Dusan woke up in his room. A bit of sunset light was getting in through the small window, but most of the room was already filled with shadows. Still, he could see that someone was there with him, a figure moving in the corner, at the edge of his vision.

“Who’s there?” he said, and tried to sit up, but stopped as sharp pain pierced his side. He lay back, shaking with cold. He felt about for a blanket, but there was none. He had his pants on, but was naked above the waist, save for the bandages around his abdomen. His skin felt dry and hot to the touch.

“You awake?” said Zora.

She came over, bringing a bucket of water. She placed it by his bed, then soaked a cloth in it, squeezed it, and ran it across Dusan’s chest.

“Don’t,” he said, trying to push her hand away. “I’m cold.”

“I’m trying to lower the fever.”

“Better get me a blanket.”

“We need to cool you down, not warm you up.”

“Water,” he said.

A cool edge of a cup touched his lips. Zora helped him raise his head. He took a few sips, then lay back, trying unsuccessfully to stop shivering.

“I’ve slept for the whole day?” he asked.

“For two days,” she said, her face hovering above him, blurry in the shadows, her pale hand lying protectively on her pregnant belly. “You woke up briefly a couple of times. You probably don’t remember.”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “I’m better now. Go home. Your husband is waiting.”

“I would have no husband, if not for you,” she said. “You saved Mirche.”

He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just let out an affirmative grumble. Mirche was his friend, so, of course, he had done all he could to help him.

“Go be with him,” he said.

“I can’t leave you alone,” she said. “Why haven’t you married, Dusan? A man needs a wife to take care of him.”

“Maybe I will,” he said.

After a pause, she said, “Sure you will.”

She was lying, he knew from the pause and the fake cheer in her voice. She didn’t think he would live long enough to get married. She had a point. He felt bad. He’d had fevers before, but this one was strange, uneven, torturous. It felt like his body was falling apart. He considered asking for more water, but the prospect of having to move again sealed his lips. The pain was more bearable when he lay still. In fact, he’d been better off sleeping. He shouldn’t have woken up at all if all that awaited him was this.

He closed his eyes for what felt like a moment, but when he opened them again, the room was only illuminated by the moonlight. His lips felt dry and cracked, and his body was on fire. There was another face above him now, a bearded one. Dusan stared, not recognizing.

“You’re awake,” said Borwin. “I came to check on you.”

“Water,” whispered Dusan, and waited for the cup and the helping hand. He drank some, spilled more, and finally lay back again.

“You’re strong,” said Borwin, putting the cup away. “I thought you’d be dead by now.”

“It won’t take long.”

“It probably won’t. You did well, though, getting rid of those bastards… but the way you did it, boy! Did Mirche get it right? You made a deal with an airie?”

“Yes.”

“What do you owe him now?”

“He owed me. I didn’t cut him when I had the chance. We’re square now.”

“Square!” Bowin snorted. “He left you to die in the sea. Good thing the currents were in your favor, and Mirche managed to get both of you to the shore.” Borwin shook his head. “You can’t trust those creatures. They’ve been our enemies for centuries. Many of your ancestors have lost their lives fighting them.”

“He saved the village.”

“We could have fought the pirates without the help from some cursed creature.”

“We would have been defeated.”

“That would have been an honorable defeat, not this… sorcery. We live by the rules of this world, and we die by them. We don’t try to bend them to our will or make pacts with those who do.” Borwin went quiet for a moment, then sighed. “Anyway, there’s no use thinking about that now. You made your choice, and we’ve all benefited from it, so I guess we owe you some gratitude, no matter how you achieved that.”

He placed his hand of Dusan’s burning forehead. This felt like childhood, when his parents had been alive, checking on their son having a fever in the night.

“I hope you won’t suffer much longer,” Borwin said. “You meant well, so you don’t deserve the pain. Would you like me to finish it now?”

Dusan shuddered. His own body was torturing him, yet the thought of death was still appalling. Even if he knew this was the inevitable outcome, he still wasn’t ready for it.

“No,” he said. “I’d like to be alone.”

“All right, son,” said Borwin. Dusan felt him get up, then heard his retreating footsteps.

His eyes closed. He tried to will himself to sleep again, but his body was too awake now, too filled with pain. He tried to breathe slowly, to feel every breath, knowing that each of them could be his last. This was so unfair. His life shouldn’t have ended so quickly. He’d saved the village, after all—why was he being punished for it by this slow, painful dying?

“I thought he’d never leave,” said someone.

With an effort, Dusan forced his eyes open and saw a pale figure standing by his bed.

“Just as I said earlier,” said the person. “Your kind are so clingy. There was constantly someone by your side. You never leave each other alone.”

“They care about me,” Dusan whispered.

“I would be driven mad by such care,” said Reijo, stepping closer. “Not a moment alone, even when you’re asleep.”

“Thanks for your help,” said Dusan.

“I only paid my debt.”

“I know. We’re even.” Dusan tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “Thank you for not laughing now.”

“Laughing?” Reijo jerked his head in surprise. “Why would I be laughing?”

“This is probably entertaining to you.”

Reijo frowned, then tilted his head thoughtfully.

“No,” he said slowly, “it’s not. Now, close your eyes.”

Dusan briefly considered asking why he should do that, but that seemed like too much of an effort. Also, closing his eyes was something he had been wanting to do since he had opened them. So, he obeyed, and stared at the darkness behind his eyelids, waiting for the sleep to come. He vaguely felt his bandages being removed. That disturbed his wound, and he moaned in protest.

“Hush,” said Reijo. “Don’t move. Also, don’t speak.”

“Why?”

“Because you say stupid things that annoy me.”

With dizzy confusion, Dusan felt Reijo lay down next to him on the narrow bed. A hand touched Dusan’s side, covering the wound. Dusan braced himself for the explosion of pain such a contact was sure to bring, but it wasn’t too bad. It felt as if Reijo’s hand both was and wasn’t there—a ghost’s touch. With his eyes closed, Dusan wondered if he was imagining this, if perhaps he was dreaming. The pain was getting weaker, and he kept lying still, his eyes closed, afraid to chase the illusion away. Gradually, as the pain subsided, the exhaustion took over, and he drifted away.

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