Mrs. Pottersworth brought her daughter to me this evening. My chapel-hands, Burtle and Clyde, carried her into the building on a litter. The poor girl has the Oozing Pox. Vivid crimson pustules had already spread over her body. Her mother told me it started with a fever two days ago, and quickly worsened.

As is the nature of the illness, the girl stank. I inoculated myself by drinking the usual mix of crushed bog leech and murtlewort, and I tied a cloth-mask stuffed with heavenleaf over my mouth to ward against the smell. I had my assistants help the girl into a bed in the infirmary and I provided her with a tincture of warm maidensdrift to put her to sleep and ease her fever. Then I proceeded to heat my lance.

It still amazes me that sores that appear such a deep purple on the surface can release such yellow pus when lanced. Having swabbed the wounds and applied live bog leeches to clean the hollowed sores, I retired to my chair to rest.

Upon dawn, I left the arms of my chair and checked the Pottersworth girl. The wounds had thankfully turned black and begun to scab. I removed the bloated bog leeches and wiped the cold sweat from the girl’s forehead. Her eyes and cheeks already had a hollow look, but her fever had broken. I helped her to another sip of warm maidensdrift and called for Burtle and Clyde to bring her home. I believe she will be well now, with god’s blessings.

I’m afraid I was mistaken. The poor girl passed away this afternoon. Her mother showed me her body. We will need to bury her quickly before the body swells and bursts, as is the nature of those who succumb to the disease. I have advised Burtle and Clyde to inoculate themselves in the usual fashion, and to take precautions against the spread of the contagion. I am preparing heavenleaf masks for them as well. God forbid they should fall ill too!

The last time I saw the Oozing Pox was nearly 10 years ago. God save us, how it ravaged the land! But, I must say how shocked I am that the girl passed so quickly. The last time I saw the illness it took at least a week to progress from fever to pustules. God help us if its back! I have sent Clyde to bring a letter to Harman Glanwell at The Order in Horden’s Vale. If the plague is back, others will need to know, and we’ll need help.

I performed the rights for the girl, Olivia, this morning. It is always hard on me to see someone so young die so suddenly. I wish I had the power to protect them. I know I need to be stronger though. Life and death are natural. There can be no celebration of life without the lamentation of death. No matter how much it hurts.

Burtle helped me perform the ceremony. He is proving to be an able, albeit clumsy, apprentice. The tanners’ boy has a fine mind indeed, even if his hands are fat and dumb. He has a good memory for The Words of Light and one day, I am sure he will be fit to join The Order.

Two more villagers have fallen ill, and I am starting to worry. I had hoped that the Pottersworth girl was an anomaly, or that my diagnosis was wrong. My new patients have progressed just as quickly though and I’m afraid they are already not long for this world, god save them.

I’m afraid I will need to have Burtle help me bury the bodies unanointed. We don’t have time for the rituals. Forgive me brothers! I can’t give you the burial you deserve! I swear I will perform the proper rights once the crisis has passed! I remember last time how the vapours from infected bodies seemed to spread the disease. I don’t have enough supplies to inoculate everyone. Murtlewort is too rare and I’m afraid I’m already running out. Besides, it is no sure protection as all healers know. It merely strengthens the body. Hopefully, burying the bodies will be enough. I daren’t burn them for I fear the smoke would spread the disease uncontrollably.

Another of my patients, Mr. Lygor, passed away late last night. Burtle and I buried the body. We wrapped him in a sheet and put him in a plot near little Olivia. My heart is tight in my chest.

After burying the body, Burtle and I barely had time for a short rest before our work began again. Early this morning and throughout the day, more infected were brought in by their loved ones. Jim Hycorn, the Townskeep, came to assess the situation. I’m afraid things are becoming dire. I could tell the he was troubled. Our main concern now, he said, is to try to prevent a panic. Rumours had already begun to spread that the plague is back. Jim is worried about looting, riots and worse. We both remember how bad things were last time.

I have decided to begin instructing Burtle on how to lance pustules. I’m afraid it’s terribly hard on him. I can see how his hands tremble. But there is no choice. I can’t treat everyone alone! Lancing the pustules is necessary to release the poisoned humors and restore balance to the body. I have also been teaching him how to apply bog leeches to drain the infected blood.

