III. Whispers
A long conversation was inevitable. Dogan kept on reading the same paper, the same news. Elso just sat down, listening, his thoughts still reeling from the morning shock. He didn’t take the time to prepare for his breakfast—rather, he had forgotten it. The reddish sunlight peering through the half-open windows and cracked ceiling filled the room with an eerie glow that reminded him more of the massacre that took place two days away from his town.
“No survivors, just a city filled with ‘sleeping’ dead people, is that how it is, huh?” Dogan said, concluding his long tirade. He sat down at the only empty chair and put down the overused paper on the table.
“I guess,” replied Elso, still deep in his thoughts.
“But…how? How can anyone kill…everyone just like that?”
Elso was thinking the same thing. How could anyone—or anything—murder almost a million people without leaving a mark? Surely, someone must have seen who—or what—did it…
“Hey, Elso, you still with me?” Dogan started tapping the table.
“Well…I guess a plague or something must have done it.”
Dogan snorted. “I know some plagues that can kill a fishing village in a fortnight, but a city as big as Dagoria in a night? That’s just…impossible.”
Elso took the paper and started poring over the same news. “Don’t you find it odd that some of the people outside the city were unharmed?”
“Well I thought about that. It’s as if—”
“Death came specifically upon the city, yeah. If it’s some sort of a disease that took these lives and this fast, I might as well live somewhere else.”
“I think some people are already doing that,” said Dogan, pointing at the window.
Elso looked around. A small crowd was passing by with their wagons, all of them carrying what seemed like everything they owned. Seeing this, Elso stood up and headed outside. He saw some of his neighbors were outside as well, curious but distressed. Some waved goodbyes at friends, others seemed itching to pack, too, and leave the town. The wagons moved slowly, creaking and wobbling as its wheels turn inch by inch. The cows pulling the wagons seemed to be in mourning, too, with nary a sound except for their tails swatting their backsides.
Dogan followed him outside. “Look at all those people. Seems like Gargan Roo will be a little bit more spacious today than yesterday.”
“Less customers though. Yeah, that would be good.”
“Well, your ‘mystic potions’ business isn’t much of a business anyway.”
“Shut up. Look who’s back to get more my ‘mystic potions.’”
Amidst the swarm of people walking towards town gates, Elso saw someone familiar walking towards them. It was his frequent customer, Jien, carrying an armful of bottled potions Elso recognized as the ones he sold to him the other day.
“Good morning, Jien. Back already? I still have the same stock, so might have to return next week at the earliest.”
“No, no, I’m…uh…actually, I’m returning these,” Jien said, handing him the bottles.
“But—I thought you—”
“This may come as a surprise, but my family and I decided to leave Roo.”
Somehow, this did not come as a surprise to Elso. Jien is a very superstitious man, with only the Prophet Iula from the temple to match his frailty. That is the reason he is Elso’s frequent customer.
“But Jien, you’ve been living here for years!” Dogan interrupted. “You have a life here! You’re leaving because of what happened?”
“Not just that! Didn’t you hear the whispers three days ago?”
“What?”
“The whispers! They were all over the air that day. Coursing through the town like some messenger in the winds!”
“Are you sure Elso here didn’t give you the wrong potion? Because you seemed more…edgy today.”
“It’s true! I thought someone was playing tricks on me again that day, but I realized that these…these whispers, these calls, were beyond usual jests I usually get.”
“You shouldn’t be talking like that, Jien,” Elso said, “especially today.”
“I swear to the heavens it’s true! The whispers were everywhere, telling everyone who would listen that we will all perish before the second moon returns! And look, Dagoria’s dead! All gone! Dead!” Jien was flailing his arms everywhere, sweating and at the brink of hysteria. Some of the bottles fell from his grip, breaking and spilling its liquid on the road.
“You better calm down, old man, or you’re going to leave the town wrapped in burial clothing,” Dogan said, quite alarmed by the racket Jien was making.
“Oh, sorry. It’s just…things are different now. Frighteningly different if I might add. Ever since the Passage, the currents have turned eastward, civil war in the southern province, the Sunset Plague returning—everything seems…changed.”
“But we are two days away from Dagoria,” said Elso. “Surely—”
“I won’t risk my children’s lives, Elso, never. I’m leaving Roo just to be sure. We’ll be back when things get…calmer.”
Rather than argue with a man with his mind already made up, Elso took the bottles from Jien and returned his money. “Where are you going anyway?”
“To my aunt living near Kebala. I already sent her a letter, so I guess she wouldn’t mind taking us all in. Well, the day is young for you two, so you better spend your time for something more worthwhile. I’ll be going now.” Jien bowed, shook their hands, and walked away. The two watched him head to the town gates where his family was waiting. They walked slowly outside, with Jien guiding the cow as it pulls the wagon.
“Poor guy.” Dogan said. “He was always the first to bend when the wind was too strong. Bless his soul.”
Elso walked inside and started placing the bottles back in the drawers, again lost in his thoughts.
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