Another of the men stepped forward, holding what might’ve been a parcel wrapped haphazardly in dirty linens. “Here.”

Faryon grabbed it from him without so much as a word of gratitude, unwrapped the hand, which almost didn’t look real given its darkened pallor and congealed blood at the wrist. “Help him stand,” he commanded next.

Two more men snapped into action, hauling Jost up under the armpits. “Remove the cloth.”

Loy stared at him with pale blue eyes but did as he was told. Blood continued to drip from the wound, but the flow had slowed somewhat, which Faryon knew wasn’t a good thing. He was running out of blood. Carefully, he pressed the severed hand to the stump.

That was right about when Jost lost consciousness. “Godsdammit, hold him steady!” he snapped. “Now get him to the pond.” When the men hesitated, he said, “Now, you rutting fools!”

While holding Jost’s severed hand against his stump, Faryon directed his men down the short slope to the edge of the glowing pool. “Gently! Gently!” They laid Jost onto the soft earth, the mud streaking his cheek. His breathing was shallow now. They had seconds not minutes. Faryon knew everything he’d worked so hard for was on the knife’s edge between jubilant glory and complete disaster. If the lad died, his men would mutiny. Maybe even kill him.

He held his breath and lowered Jost’s amputated hand and arm into the golden flow. As it vanished beneath the luminous surface, Faryon had expected something to happen, something reminiscent of his own experience with the liquid. Instead, there was nothing.

Jost’s chest stopped rising and falling, his breaths ceased scraping from his lips. Everything was still and silent.

“You bastard,” Loy said. “You’ve killed him.”

The man’s large shadow fell across Faryon, but he ignored it, focusing on that golden plane where Jost’s stump had disappeared into the pond. Releasing his breath in a slow, steady stream, he lifted it out. For several moments, it was hard to make out whether anything had changed, the glowing liquid dominating his view. But, little by little, it began to slough off him, dripping away.

Revealing the truth.

“What in the…,” someone said, words giving way to an awe-filled silence.

“Behold,” Faryon said, keeping his voice low so everyone would have to lean in to hear him. “The River of Life and all its gifts.”

Murmurs spread across his men. They were filled with wonder, reverence, excitement. Finally, they knew. Finally, they understood. Except…

“He’s dead,” Loy announced through gritted teeth. “He’s rutting dead.” Faryon turned his head to find the man’s fingers pressed to the lad’s throat, searching for a pulse.

Uncertainty stole Faryon’s breath for a moment before he shoved it away, cupping his hand and dipping it into the pool until it was filled. “Open his mouth.”

“No. I’m done with this. All of it.”