We were being pushed up one of the wells. Green moss gave way to thick stones. We were nearly to the top of the well when we slowed.

Our bodies bounced back and forth between the walls as the water settled into place. Cion cried out with each impact.

I grabbed onto a mossy patch of rock and surveyed the situation. The water around Cion swirled red. His face was ashen and his eyes cloudy. His head dipped dangerously close to the waterline. It was taking all his energy to hold it that far up.

I transferred his grip on me to the wall so that I didn’t keep jostling him around every time I moved, but without the current holding him up, he was sinking steadily.

I looked up at the circle of light above us.

We still had probably fifteen feet to the top.

There was no way I’d have time to climb up and lower the bucket to him to pull him up. Not before he sank and drowned.

There was only one other option.

“Can you climb?” I asked.

He let out a small noise that I couldn’t tell was meant as a yes or a no. But he started pulling himself up the wall.

His eyes scrunched shut. His knuckles turned white, and yet he continued to move upward.

If it’d been anyone but Cion, I doubted they’d have the strength.

I waited until he made it a few stones up before climbing up after him.

He kept having to pause to catch his breath. His entire side was covered with blood, which stained the wall as it slid down into the water.

“Keep going,” I urged. “You’re almost there.”

His breaths were labored when he made it to the ledge. I hopped over first and pulled him the rest of the way up. His fingers were clammy and could barely grasp mine. His eyes rolled back in his head.

We landed with a thud in the sand.

“You’re not giving up now,” I said. He looked even paler in the morning light. His lips were nearly blue. He started shivering.

I knelt next to him.

Already the sand beneath his side was turning red.

I pressed my hands against the wound. It was nearly the length of my entire hand. And it was deep.

“Come on, Cion,” I pleaded. “You can’t give up on me now. Not when we’ve made it this far.”

“Dimic,” he moaned.

“He’s fine,” I said. I knew it was a lie, but it was what he needed to hear. “He will meet us back at the hideout.” I shoved wet strands of hair away from his forehead.

I knew Dimic couldn’t swim. The image of Dimic’s shape against the beams when the dam burst haunted me. I couldn’t let Cion see that; he needed to believe his brother was alive. That hope might be the only thing holding him together.

Because the desert couldn’t take that from him. Not Dimic. He’d never even gotten to take a bath. And I couldn’t imagine a more horrible way for a Desert Boy to die than to drown in the very water he’d been deprived of his whole life.