For a moment, Dusan couldn’t process what was happening. An arrow couldn’t be sticking out of Reijo’s shoulder. An airie couldn’t be wounded. A wounded airie was as good as dead, like a horse with a broken leg, better off finished quickly. Dusan tore his eyes away from the rapidly growing red stain on Reijo’s tunic, and met his eyes, impossibly huge on his suddenly bloodless face.

His expression pulled Dusan out of his stupor. He could ponder the consequences later, but right now, an arrow had been shot at them, and another could follow any moment.

He jumped to his feet and pulled Reijo aside, out of the path of whoever had aimed the first shot. His heart hammering, he looked around. All he could see was trees, their leaves motionless in the still air.

It had to be someone from the village, someone who had followed him. They had come for the airie—so, they wouldn’t shoot Dusan, would they? He moved again, positioning himself between Reijo and the general direction from which the arrow must have come. The whistling noise that had accompanied its arrival still sounded in his ears, as if one arrow after another were being shot at them. He glanced back and saw Reijo wrapping his fingers around the shaft of the blood-covered arrow, below the iron broadhead.

“No!” Dusan snapped. “Don’t pull it out! You’ll bleed to death!”

“Bleed?” Reijo looked up.

“You’ve been shot. You’re bleeding right now.”

“No, I’m not.”

Dusan opened his mouth to argue, then thought better of it. They could deal with this later. If he didn’t get them both out of here, the ‘later’ might not even happen.

He looked around again and tensed as a man stepped out from behind one of the trees. Then, another one appeared. The two were far away, and it was impressive that their shot had even hit the target. It had probably been meant to pierce Reijo’s heart, but no one could aim so precisely from such a distance, not even the best hunter in the village.

Bile rose in Dusan’s throat as he watched Mirche come closer, raising a hand in greeting, his bow still clutched in his fist. Beside him, Borwin made his way carefully between the tufts. He wasn’t even armed. They clearly didn’t mean to inflict any more damage. They knew that one arrow was enough.

“Move aside,” said Reijo from behind him. “I’ll take care of them.”

“You can’t.” Dusan glanced back at Reijo’s ashen face. He was losing too much blood too quickly, and already seemed on the verge of fainting. He probably didn’t even realize that. He was unfamiliar with any of this. He had never been wounded before.

“Why,” Dusan growled, turning to the approaching men, “why, on earth…”

“It had to be done,” said Mirche, coming closer. “You don’t see it now, but you will.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“You’re under a spell,” said Bowrin, stopping a few steps away and producing a long knife from under his sash. “Step away and let me finish this.”

“No!”

“Yes,” Borwin said. “You’ve been meddling with things beyond your understanding long enough.”

“If you don’t understand something, it doesn’t mean you must destroy it!”

Borwin and Mirche exchanged glances. Dusan could see that anything he said would only straighten their conviction that he was under a spell.

Was he?

Did it matter?

He felt movement behind him and turned around in time to grab Reijo as he slid down, his eyes rolling back in his head. Dusan caught him with one hand, his movement disturbing the arrow in Reijo’s shoulder, which must have hurt immensely. There were no cries of pain, though—Reijo was already out.

With his free hand, Dusan pulled out his own knife and pointed it at Borwin and Mirche who had begun to come closer, but now stopped, staring at his weapon.

“You can’t mean this,” Mirche said. “You won’t attack us—for him.”

“I will if you don’t stay away!”

Dusan could see the pain in Mirche’s eyes and felt an echo of it in his own guts. Threatening his best friend felt like betrayal, yet at the same time, he was so mad at Mirche right now that he wasn’t sure what he’d do if the two men came any closer.

“I didn’t know this airie had such a grip on you,” said Borwin, shaking his head. “We would have taken care of it earlier if we knew what was going on, but you were good in hiding it. Good thing Mirche shared his suspicions with me today. If nothing else, you’re blessed with good friends.”

“Get back! I won’t let you hurt him any more!”

“I don’t intend to,” Borwin said. “I only meant to stop his pain. If you do care about him, you’ll let me do that. Now’s the best time. He’s unconscious and won’t feel anything. You know they have no place in this world after they lose their magic.”

“It’s not up to you to decide!” Dusan pulled Reijo’s limp body closer to keep him upright, feeling his blood beginning to soak through his own shirt.

“That’s not you speaking, but the spell,” Borwin said, patiently. “His magic will dissipate soon, and you’ll be ashamed of what you’re doing and saying now. Then, you’ll come back. You’re one of us, and forever will be.”

Dusan backed away until the cold water of the stream lapped at his feet. Then, he bent down and scooped Reijo up in his arms, and then he turned around and ran.

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