by Logan Jacobs
As I reached the procession, some of the dead fish eyes registered me, but the priest completely ignored me as he continued down the line. I got so angry at the idea of this guy spreading the plague through these poor hapless suckers as they lined up ignorantly to be whipped that I yelled, “Qaar’endoth commands you to stop, mortal.”
That got his attention. He tucked the scourge in his belt and walked toward me as the rest of the procession halted and stood there dully awaiting further orders. The priest was middle-aged, with large ears, heavy jowls, and watery blue eyes. He had all his teeth and looked healthier than the other villagers of Ferndale.
“Who is Qaar’endoth, stranger?” the priest sneered.
I doubled myself and proclaimed in unison, “I am the Unvanquished One. The defender of the good and innocent and the destroyer of the wicked. I am the first earth-walker since the age of Luma.” And I will make Hakmut my bitch, I thought but did not say aloud.
Many of the villagers gasped aloud and some of them made whimpering noises, but the priest declared loudly, “He is a charlatan! Hakmut has no need of such cheap conjurer’s tricks. I have never heard of you, and whoever you are, you have no authority here.”
I could see that his scourge was already bloodied. He had probably already cost some more lives needlessly just in the last few minutes right before the eyes of my companions and me, and that pushed me past the point of diplomacy.
“You have never heard of me because you are an ignorant peasant,” I growled. “And I make my own authority wherever I go, so you will disperse this procession, you will no longer sacrifice any more of your followers’ blood to Hakmut, and you will cooperate with my efforts to control the spread of the plague that currently afflicts Ferndale.”
“This village belongs to me,” the priest snarled. “Hakmut will not take kindly to some random blustering warrior barging into our affairs and trying to usurp my authority. I know what is best for these people. Only Hakmut’s mercy can save them now, and if we stop sacrificing our blood to him, he will think that our repentance was not in earnest and that our cowardice has gotten the better of our faith.”
I could have just cut him down, of course. But I didn’t think he maintained control over these people just by physically abusing them. He also had them brainwashed to a certain degree and simply killing him wouldn’t automatically reverse that process. It would just make them think of me as a brutal thug.
So instead I reached out, wrenched the scourge out of his hands, and flung it away as I called out, “Qaar’endoth declares that your penance has ended, and we will start working together toward salvation today!”
Then I grabbed the outraged priest’s hands and forcibly wrapped them around the hilt of the still-sheathed Polliver.
I had thought that I might go up in flames along with him and was willing to risk one self that way for the sake of the villagers’ education, but instead, the flames bathed the front of my body with no more effect than a light display, a “conjurer’s trick” as the priest might have said. Meanwhile, the priest screamed and writhed in agony as the very same flames rapidly charred the hair and cloth, then melted the skin and fat and muscle and sinew from his sorry bones.
I stepped back from the blazing corpse. Then, since I had touched the bloody scourge and knew I was likely to be contaminated with plague germs, I handed off Polliver to my clean self and re-assimilated. Then I reappeared plague-free. As far as I knew, anyway. My other self had also been talking to Millie and standing around her dead children’s bedside after all. But I couldn’t betray any fear of the plague to these villagers, or they would lose faith in my godly powers.
“Hakmut is no more. Qaar’endoth claims Ferndale,” I announced to the dead priest’s bleeding and bewildered followers.
They gaped at both of me speechlessly for so long that I started to worry the priest had cut out their tongues or some fucked-up shit like that. Then a first one, then a few, then all the villagers present fell to their knees and prostrated themselves facedown in the dirt before me.
Good.
They didn’t tell me which clans they were from or pledge me ten years of service, but I didn’t need them to. I just needed them to listen to my advice and comply with my directions as I figured out a plan to stop them from infecting each other and continuing to die of the plague.
Chapter Tweleve
I instructed the roasted priest’s former flock to disperse and return to their homes and tell their families what had just transpired, since I assumed that they would normally interact with their family members anyway, but not to interact with neighbors or anyone else unless it was absolutely necessary. I also told the ones that had open wounds from the priest’s scourge to wash and bandage them right away using rags that had been boiled first.
They remained extremely subdued and defeated-looking, but some of them found their voices enough to mutter, “Yes, my lord,” or, “Hail, Qaar’endoth,” before they scurried away.
Protecting wounds in the way I had described was standard practice at the temple infirmary, although there, they also had antibacterial poultices available to apply first. I didn’t understand the temple nurses’ reasons for all of their actions, but I did remember a lot of their rules because they had always been so strict about them to the point of annoying their patients. The nurses, like the rest of the serving staff at the temple, were not order members, so they couldn’t double themselves and could never seem to get out of the habit of treating those of us who were as if we didn’t have an extra body to spare.
