CHAPTER 66: CHAPTER 65 – THE WASTING

Dustrim Village

"Boil all water—drinking, bathing, everything," Kael said firmly.

"Cover the sick with netting if you can. Keep lanterns burning to drive away the bugs."

The priest stared at him. "It won’t cure them."

"No," Kael replied. "But it might stop others from getting sick. And maybe... give them a fighting chance."

The priest didn’t argue, but his silence was heavy. The two older physickers nearby exchanged uncertain glances. Both were seasoned—one had gray streaks in his beard, and the other leaned on a cane. Kael could feel the doubt hanging in the air.

They watched Kael like he was a bold child who didn’t yet know when to hold his tongue.

It was hard to imagine anyone obeying a young man’s orders—unless he bore a title or came from a powerful bloodline.

Finally, one of them—bent-backed but sharp-eyed—spoke.

"You talk like you’ve cured plague before," he said.

Kael didn’t respond. He just kept checking on the girl lying nearby, who now had a damp cloth on her forehead.

Another physicker spoke, voice calm but firm. "Young man, you speak with conviction, but forgive me—it’s hard to take orders from someone half our age."

The other nodded. "Even the High Temple has no cure for this illness. What makes you think your suggestions will change anything?"

Kael didn’t argue. He understood. He was just a young man. Barely twenty-one. If he were in their place, he’d probably react the same. Still, he felt the frustration boil up behind his ribs.

Before he could answer, Lysandra stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

"He was brought here by me. And unless you have a miracle potion hidden in your cloak, you’ll do as I say.

"You’ve tried prayers. You’ve tried herbs. People are still dying. So if someone—anyone—can help, you will let them."

The priest shifted uncomfortably. The physicker looked like he might protest again, but then glanced around the room. One of the sick groaned loudly, then went silent.

Too silent.

Defeated, the physicker lowered his eyes. "Fine. We’ll try his methods. But I won’t bury another person just because of some foreigner’s clever ideas."

Kael nodded and stepped forward. "Thank you. I know I don’t look like much, but I’ve dealt with this sort of thing before. Where I come from, we faced similar plagues. This isn’t a curse. It’s a sickness—spread through water. Through insects. If we break the cycle, we can save lives."

The priest sighed. "Then let’s hope you’re right."

♦♦♦

It was just after noon when the guard finally returned. He looked ready to collapse, but his grip was tight on the two satchels strapped across his back.

Kael spotted him immediately and rushed to meet him halfway.

"You made it," Kael said, grabbing the satchels.

"Straight ride, no stops," the guard panted. "I think your servant packed everything exactly as written."

Kael nodded.

The guard hesitated a moment, as if remembering something. Then he exhaled and wiped his brow.

"She... told me to tell you something," he muttered, more to himself.

Kael looked up. "What was it?"

The guard blinked. His face went blank for a moment—then he shook his head slightly.

"Never mind," he said. "It wasn’t important."

Kael didn’t press. There was no time.

He turned back to the sick house with the supplies in hand.

Seris had packed everything perfectly. Kael smiled faintly as he pulled out the contents one by one: the mosquito coils, tightly wrapped in paper; the strange spray bottles; the small plastic water filters; and the eucalyptus oil in dark glass vials.

"What in the gods’ names are these?" the physicker muttered, staring at the nozzles and filters like they were cursed relics.

Kael knelt and began showing them.

"This one," he said, holding up a coil, "you light it, and it burns slowly. The smoke repels insects. Especially the blood-sucking kind."

He passed the bottle next. "This spray goes on the skin. It stops the insects from landing. The oil—use it in cloths or on bedding. Keeps them away."

"And these?" the priest asked, pointing to the filters.

"These clean water," Kael said. "Pour it through the top. What comes out below is safe to drink."

Skeptical murmurs passed through the healers, but Lysandra shot them a look, and they got to work.

Some villagers watched from behind doorways. Others helped, carefully stringing up netting Kael had crafted from spare cloth. Fires were stoked, coils lit. The priest muttered prayers under his breath but still helped hang oils near the windows.

The smell of eucalyptus soon filled the sick house—sharp and clean.

By late afternoon, the worst cases were resting under fresh sheets. The rest of the village was quieter, too—as if the strange foreign tools had driven away more than just the insects.

As the sun began to fall behind the jagged hills of the Wasteland, painting the sky in streaks of orange and crimson, Lysandra sit inside the carriage.

Kael climbed in beside her, brushing dust from his pants.

She watched him for a moment, then smiled.

"Thank you. What you did today... it mattered."

Kael exhaled slowly. He was tired, sweaty, and mentally drained. But he nodded. "We’ll see in a few days if it worked."

"I’ve sent word to the county seat at Mangort," she said. "If your methods prove effective here in Ginip, the Matgorat family may authorize broader use across the Western Reach."

Kael nodded. "I’ll bring something stronger tomorrow. Real medicine."

She raised an eyebrow. "Stronger?"

"I have something from my homeland. Not a cure-all, but it targets sickness like this. Malaria—or what you call the Wasting."

A pause.

"Your help will be of great benefit to us," Lysandra said slowly. "If what you say is true... this could change everything."

Kael met her eyes. "I’m just doing what I can."

She tilted her head, watching him for a beat longer than necessary.

Then her lips curved into a faint smile.

"May I ask one thing before we leave?"

Kael hesitated. "Alright."

She looked at him

"How large is your spatial storage?"

Kael’s breath caught.

What !?