The town was settled heavily in a gorge, the intersection of a small mountain road and the once great river which had forged the valley. It was a hard place, tough to live off, and the townspeople subsided on the produce of their sheep and the scant trade brought them by the river. In Winter, mists from the mountains would sink down and drift around the clumped thickets of wood cabins, and assuage the stone church in the square. Hiding from view the lip of the valley and sending townsfolk out into the cold to secure their flocks.
But it was summer, and the place was dry as ever, and hot as ever, and the men were out tending to their sheep on the mountains, and the women in and out the doors of their cabins, tending to chattering children grown bold in the sun; when over the river that hid the valley from the world came a procession, a dozen mohair cloaks tied by a bond of similarity. Cresting the ridge and descending, with a slowness, foot before foot, to the valley below.
The women turned from their chasing and stood with their eyes staring a pass down the broken route. Staring as the procession crawled toward the town. Till they heard with growing clarity the tinkling of cattle bells and rushed their children to their cabins, and ran for their husbands and their tools, crying of the devil and the lepers.
The progress of the lepers was slow, so that by the time they had reached the outskirts of the town, some of the men folk had been brought from their shepparding and the priest had arrived from his stone house, up the river from the village. A crowd, wary and threatening had gathered.
The group halted, it tired members sinking to the ground to sit in a huddled group. One man remained on his feet and called out to the priest. “Drink and cross. We need to drink and cross. We are thirsty and have traveled far”, although he was hooded the mans cracked voice gave hint to the deep progress of his illness, and his hands trembled as he shielded his eyes from the sun. The priest motioned to the townsfolk behind him and they moved forward as one menacing body, clutching rocks and mallets.
The leper who had spoken moved as of about to speak, then turned to his companions an after a few moment they moved off. Several of the towns people threw stones, others hurled abuse, but they made no move to chase, nor to disperse till the group had been gone a long time.
After several miles the vegetation grew more lush, giving the lepers the respite of a soft surface on which to walk. But after a time in the noon bake they grew quiet as the heat burned into their backs through the thick cloth and sweat itched their sores.
Then the afternoon grew to evening and they rested beneath the shelter of a knarled tree. Those in the early stages of the disease could feel their bodies corrupting as they lay, and groaned as much from woe as pain. As evening crept on they removed their overhanging habits and watched each other in silence by the light of the clear risen moon.
The next day they felt again the thirst and longed for the slow, cool water of the river, but they could not return to the town and no other roads led in the rivers direction. So they travelled on, stumbling and falling, blurry eyed and hot, intent on following the winding road; hoods up high over their heads in spite of the sun, to avoid their own reflections in the eyes of their companions. As the sun fell they reached the juncture they had found two days before, and began to follow they route they had not taken, walking well into the night.
On the third day, feet scabbed from trodding the burning earth, hands broken from clawing at rocks to pull themselves along and keep to their feet, they came to a port on the sea, fed by the river. The port was large but empty, and the lepers entered without challenge. They made their stumbling way to a well to wash and drink.
Indulging in the long need water. Needing food, they stole from a half deserted market, who’s few inhabitants fled at their sight, relishing without guilt the crusty bitter bread.
Leaving the town they were stopped, a group of men, scarves around their mouths, stood in the road, blocking the way. The men carried shovels, and pitchforks, and set about the lepers. Keeping them at arms length they struck repeatedly, snapping bones and crushing weak limbs, till exhausted they finished. Signaling the lepers to rise, hauling some to their feet with the ends of their tools. Seven rose, the others lay where they had fallen, immune to the prodding and hefting of the men. Turning from their dead and mortally injured, the seven left. Walking on broken feet and shattered legs, for the most without feeling.
The men of the port were not as trusting as the townsfolk had been, following the lepers for several miles on the road, spitting and catcalling. Eventually they left the group, returning to the port to burn the remainder. At the side of the road the lepers inspected their wounds, trashing and striking the ground in bitter impotence. In time they moved on.
Much later a cart fell into step beside them, their bells silent under the heavy tread of the horses. Silently, as one, they pulled the driver from his seat. Kicking and punching the man until he ceased to struggle, and lay making pitiful wet sounds on the road, then they mounted the cart and moved away, eyes hidden in the depths of their hoods.