Now he was back here again, but this time, every sensation was painfully amplified. The pressure of a blanket on his skin was excruciating, the voices in the room clamored in his ears, he was hot, he was cold, his skin prickled and burned as if a thousand biting insects feasted on him. His eyelids felt like sandpaper, scratching his eyes. He wanted to shed his skin like a snake.

When they took his amulet, they’d ripped out his heart, leaving a gaping hole where the magic poured out. Whenever people came near him, they hurt him, poured boiling water into his mouth, shredded his tender skin with hard, rough hands. They tried to boil him alive and freeze him to death by turns. He fought back. He tried to strike out at them whenever they came near, so they mostly kept their distance.

When he thought he would drown in his own saliva, they turned him over and let it run out of his mouth. Several times his entire body seized up, going rigid for minutes at a time. All of his muscles ached for hours after the spasms passed.

When he opened his eyes and saw Willo, he fixed on her face and tried to speak, to plead with her not to let them torment him anymore. But his words never made it past his lips.

Finally, they gave him back his amulet. It rested on his chest like a warm fire, just the right temperature, and he held on to it with both hands. It was his tether to the world. It kept him grounded, kept the flash circulating instead of leaking away. Now he heard a familiar voice speaking in his head, unexpectedly kind and soothing.

Well, now, Alister, you’ve managed to survive in spite of yourself. There is a god that looks after fools, apparently.

Crow? Nah. Not possible.

Han tried to remember how he’d come to be at Marisa Pines. What had happened? Had he caught Mari’s fever again? There were some fevers that came back over and over.

They kept pestering him with food and drink.

And then he opened his eyes and found himself staring into Rebecca Morley’s face. She was waist-deep in water, hair plastered down, and steam rising all around her, like one of those fish-maidens in stories who ask riddles, and if you get the answers wrong they try to drown you. Rebecca had hold of his ankles, and Willo and somebody else held his arms, and they were lowering him into a freezing hot spring.

He didn’t have any clothes on, but he was too muddleheaded to worry about it.

Another time, he woke on dry land. Rebecca had some porridge on a spoon and was trying to wedge it into his mouth. Her hand trembled and tears stood in her eyes.

Well, if it means that much to you, he thought.