“What are his symptoms?”

Yenni found herself holding back tears as she explained the way her father’s body refused to obey him, how difficult it was for him to get out of bed each day, his constant pain. A knot of guilt formed in her stomach at not being with him, not having to see him suffer.

“That is difficult,” Carmenna said. “With symptoms like that it could be anything. I’ll do my best to help you, but I’m still studying. Why not have a physician look at him?”

“I doubt he could make the journey to Cresh,” said Yenni.

“Well, couldn’t you have a healer go to him then? Or is that too costly?”

“Exactly that,” said Yenni, latching on to Carmenna’s explanation. It would be troublesome to tell her the real reason they couldn’t simply import a Creshen healer—no Creshen had visited the Yirba in hundreds of years. Think of the insult to the Healers’ Guild! If the first Creshen to set foot on Yirba soil in centuries was brought in to save the chieftain, it would be politically devastating, especially when there was no guarantee that a Creshen healer would be any more knowledgeable. Even Yenni’s journey would cause grumbles, but as she was on Orire N’jem, who could argue with the Sha?

“I have heard that there have been instances of a similar illness in Cresh recently,” said Yenni.

Carmenna tore of a hunk of bread and chewed, lost in thought. “There has been something going on, yes. My professor brought it up just today, in fact, in Advances in Magical Physicry. To be honest, it has the medicinal community, both magical and not, somewhat at a loss. The onset is sudden, and leaves the patient weak and gaunt, no matter how much they eat. They seem especially prone to respiratory issues. Has your father been coughing up blood?”

“Yes,” Yenni all but whispered.

Carmenna clicked her tongue. “That’s not good.”

“Is there no cure? No treatment?”

“Well, that’s the thing. Apparently, the first case of this illness was reported more than a year ago, and no one has been able to determine what causes it or the best course of treatment. The only good thing is it doesn’t seem to be contagious. Still, it’s somewhat alarming, especially the name.” She dunked her bread in her stew and glanced up at Yenni. “They call it the wither-rot.”

“I see,” said Yenni. She stirred her stew dejectedly, her appetite having fled. So the Creshens knew no more than she did.

“I’m sorry, Yenniajeni. I do wish I could be of more help.”

“It’s Yenni Ajani.”

“Ah,” said Carmenna, wincing. “Sorry.”