeared he was in a holding room.
The moaning was apparent instantaneously. It was long and guttural and echoed off the walls of the jail. Appo looked behind the barrels and the counter, making sure nothing hid behind them. He counted the steps as he turned the corner to the cells. Against every instinct, he walked towards the moaning.
The cell proper was slightly larger than the holding room. Appo could make out at least five or six cages that were fused with the outer stone walls, though he couldn’t see very far. Appo’s vision was still adjusting, but the dim light of the torch could make out human-like figures in the cages. There were at least three voices overlapping each other, all of them producing moans and rattling noises with far more fervor than what Appo was expecting. Appo approached the nearest cage and stuck his torch at the bars.
What Appo saw through bars could be best described as ‘approximately human.’ There were bony appendages that could be considered arms and legs, but they appeared shriveled and dried. It looked as if someone wrapped a skeleton in sandpaper and forgot everything in between. Claw marks were etched throughout the torso and down the legs, forming a bumpy mosaic along the skin. The figure was standing upright, with its legs stiff at the knees and arms at the elbows. Appo could make out a distended barrel-shaped chest under its emaciated ribs, which balanced carefully on a shrunken waist. The figure turned its head towards the torch where Appo could see its face, or more accurately, what was left of it. It was sunken in and gaunt. It was hard to tell whether it was man or woman. Dark bloody pits took place where the figure’s eyes should have been. Bits of skin hung where the ears used to be. Matts of hair had been torn out in clumps, making the figure look as though it had been scalped. Its jaw hung low; it appeared that the jaw had been dislocated at some point and was now hanging by the threads of ligaments. The mashed remains of a tongue dangled from the gaping hole of the figure’s mouth.
The figure’s jaw distended even more, releasing a guttural scream. Appo dropped his torch to the ground. The scream roused the others, creating a cacophony of shrieks that echoed off the room and inside Appo’s head. He covered his ears, though the screams seemed to pierce through his hands. He fell to the ground as angular arms reached through the bars. Through the screams, Appo could make out shaking chains and the shuffling of feet.
Appo grabbed his torch and briefly waved it around him. He made out the silhouettes of a jumbled mess of arms sticking out of the bars. There was more scar tissue and scabbing than skin. The hands themselves were elongated with sharp protruded fingernails, crusted underneath with bloody clumps of skin. They were reaching out, scratching at the air.
The screaming got louder and louder. It was coming within now.
Appo got to his feet and ran blindly in the darkness. He somehow found his way back to the door, slamming his body into it before banging several times. No answer. He couldn’t focus through all the screaming. Was it getting louder?
For a moment, Appo collected himself to think clearly. “Knock. They don’t knock.” He did so three times. The door opened and Appo fell through.
Appo was on the ground now. He was looking up at Duncic and Jere. Both had scimitars at the ready. They grabbed him by his arms and rolled up the sleeves of his tunic. They ran down his arms, checking the entirety of the skin. They both held his wrists tightly. Jere briefly lifted Appo’s shirt and panted his legs, probing there as well.
“No scratches,” Jere said.
The two men released him. Duncic moved to close the door. Appo readjusted his pants and got to his feet. He took a deep breath, he felt as if he hadn’t breathed in several minutes. He had yet to get to his feet before Boah came leering over him. His bald head blocked out the sun.
“Discovered anything that could be of use to us, Appo?”
Nothing came to mind. Appo stood there, hands on his knees, catching his breath.
Boah continued, “I pity them, truly. Their souls are lost. But the end is near now. With your word, we can condemn this place along with the old woman. This curse will be but a memory.”
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They were right, Appo realized. This was truly unlike any plague Appo had ever seen. Even amongst the most horrific diseases there was no comparison. He wasn’t sure he had even read of such brutal effects, or even heard of it in apocryphal stories. His thoughts went back to what he saw. The bloody eye sockets. The stiff limbs. The sharpened fingernails. Not to mention the screaming that still echoed in his ears.
Still, something about it made logical sense. Appo looked up at Boah. “Plague.”
“Excuse me?”
“You keep using this word. ‘Curse.’ Soon this plague will be a memory.”
Boah laughed, but there was no charm. “What are you talking about?”
“What is in there,” Appo hesitated, “is unlike anything I’ve ever seen before. I admit, I know of no scholarly work that explains these symptoms, but I’ve yet to see any proof that this is the work of a god, or the even work of a shaman.”
Boah rolled his eyes. “Are you daft? You must be suffering from sunstroke. And need I remind you that accusations of atheism are punishable by exile in Ash.”
“I don’t claim to be an atheist. I follow the Goddess Lowya.”
Boah’s laughs seemed to get angrier. “The Goddess of Disease? I almost wish you were an atheist!” Jere, who had finished assisting Duncic with the door, walked over to the two, caught off guard by Appo’s abrasiveness.
“I don’t mean to offend, sir,” said Appo. “I am not belittling your authority and I don’t wish to. However, it is my duty as a healer not to simply abide by convenient solutions. I’ve come to discover that we know not of the cause of more than half of the cases. We can’t afford to risk this plague escaping the prison, and there is a high chance that it may still be spreading under our noses.”
Boah sneered, but he didn’t stop Appo.
“I know what you’ve been trying to do this whole time. You’ve wanted to show me the horrors of this disease. You want to scare me into agreeing with you. Don’t worry, if there’s anything you’ve done it’s that you’ve confirmed to me that this is far from anything I’ve ever seen before. However, in my good conscience I can’t simply follow your plan and return home. And as your advisor, I can’t advise that these people are dead.”
“Such a conscientious soul you are, Appo the Healer.” Boah paced. “What would you suggest then?”
Appo pondered for just a moment. “We want the same thing, Boah. Give me a few moons. Allow me to trace the source of this disease. Keep the jail up for now, boarded and secure. Let me talk to the guards and loved ones of the infected and let me trace the source. Spare the woman’s execution until we prove without a doubt that it came from her and let me speak to her. I need to know exactly how this disease spreads and how many people have it.”
Boah was frustrated, but he was considering his options. Appo liked that. Jere stood to the side, following the exchange with interest.
“I will give you three moons. That gives you until the Day of Akkavan to do what you think needs to be done. You can even talk to the old woman. However, I have two conditions. One: the old woman will die. She has already been sentenced to exile and I cannot rescind the word of the priests. Two: if nothing new comes from your inquiries, you get paid nothing, and you return to Lockwood on foot.”
Appo nodded. He knew what he was risking when taking on this job. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he imagined Jere giving just the slightest hint of a grin.
Boah beckoned Duncic. “As you can imagine, I have other matters I must attend to. Tomorrow, I will convene with my colleagues to discuss this. I trust you to not incite a panic while completing your duties.” In an instant, Boah, Duncic, and the other guard were on their way back into the city. Appo and Jere were alone once again.
Jere broke the stillness. “As I said, healer, you’re an ignoramus.” Appo was annoyed that he was about to be berated by the mercenary again until he continued. “Any healer with half a brain would have taken the coin and gotten out of this godforsaken city.” He paused. “I may have been wrong about you.”
Appo appreciated his approval. “Healers are rarely in it for the coin. If they are, they’re fools.”
Jere nodded. “That, and anyone foolish enough to speak to the big man like that is worth keeping around. People are beginning to sleep, and we should let them. How about tonight we celebrate with a drink? It’ll be your treat.”
Appo felt guilty even considering the idea. He was a habitual worker, and it had been months since he had been to a tavern. He blamed it on seeing so many cases of jaundice along the river. However, relaxing didn’t seem like such a bad idea. He did what most had done before and what most will do since: he convinced himself he needed it.