We’ve run out of beds. Mrs. Haigleton and Emma Jacobs have helped us set up additional mats on the floor of the oratorium. They have also volunteered to help us nurse the ill. Burtle and I hardly have time for rest, and I can see his spirits draining. I have no time to write more at the moment. I pray for Clyde’s safe return.

Clyde has returned, but with ill news. The gates of Horden’s Vale are barred. The plague has reached there as well. He managed to speak with Harman Glanwell from the rampart though. And he brought me a letter.

My dear Enial,

Pray for us. I’m afraid all of Horden’s Vale will perish. The Regional commanded that the gates be barred to quarantine the plague. I have no doubt that we will all die here. This is worse than last time. Far worse.

We should have heeded the signs. Do you not remember the blood comet that appeared in the sky two moons ago? No doubt it was foretelling our doom.

God forgive me, but there is a book in the chapel library. I left it there when I was stationed in Horden’s Vale. God save me, but it might be your only hope. I am damned already, and soon I will be buried among the dead. But Enial, the book could be your salvation! I might be damning you by telling you this. God knows how I have been haunted since I found it. But I am compelled to tell you! The book has the power of Life and Death. It is a cursed book, but God has damned us already.

Bless you Enial. May light redeem you, where I am lost.

Your friend,

Harman

P.S. Burn the bodies.

I cannot tell you how troubled I am by this letter! My poor friend has gone mad! What book? I have no time. I’m being called away as I write. May the light protect us!

With Clyde’s return I was afforded enough time for a brief rest. I slept through the evening supper and past the owl’s moon. I am writing by candle light now. Upon, waking in the dead of night, I decided to look for the book Harman wrote about. Though I had slept deeply, my dreams were obsessed by it. I scoured the shelves aimlessly, not having any idea what I was looking for. Finally, I came upon what must be the book he was referring to. I can’t say how I know. I just do. Really, it is a plain thing. But the moment I touched it, I felt a change in me. I can’t explain it. But what sick thing is this Harman? When I opened the leather cover, the pages were blank! Not a single word in them! Nothing! I feel as though my mind has become unhinged.

Things have gone from bad to worse. Hundreds have died by now. We no longer have time to dig fresh graves.

With Hycorn’s help, we converted a nearby barn into a charnel house like those we used during the last great plague. We dug a large pit in the floor of the barn and are putting the bodies in there. I haven’t dared burning the bodies like Harman advised. I still believe that would be folly. Only Clyde, Burtle and myself are allowed inside.

After touching Harman’s book the other night, I haven’t been able to rid it from my mind. My thoughts and dreams obsess over its empty pages endlessly. God save me, it’s like a fever! I took it from the shelf last night and my mind instantly calmed. I can’t explain it. My fear seemed to evaporate. When I touch it, it’s like a balm. I feel soothed. I keep it with me all the time now.

I was looking at Harman’s book a moment ago and had a thought. The blank pages. They must be for me. I have decided to copy my journal into the book.

It’s done. I’ve copied by journal into Harman’s book. I feel like I’ve spent the night talking with a dear friend. I’ve shared all my secret hopes and fears. I’m exhausted. I truly am. But right now I feel light, and as the sun rises I have hope! God, give me the strength to protect those I love! I don’t want to see any more innocents die!

The fool has done it! God save him! Burtle you clumsy boy, what have you done! He was helping me lance the wounds of the afflicted, but he was exhausted and incautious! My poor oafish boy pressed a wound at the wrong angle and it spat pus into his eye! I helped him flush it out as best I could, but I fear it was no use. His eyelid has already swollen shut and he has a heavy fever. Clyde is with him now. I fear he will die before morning. More than half the town has died by now. God save me, but I fear our work will become easier from now on, as we start to run out of patients. I feel vile. I feel wretched. I feel as though my faith is bleeding away. And even you dear book cannot help ease my pain.

Only about a hundred of us remain. Mrs. Haigleton and Jim Hycorn passed in the night. There are only a few of us left tending to the ill. Emma Jacobs told me this morning that some of the families had fled. But there was been news that other towns are dying as well. And the roads aren’t safe. Bandits and looters are killing those who don’t die of the plague. Miserable opportunistic scum! May they forever be hidden from The Light and drown in darkness!

