He wagged his eyebrows at me and pulled his shirt off his shoulder, exposing an old bullet wound in his chest. “Georgians.” He laughed.

Atsany rolled his eyes.

“Does he understand what you say?” I asked.

“He does. It’s his own kind of magic,” Astamur answered. “If it weren’t for supplies, I’d never go back down to town. But a man has to do what a man has to do. Hard to live like a king without toilet paper.”

We finished eating. Atsany pulled out a pipe and said something with a solemn expression.

“He says he owes you a debt. He wants to know what you want.”

“Tell him no debt. He doesn’t owe me anything.”

Atsany’s bushy eyebrows came together. He took out his pipe and lectured me in a serious voice, punctuating his words by pointing the pipe at me. I was clearly on the receiving end of a very serious talking-to. Unfortunately for him, he was barely a foot and a half tall. I bit my bottom lip trying not to laugh.

“Do you want a short version or a long one?” Astamur said.

“Short one.”

“You saved his life, he owes you, and you should let him pay it back. That last part is advice from me. It will make him very unhappy to know that he owes someone. So what do you want? Do you want him to show you where there are riches? Do you want a man to fall in love with you?”

If only love were that easy. I sighed. “No, I don’t want riches and I have a man, thank you. He isn’t exactly a man. And I don’t exactly have him anymore, but that’s neither here nor there.”

Astamur translated. “Then what do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“There has to be something.”

Fine. “Ask him if he would share the magic word with me.”

Astamur translated.

Atsany froze and said something, the words coming fast like rocks falling down the mountain.

“He says it might kill you.”

“Tell him I already have some magic words, so I probably won’t die.”

“Probably?” Astamur raised his eyebrows.

“A very small chance.”

Atsany sighed.

“He says he will, but I can’t look. I’ll check on the sheep.” Astamur got up and went toward the pasture. “Try not to die.”

“I’ll do my best.”

Atsany leaned forward, picked up a skewer, and wrote something in the dirt. I looked.

An avalanche of agony drowned me, exploding into a twisting maelstrom of glowing lines. I rolled inside, each turn hurting more and more, as if my mind were being picked apart, shaved off with some phantom razor blade one tiny, excruciating layer at a time. I turned inside the cascade of pain, faster and faster, trying desperately to hold on to my mind.

A word surfaced from the glow. I had to make it mine, or it would kill me.

“Aarh.” Stop.