A Process of Distinguishing one Disease from Another

How does one contain a spreading illness, especially in such subpar circumstances?

Separation of the afflicted is a given. Those that had contact with them need to cleanse themselves thoroughly; we have the stolen soap for that.

General cleanliness isn't a foreign concept to the elves. Most know well enough that keeping themselves and their surroundings clean helps ward off disease. They simply haven't had the 'luxury' thus far, barely being able to afford enough water to drink and only getting their hands on soap now.

We do have a bit of a surplus of both now though, so we should start with that.

"Loren, we need simple rags to cover our mouths; ask the craftswomen for something like that. Then take a few men with you and go around and get to cleaning for now."

"On it, 'captain'!"

He sprints off. Eleanor turns to look at me, clearly expecting orders of her own.

"Get yourself something to cover your mouth as well and start asking around; I need to know when and where people started coughing blood. Also ask around if anyone recognises this disease."

She gives a curt little salute and darts off as well, leaving me on my own in the 'strategy room'.

Loren and the other warriors should be able to take care of the immediate symptoms. Now for the truly hard part: figuring out the cause.

I start drawing a rough map of our surroundings into the sandy cavern floor. I memorised most of the layout when I was strolling around with Eleanor back then; for any important changes, I'll have to ask someone later.

If isolating the sick and keeping things clean is enough, that would be perfect. But I need to be sure. I’ll mark each case and trace its spread.

By the end of the week I'd gained a fair bit of insight.

This illness, apparently entirely unknown among the elven population of Lun'roco, definitely seems to spread based on proximity. But not exclusively.

Those in persistent contact with someone afflicted will get sick themselves, something we can indeed greatly mitigate by quarantine and frequent, thorough washing after any interaction.

The puzzling part is that people with no apparent contact with the sick are still falling ill.

My running theories are as follows:

This sickness could have a varied incubation period, based on how healthy the subject is. Some people might not even succumb at all. If that is the case, it could be far more contagious than I thought.

Alternatively, the few insects that call this hellish desert their home might also be spreading it. They could pick up some of the contaminated blood and spread it around or something to that effect.

I've been pulling my hair out trying to narrow it down to one of the two but have had little success, if any at all.

I've also been able to draw up a rough outline of how the disease progresses. The good news: it doesn’t kill those healthy enough. The bad news: close to no one is truly healthy in this godforsaken place.

It starts with the subject coughing up blood. Over the next few days they will develop a heavy fever that will most likely do them in. If they are healthy enough to make it past that, however, they will recover with sleep and light meals. Furthermore, one seems to gain immunity afterwards.

Of the four dozen or so that have contracted the disease, only roughly one-fifth managed to recover. Those that haven't been entirely ground down by the mines.

We've immediately put the recovered survivors on care duty; they don't appear to be at any further risk, after all.

Interestingly as well, one of Loren's men swore he saw one of the overseers cough up blood as well. They were escorted through the gates that day and returned two days later, again in perfect health. They might have some kind of medicine on the outside...

The last insight I gained would be that this body of mine requires a certain amount of sleep each night.

"Kid, I know you're giving it your all here, and I really appreciate it."

As I got to test out that past week, this amount should be larger than two. Loren appears rather distraught at my 'resilience'.

“But if you don’t get some rest, you’ll collapse from exhaustion right on top of that map of yours. Might make the whole map a bit hard to read...”

Between working the mine to buy extra water and spending my time down here, I barely found time to sleep at all. Not much more than two hours per night, at least I think.

I didn’t even go home. Just curled up in the corner of the cavern, jolted awake again soon enough by the sheer dread of what could happen if I don't figure all this out in time. I've been sending Eleanor to tell Mother I couldn't make it home right now.

"Come on, Rinah's worried sick about you! Surely getting a good night's rest will help; I can't imagine you're going to be thinking of anything of value in this state. Damn, the bags under your eyes are enormous. Loren can mark the newly infected for a day or two, can't he? Let's get some rest."

Loren nods vigorously, supporting Eleanor's claim. I guess if they tell me I've done enough for now, I'll give it a rest. I trust him to continue adding the marks to the map; I'll just evaluate the data later.

On a brighter note, the strong scent of soap hangs in the air all along our way home. It’s a bit jarring, but not unpleasant. I think I like it actually. Together with the sun vanishing beyond the wall, it creates a surprisingly soothing atmosphere.