It was, of course, possible for any member of the Order of Qaar’endoth to send out a new healthy and uninjured self and then re-assimilate the damaged one. But novices were forbidden from doing so unless their lives were at risk since the priests believed that the habit of erasing wounds that way would ruin our physical discipline and make us poorer fighters. So we were usually forced to recover from anything short of life-threatening at a natural pace, and that was where the nurses’ job came in. If we turned out to have a permanent disability, like a limp or a loss of the full range of motion, then the nurses could authorize us to replace that body. Depending on how the injury had occurred and whether the witnesses thought it was our fault, a priest or vestal might choose to make us keep something like a missing eye or a finger or a disfiguring scar for a certain period in order to enforce the lesson.
By now, I’d learned enough of those kinds of lessons. I’d kept the cut on my arm and the minor stab wound from fighting Thorvinians during the temple massacre for as long as I could, because those scars were mementos of those who had fallen in that attack and reminders of my new purpose of vengeance. But then a centaur arrow to the jugular had destroyed that marked body, and from now on I would never wear scars again. I would keep my selves in the most perfect possible physical condition to maximize my chances of accomplishing my mission.
“Vander, how can we help?” Ilandere asked me sweetly, which interrupted my reverie.
I thought quickly. I didn’t want the centaur princess, or her handmaiden, or human Florenia to come into contact with the plague-ridden villagers any more than could be avoided, since they didn’t have immunity. Then I remembered Elodette’s medical kit that the other two had been using to sew Ilandere’s new blouse, and her obvious knowledge of foraging and preparing edible plants. “Elodette,” I asked her, “do you know anything about medicine? Or tending the sick?”
“Ye-es,” she answered doubtfully, “but I can’t fix this situation. If a centaur ever came down with a really dangerous disease, then she or he was banished from the herd. And if a sick centaur was selfish enough to follow us and endanger the rest of the herd after being banished, then we would shoot her or him on sight.”
The towering archer glanced over her shoulder at a few of the scrawny villagers who still hadn’t reached their huts and brightened up a little. “I could still do that part for you if you like, Vander. It would be a mercy at this point.”
“No!” I
said quickly. “We aren’t shooting or otherwise harming anyone in this village unless it becomes necessary in self-defense. Meline’s instructions were to save them. And it’s pretty clear that some of them are already past the point of saving, but I’m going to do whatever I can for the poor souls that remain. Like Millie, that woman we met in that first hut.”
“We could give them… baths?” Ilandere suggested shyly. “I know it won’t cure them, but bathing sounded so nice when Florenia described it, that maybe it would help them feel better?”
“Well, actually, that’s a good idea, Ilandere,” I replied. It wasn’t that I thought the villagers could benefit from flower petals or hair oils right now. But maintaining hygiene, more generally , would be crucial in improving this situation. “We should identify the closest safe water sources and make sure that there’s plenty available for the people here to use, but that they don’t accidentally contaminate the sources. And fire, that’s another tool. We should burn everything that we think is likely to carry the plague.”
I saw Elodette open her mouth, and I added quickly, “Everything non-living, that is.” I tried to think of a way to distract the fierce brunette from her harsh centaur notion that whatever was damaged should be discarded or dispatched with efficiency and haste. “Er, Elodette, what did you do when a centaur in your herd was only mildly ill? Like, just had a sniffle or something?”
“Monitor them for any signs that it was something worse,” she replied immediately. “And if it was--”
“Elodette…” Ilandere said in a gently chiding tone.
The large dark centaur relented. “Oh, all right. Common colds happened. Not often, but they happened. If it was a valued member of our herd who was strong most of the time, then we’d let them run in the front for a few days to make sure they didn’t get left behind. And we’d feed them bone broth to regain strength and sneezeweed to clear out their nose and hyssop to soothe their throat. And just make sure they had enough water to stay hydrated. But that’s it. The rest was up to nature.”
“Well, that’s great,” I said earnestly. “No one’s ever invented a cure for a plague, and since none of us are doctors, we’re probably not the right people to do it. But we can use all the methods that you just mentioned to help nurse some people through it, and to give ones that might not be sick yet enough strength to stay healthy. And if we combine that with better sanitation methods, including corpse disposal, I know we can beat this thing.”
“I’ll do the corpse disposal part,” Willobee volunteered unexpectedly.
“You will?” I asked him uncertainly.
Just a few minutes ago before the priest and his half-dead-looking procession showed up, the rotund little gnome had been complaining about how unpleasant this village was and urging me to leave. So, it surprised me that he would immediately volunteer for what seemed to me like one of the most unpleasant aspects of the plague management project that lay ahead of us.
“Yes, Master.” Willobee explained, “It seems to me that most of these folks have little or less appreciation for fine language, and besides that, it is a dreadful waste of my talents to spend time winning over people who are just going to keel over poxy and pustuled anyway the instant they are properly besotted with me. So in this particular situation, I’d prefer to interact with just the ones that neither ask nor give any conversation.”
I stared at my little gnome friend with the growing suspicion that his real motivation for volunteering for corpse duty was that he was secretly tenderhearted and wanted to avoid forming attachments that would only lead to heartbreak. I didn’t make this accusation out loud, though, in case it would embarrass him in front of the girls.
