Ipulled away, panting as the man’s eyelids lifted and hovered, half-open. He forced a brutal cough from his chest, watery and frantic, turning to his side to spit and hack.
His diaphragm contracted with each breath. I watched the curve of his ribcage through his wet clothes, stomach concave as his mangled gasps ripped the air. He moved his arms slowly, as if in pained awe that he could, his eyes lined with red fire from salt and lack of oxygen.
I watched in shock, realizing I hadn't expected him to wake up.
How long had he been under?
Muscles depleted, I fell backward with a sigh, waiting for my heart and lungs to calm. My hands wouldn't stop shaking.
Mihaunaalive, I’d actually rescued a man from the sea. Wouldn’t my aunt love to see this.
He strained, fighting to sit upright, and I rose heavily on my feet to help him. The man gazed blankly at me, mouth parted and eyes wide. Hand extended to him, I cleared my throat, glancing back toward the water. He stared, and I fidgeted for something to say.
“Are you alright?” I finally asked.
“Am I dead?” He blinked once, and fresh tears slid down his cheeks.
“No. You're alive.”
Blisters covered his face and hands, his lips cracked and bleeding. His headwrap of ruffles had fallen off when I’d dragged him in. Unfurled in the sand, I realized it’d been a rolled-up shirt, elegant and buttoned. Without it, a pale tan line cut across his forehead, stark in contrast to the red burn below it.
He blinked again, mouth agape. “Is this the afterworld?”
“You’re alive—”
“My mother—”
“Do you think you can sit higher?” I asked, propping him up.
“I saw my mother in the water.”
I glanced around, searching for any help nearby, but we were alone. This was Neris Island. No one came here but me and the Naiads—and they certainly wouldn't help me save aman, even a young one. They hated men even more than I did.
“Can you stand?”
“My mother,” he half-sobbed, as though pleading for me to understand, staring at me between coughs.
“Are you thirsty?” I asked.
He lifted his head, eyes rolling backwards under heavy lids. “You have water?”
“Some.” I offered my water skein to him, watching as he took a large gulp. “Don’t drink too much.”
“I could drink the whole thing,” he said in a ragged voice, downing another swig. I pulled it out of his hand. “Please,” was all he said, his eyes wandering shut again.
“If you drink too much, you’ll vomit,” I answered.
We sat in silence, the sun blazing on us, waves licking his legs and toes. He needed Akamai, but I wanted him alert beforetaking him to the village doctor. I didn’t need him dropping over the side of the boat and into the water like a dead fish.
The sun sat high over our backs as I surveyed the man, wondering how best to move him. It was difficult to know what he looked like. His dark-gold hair was drenched and full of sand, though I supposed mine was too. His features lay hidden under a blanket of burns over his face, neck, and arms—the worst I’d ever seen. Blisters spanned his cheeks and shoulders, orange and shiny below thin membranes of skin. His lips were vibrant red, his hands calloused and bleeding, his feet bare.
I winced and glanced behind us. “You came here in a rowboat?”
His head swiveled, following my line of sight toward the beach. The rowboat rested, tilting slightly on one side, a layer of sand and water settling along its base.
He mumbled something I assumed wasyes.
“Where did you come from?”
