Airie

Chapter 18

Dusan walked into the cave, carrying water in the hollow, dish-sized stone he had found by the nearby creak. This wasn't much, but Reijo could drink it when he woke up, or Dusan could use it to clean his wound when changing the bandages. Not having the most basic tools with him was beyond frustrating. He needed cups, blankets, rags—but everything he possessed was in the village, and he couldn't go there now.

At least he had his knife. He'd used it to remove the arrow from Reijo's shoulder, breaking the shaft and pulling the rest out, and then doing his best to clean the wound, extracting the tiny pieces of cloth that the arrow had pushed inside. It there had been anything that could be considered lucky about this day, it had been Reijo's being unconscious throughout the procedure. It had been tricky enough to do with just one knife and without anyone's assistance, and if Reijo resisted, it would have been impossible.

Dusan put the water down and stood over Reijo's unmoving body. Blood stained Reijo's neck and chest, and some of it had trickled down to soak the fabric of his pants. Dusan could distinguish amongst the stains his own bloody fingerprints from the bandaging process.

The bandages were already soaked. He had cut Reijo's tunic to make them and used the rest of it to cover him up a bit. The fabric felt strange, made of fibers thin as hairs, yet so strong he couldn't tear it. With the help of his knife he'd eventually managed to reduce it to a bunch of rags, by now red and wet and in need of replacement.

Given how much blood Reijo had lost, it was worrying that he was still asleep. On the other hand, Dusan wasn't too eager to hear what he would say once he woke up and realized that he had lost much more than just blood.

Dusan touched Reijo's forehead. There was no fever yet, but he knew it would come. The arrow's broadhead had done some damage. There were healers in the village, inaccessible to him now—but even if he could turn to them, they hadn't been of much use when his own wound had festered. It had been Reijo's magic that had healed him.

Perhaps there would be no fever. He had cleaned the wound. Perhaps Reijo would survive, and then...

They have no place in this world after they lose their magic.

A moan pulled Dusan out of his thoughts. Reijo's eyelashes fluttered a bit, and then, his eyes opened. He blinked, his gaze wandering around before fixing on Dusan. Uncomprehending at first, it slowly filled with recognition. Reijo's green eyes looked different now—puffy, the white of them darkened by the broken blood vessels. Everything about him seemed tainted and broken, and it was all Dusan's fault. If only he had realized that Mirche had suspected something. If only he had been more careful...

"Bad," Reijo whispered. His lips looked dry and cracked, and Dusan considered offering him water, but he would need to sit up to drink, and that would hurt. "I feel... bad."

"You're probably not too familiar with pain. It gets better."

"An arrow." Reijo's wide-eyed gaze shifted towards his own shoulder.

"I removed it. There's a bandage. Don't touch it."

"Where are they?"

"Who?"

"Those who did it." Surprising Dusan, Reijo sat up, before gasping and moaning in pain.

"Don't," Dusan said. "Try to move as little as you can."

"Where are they?" Reijo repeated, regaining his breath. "I'll kill them."

"They're gone. Here, drink some water."

"Tell me where they are."

"What for? They're not here."

"I'll get them. I'll send the river to drown them. I'll make the wind crush them."