I fear for my dear friends that are left. Emma and Clyde have deep shadows under their eyes. And since Burtle died, Clyde has had a vacant hopeless look about him. Dear lord of light, tell me how to save them! Give me the strength to protect them!

It is done. I’m alone. Clyde has taken his life.

Why am I alive? I have not eaten or drunk water for two days. I am surrounded by death and I can hardly move under the weight of my despair! But I cannot die. Why have I not been taken like the others? God, why have you cursed me?

The sun has fallen and risen again, and I have hardly moved. And yet, I still seem cursed to live. I fear I know now what to do. I’m afraid this will be my last entry. Goodbye, my dear book.

Enial put down his pen. And just as he had made up his mind and began to close the book, he watched numbly as the letters began to fade. And then disappear. He blinked in dull surprise and flipped to the previous page. It was now blank as well. And he flipped to the next and the next, and then thumbed frantically through them all. Blank. He was breathing rapidly now and his dry mouth hung open thoughtlessly. He starred at the empty page in front of him.

Hello Enial.

The words formed on the page like the book had bled them in ink. After several minutes without change, Enial forced his shaking hand to pick up his pen and write.

Who are you?

Be calm, my friend. You know me well. I’m your book.

And I know you well too.

How can that be?

The universe is a stranger place than you know Enial.

What are you?

I’m a god… or, I was. For with strange eons, even gods may die. But, Enial, they may be born as well.

What do you mean?

Your god of light has abandoned you. He has left you in the darkness and let your loved ones die before your eyes. The gods can be cruel, Enial, and worthless. But I think you would make a good god. Would you like to be a god Enial?

It’s okay Enial. You don’t need to answer. I know your heart. Here, I have a present for you.

As Enial read the letters they began to fade and were replaced with strange writing he had never seen before. But as he starred at the unknown symbols they began to take shape in his mind. Like the whispers you hear as you fall asleep. Without knowing it, he soon realized he was reading effortlessly.

He closed the book and dragged his stiff body to the barn. He didn’t bother with a mask. He wouldn’t need it. He drew the symbols as the book prescribed with the pit in the center. He followed the ritual and said the words. He gave his blood. The words flowed from him like smoke, filling the barn. They felt like hot liquid pouring from his lungs. He closed his eyes and imagined the words filling the pit. And his mind began to throb, and his chest began to hum. When he opened his eyes, there was a strange light coming from the hole. Sparkling motes seemed to play around in the odd light. The words kept gushing from his mouth. His breath and body throbbing on their own. He crawled forward and looked into the pit, expecting to see the bodies of his dead friends. And he did, but they looked like they were sleeping, not dead. Bathed in his words. And as he watched, they stirred. They yawned and began to sit up. Women, children, men, friends and loved ones. Innocents. They sat up and looked at Enial as one. Their eyes happy and alive. A healthy pink glow to their cheeks and smiles on their lips. But Enial tried to call to them and his words faltered. The song was broken and the light began to fade. And as he watched, their skin began to rot and slough off their cheeks. Great sores burst from their flesh. And their bodies collapsed in a heap. Looking on in horror as he lost everything a second time, Enial wept helplessly. When it was done, he pulled the book from his pocket in a desperate fury. The spell was gone and there was nothing left but blank pages.

Damn you! He wrote.

What’s wrong Enial? You didn’t like my gift?

Curse you! You demon! You devil!

Now, now Enial. There’s no need for name calling. What’s wrong?

You killed them!

I tried to help you. Really. I gave you what power I could. But, I’m dying Enial. I’m forgotten.

What do you mean?

I’m a dying god, Enial. I can’t even remember my own name. But I can help you. I can show you how you can be a god too. Then you can save everyone. I can help give you that power. Help me and I’ll help you?

How?

Bind yourself to me Enial. We’ll bring light to the cosmos together. Death is not an end, Enial. It’s a beginning. All those you love, are never truly dead. Together, we can have the power to save everyone. Be mine and I’ll be yours. Bind your soul to mine, and I’ll help you be a god. The righteous, just, merciful god your heart desires.

How?

With a promise. A promise for a promise.

Fine dying one. A promise for a promise. I bind my soul to yours.