Being away from any and all work now, I immediately get deathly tired. An overwhelming wave of exhaustion washes over me, and a ginormous yawn escapes my mouth.

"Yeah, I agree. You definitely need to sleep for the next three days."

Eleanor smirks, clearly amused.

"Three whole days? I'd sleep three whole weeks if I could. But that will have to wait until another lifetime."

I’ll sleep to my heart's content when all of this is over.

Entering our tent, the smell of soup hits me; Mother must be cooking something.

"I am home, Mother! And I even brought him back with me today."

Rinah, kneeling over her pot, turns to face me.

"You look awful!"

I thought I was rather handsome, though I haven't seen my reflection for quite some time. Are my eyebags really that bad?

She hugs me. Her arms clinging tightly to me. As tightly as she can, yet not quite as tight as I would hope. She is still weak after all this time. Though I think she's gotten a little better since she started staying at home.

"I've made something to eat; have a bowl. After that you should rest; you clearly need it."

Her gentle smile makes me sad for some reason. Though try as I might, I cannot say why. Something I can say, though, is that this soup of hers is very delicious. Way better than my sorry attempt at soup I made for Eleanor once.

"Delish!"

She scarfs it down, leaving nothing in her bowl. She must agree.

This almost serene scene robs me of the last strength left in my body. My eyelids grow heavy. Placing my not quite empty bowl on the ground, I simply fall back onto the bedding spread across the floor and close my eyes.

They both chuckle quietly. A bit patronising, but I'll allow it. I am simply glad that they are happy. That they are still able to be happy despite the awful world out there.

After helping Mother put away the dishes, Eleanor huddles up close to me. While the three of us always sleep close together in this small tent, I get the distinct feeling she's getting even closer today on purpose. Must've missed me, with me having stayed at the cave for a week.

I take her into my arms, listening to her soft breaths as I finally let myself fall asleep.

Though what awaits me isn’t the sweet oblivion, the needed reprieve I had hoped for.

No, I find myself once more in an all too familiar scene. One of sulphur and ash, one of fire and screams. The burning World-Tree.

Having the same nightmare twice is strange; thrice would be bizarre even. So what does that mean for me, the fool who's been here countless times already?

Everything's the same as I remember it. Everything except for one thing.

"That looks like it hurts, Isha."

My ghastly friend seems to be on fire this time, her entire body consumed by roaring flames. She doesn't seem all that impressed, though; she stands eerily still and stares at the large tree.

"It does, hellishly so. Yet as with all things suffered without end, I’ve grown numb to it."

Do I feel her sadness, or do I only feel sad for her? The line between the two has become rather blurry...

"Tell me, Isayah, do you know how ᑊᔕᖺᗩᘯᒉᗩᕮᘂ, the World-Tree, felt as it was put to the torch by the humans?"

Ishanyael? I've never heard that elvish word before; it must be the formal name for the tree. As to how it felt? Do mythical trees of legends past even have the capacity to feel?

"Sad? Enraged, maybe?"

"Disappointed. Disappointed in itself for its foolishness. It thought the humans would never be able to stand against its power. It believed that until the very day it burnt to ash..."

She speaks of these emotions so vividly, like she's experienced them herself. But I only feel her distant coldness; it hits me like an icy gale.

Since she seems to share both memories and even part of the tree’s name, the connection there might run even deeper than I thought...

"I’ll join you on the outside soon enough; there are still a few questions I need to ask it. Beings that ancient sure do love to be vague..."

I feel her icy gale turn into a playful spring breeze. Good to know she’s alright after all. For a moment, I had feared she might've come to hate me or even be lost to me for good. Now, the weight on my shoulders feels a bit lighter.

No longer needed here, the scenery around me washes away, and I sink back into the sweet, promised nothingness. This would be the part I drift away for the rest of the night, however...

I am jolted awake, just like all the past days. It's dark, must be night still. Mother's having one of those awful coughing fits again. I get a terrible sinking feeling in my stomach.

I grab the hand she's currently coughing into. She looks at me with fear, fighting against my grip with what little strength she has left. Her weak body proves no obstacle for me, though.

Almost no light reaches into our tent, yet I can still make out the small puddle of crimson in her hand.