“Well, then, the job is yours,” I said instead. “But you’ll have to dig a pit for them and then haul them over. We’ll help you find a cart or something to use. And one more thing, Willobee. I don’t personally care, but you can’t let any of these villagers catch you spewing blue slime on the bodies, okay? People who have lived in small villages for a long time can end up getting some funny ideas. And if we’re lucky, they might just take offense about it. But if we’re unlucky, they could get it all twisted around and find some way to blame us for the whole damn plague. We’re strangers here after all, and when something this big and bad happens, people start hunting for a scapegoat.”
“I understand, Master,” Willobee squeaked. “No slime. Unless one of the bodies tries any funny business with me first.”
I didn’t question him on that last comment. I hoped it was just some kind of weird gnomish joke. Or that maybe he was referring to rigor mortis or something. “Florenia,” I addressed the beautiful aristocrat next. “You can read and write, I assume?”
“Of course, Qaar’endoth,” she replied. “In four different languages.”
“Good. We’ll only need one language. Anyone else?” I asked. Besides me with my temple education second only to Florenia’s practically royal one, I doubted it, but I didn’t want to offend the rest of the group by making assumptions.
“Only gnomish runes, which are too subtle and complex for any human mind to comprehend, even yours, Master,” Willobee answered.
“We sing our histories so that each new generation learns them by heart, and we honor our spoken contracts without fail, so why would we require a written language?” Elodette replied, which I concluded meant no.
I looked over at Lizzy since I didn’t want to leave her out. The voluptuous she-wolf snickered. “I had parchment once and I wiped my butthole with it. I had a quill pen once and I jammed it up someone else’s ass so far that he died of leaky intestines.”
I wasn’t convinced that that second part was anatomically possible, but I wasn’t going to question Lizzy’s story since that would only encourage her to tell more of it. “Well, then. That makes Florenia our scribe,” I announced.
No one objected. The tawny-skinned duke’s daughter smiled at me with her luscious lips, but then again she seemed to have worked herself into such a fevered ecstasy of self-sacrifice over the prospect of dying of the plague at my sides that I could have told her to start lancing buboes, and she probably still would have smiled.
“Florenia, your task today will be to prepare writing materials,” I informed her. “You could take some broken arrow fletching from Elodette’s packs and find some berries to crush for juice. Or you could build an earth mound and burn some wood for charcoal. Whatever suits you. But this is important, because we’ll be recording everything we do to try to fight the plague, so that we can figure out what strategies work and don’t work. We’ll also formulate lists of instructions for the villagers. We’ll also keep rosters of the healthy, the sick, and the dead.”
“Ilandere and I will prepare some medicines that we use in the herd for minor illnesses, if you think it will do any good,” Elodette offered.
“Yes, thank you, Elodette,” I agreed. “I know they won’t cure the plague, but those kinds of things can help sustain people’s bodies so they’ll have the strength to fight off the disease themselves.”
“Then I will gather all the useful plants that I can,” Ilandere promised.
“And what about me?” Lizzy demanded.
“You will be with one of me,” I told her.
She grinned wolfishly and purred, “Why, that’s my favorite place to be, Vander.”
“It’s not going to be fun,” I said quickly. “We’ll be going around to all the huts. And while I talk to the people and figure out what their problems are and who’s healthy and who’s not, and explain to them that our team has a plan to help them, it will be your job to scope out their belongings.”
“Why, Vander!” Lizzy gasped. “I wouldn’t never have guessed you had it in you.”
“We’re not stealing anything!” I hurried to explain. “You need to evaluate what can be cleaned and what should be gotten rid of. What they can do without and what we’d have to replace for them. If there’s anything that can be used against the plague in some other way we
haven’t thought of yet. If there’s anything that seems odd or unusual about the way people around here live. That kind of thing.”
“Ohhh,” Lizzy exhaled with obvious relief. “I’m awful glad of that. I mean, I know I have it in me to scope out dying people’s goods for other reasons than what you said, but… I like you partly on account of your being full of more virtues and god-laws than me. Even though I get the hunch your instincts are just as dirty.”
I winked at her. I appreciated the wolf-woman more than I think she knew, for more than her awe-inspiring ass and combat capabilities.
“And meanwhile,” my other self concluded, “I will go around and figure out which food dealers are still operating. I don’t know if anyone’s still using those windmills where the corpse was, but these people have to be eating something to stay alive, plague or no plague. So I’ll look for millers and bakers and butchers and grocers and at what kinds of produce families are growing or have stored. Because they need to have enough to eat, which might be a problem with how many farmers and food dealers the village must have lost by now, and we also need to make sure they’re not eating anything that is contaminated.”
“All of that is a brilliant plan, Vander,” Ilandere said admiringly. “Ferndale is very fortunate that you are here, and I’m sure that you will save the village.”
“It’s a fucking stupid plan,” Elodette retorted. “The details might make some sense. I’m not saying that I won’t help out while I’m here anyway, because I will, but I don’t understand how the human race has even lasted for as long as it has, if even its best members insist on clinging on to the weakest members instead of leaving them behind for the good of the herd.”
