“What do you mean, you can’t?” Dusan said, peering into darkness. “Don’t fool with me. You have your powers as long as I haven’t wounded you. I’ll do just that if you go on playing with me.”

“I’m not playing,” the airie said, the annoyance clear in his voice. “Do you think I enjoy being stuck here with you?”

Dusan blinked, processing that. It really didn’t make sense for the airie to willingly remain in such a close proximity to a human. Knowing what a wound, even an accidental one, would do to them, the air people were extremely careful to keep a safe distance from humans. This airie’s claim that he couldn’t wield his magic also explained why Dusan was still alive after repeatedly trying to attack him.

“Why,” Dusan said slowly, “can’t you use your powers?”

“How about you just accept it that I can’t?”

“How about I keep trying to stab you?”

“Fine.” The airie sighed. “You’re as savage as your whole kind. Wild animals, all of you.”

“Just answer the question,” Dusan said.

His anger was subsiding. Somehow, knowing that the creature couldn’t do anything calmed him a bit, even though it meant that he wasn’t going to get any magical help. It made them almost equal, and being an equal to an airie had a surprising soothing effect.

“I need air to create wind,” the airie said grudgingly. “What do you think the wind is made of?”

Dusan nodded slowly. The air people had gotten their name for their ability to manipulate air—create storms, bring clouds filled with rain, or clear the sky completely, causing bouts of heat. He hadn’t seen them do any of this—save for this airie’s attempt to freeze him to death—but in all of the tales, one thing was common. The airies wielded their magic in open spaces, where unlimited air was available.

“You can’t do it here,” Dusan said slowly. “There’s not enough air for you to use.”

“You’re wonderfully smart for a brainless savage. Will you leave me alone now?”

Dusan let out a long sigh, then made a few steps, feeling about for the wall. As his hand encountered a cold rock, he slid down and sat on the floor. After chasing the airie in complete darkness, now he couldn’t even tell in which direction the exit lay. There was little to do now but wait for his friends to find him, and pray that they would do that in time, and that they would also catch the escaped pirate before he reached his ship—or ships. There could be a whole fleet waiting for their scouts by the shore. If one arrived, bringing the news that the other two had been killed, the revenge would be merciless.

“They’ll catch him,” he said, more to himself than the airie. “They’ll dig us out, too.”

“Hopefully,” the airie said.

“Won’t anyone come looking for you?”

“No.”

“Don’t you have a family or friends?”

“We don’t live in groups. Each of us is separate and independent.”

“Really?” Despite the circumstances, that picked Dusan’s interest. “You don’t form families? How do you… reproduce?”

“Not as ridiculously as you do, that’s for sure.” Dusan heard the airie snort, and then came a soft rustling noise that suggested that the creature followed Dusan’s example in sitting on the floor.

“But… you do mate, somehow? I mean, there’s got to be some contact involved.”

“A bit of it, yes. We only touch for procreation. We’re not as touchy and needy as your kind. We keep alone until one of us decided to have a child, and then we meet, then separate, and when the child is old enough, it separates, too, and lives on its own.”

“How old is considered old enough?”

“About three years old.”

“Really?” Startled, Dusan shook his head. “You’ve been alone since that age? Maybe that’s why you’re looking for entertainment all the time.”

“Our needs are different from yours.”

“I bet they are.”

“You won’t understand.”

“Sure.”

The airie snorted again, and then all was silent.

“What’s your name?” Dusan said.

“What’s that to you?”

“I’m Dusan.”

“What an ugly name.” That was said without feeling, though—more out of a habit of confrontation, apparently, rather than a genuine opinion. Dusan opened his mouth to enquire for the airie’s name again, but then a muffled noise reached his ears.

He went completely still, listening. The noise repeated—a scratching sound to his right, a bit like stones and rocks rolling down, but too quiet to be happening in the cave. Did it come from the outside? Was someone trying to dig them out already?

He crawled towards the sound, feeling around until his hands found a familiar jumble of rocks and fresh earth that blocked the exit. Leaning on it, he got up to his feet and pressed his ear to the uneven wall. The sounds, still muffled, grew louder.

“Hey,” Dusan shouted, pressing his mouth to one of the earth-filled cracks between the rocks. He paused to spit out the dirt that stuck to his lips, then tried again. “I’m here! The pirate’s got away! Catch the pirate!”

There was a pause in the noise, then came a faint sound of voices. He couldn’t tell what they were saying—which meant they likely didn’t make out his words as well—but they’d probably heard his voice. Borwin wouldn’t take chances, he knew. Even as one or two of them were digging Dusan out, he would surely send the rest to ensure the last scout hadn’t gotten away. As the muffled sounds of digging resumed outside, Dusan’s heart filled with hope.

“Your friends?” the airie said.

“I hope so,” Dusan answered. His ear was still pressed to the wall, but his attention shifted from the noises outside to the creature behind him. Dusan could be out in a few minutes—but so would be the airie. What would the spiteful thing do once his magic was available to him again?

“You hope so?” the airie said. “Do you hear them or not?”

“I can’t hear what they say. Perhaps you have better ears? Try to listen.”

The airie snorted. “Of course, I have better ears.”

There was a whiff of air against the back of Dusan’s neck as something moved close to him. Blindly, he grabbed, and his fingers finally locked on something tangible, smooth and warm. The airie let out a cry of surprise, and Dusan tightened his grip on his wrist—he was quite sure that this was what he’d seized.

“Careful!” the airie cried, twisting his hand, but Dusan held for dear life. “Let go!”

“I have a knife in my other hand, in case you forgot,” Dusan said. “Be quiet and stop struggling, or I’ll cut you.”

The airie went very still. Dusan could feel tremors run through the hand in his grip. He took a deep breath.

“Now,” Dusan said, “we’re going to really talk.”

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