All pain left his body as he slipped into cold, unending darkness.
He woke sitting in the peach orchard of his youth. It was springtime. Everything was blooming, the world was pink and fresh. Recanna was lying at his side, her head in his lap. It was a warm day, and the only sound in the world was the faint hum of bees working through the blossoms overhead.
He was young again, eighteen perhaps. His hands were calloused from labor, but unscarred by battle. He looked at them, wondering why he'd expected them to be any different.
He nudged Recanna. She stirred, sitting up, brushing her long dark hair from her face.
"Did I fall asleep?" she asked.
Bant started to say yes. He stopped as he remembered why his hands should be scarred.
"You died," he said. "Dragons killed you. Dragons killed you because of what I'd done."
She nodded, looking as if she, too, were searching her memories. "Yes," she said. "I remember now."
The breeze that washed over them was warm and scented by the clover of the nearby fields. Bitterwood swallowed hard. Nothing hurt inside him for the first time in memory. "Is this… is this heaven?" he asked, softly.
"Do you believe in heaven?" she asked.
"No," he whispered. "I haven't believed in anything for a long time."
"Then where will you find me?"
"I don't… I don't know."
He raised his hands to wipe the tear that trickled down his cheek. As the back of his hand touched his face, he woke.
"Recanna?" he said, sitting up, looking across the dark room toward the female form that sat near the fire.
"It's me," the woman answered. "Jandra. Can you see me?"
He rubbed his eyes, then blinked several times. Suddenly, Jandra popped into focus. "I see you," he said.
"Good," she said. "I was worried your fever might have damaged your vision. I tried to repair some of the fine blood vessel damage I found there, but I'm still new at this. I worried I might do more harm than good. But I thought I was doing it right because I discovered something strange about you."
"What?" he asked.
"You already had nanites inside you. They were dormant, like they were left over from repairing you before, but they already contained programming for restoring tissue. I just had to reactivate them. Did Vendevorex ever heal you?"
"No," said Bitterwood. "I don't know what a nanite is."
"And no one has ever cured your injuries before?"
"I didn't say that," Bitterwood said. "A long time ago, after the fall of Conyers, I was healed by a green-skinned woman. She caused my hands to grow back after they'd been bitten off by a dragon. To this day, I don't know if she was an angel or a devil. Since she worked her magic, I've been faster and stronger. My vision is as sharp as a sky-dragon's."
"Hmm," Jandra said.
Bitterwood stared at his hands. They were wrinkled, calloused, and scarred. Yet, they felt whole. The decaying purple sausages that had sat at the end of his arm were wriggling fingers again. It wasn't just his hands that felt restored. He tossed aside the blanket, which was now clean. Beneath, he was naked. All the wounds inflicted by the long-wyrm were healed. His body was covered by a hundred smooth crisscrossing scars, but he felt fine. All traces of the fever and weakness were gone.
"I'm sorry about the scars," Jandra said. "Once I got rid of the infection and repaired the deep structure damage, I simply accelerated your body's own healing systems."
Jandra wasn't looking directly at him as she spoke, averting her eyes from his nudity. Bitterwood grabbed the blanket and pulled it back over his lap to hide himself.
"You must command the same magic Vendevorex used," Bitterwood said. "He healed himself after being gutted. He should have died."
"He did die, later, in the Free City. I'm not sure how much you know about what's happened since I left you."
"Not much," Bitterwood said. "I've been traveling with Zeeky… Zeeky! Where is she?"
"Missing," said Jandra. "Her brother said she went into the mines."
"That fool girl," he grumbled. "She'll get herself eaten. Why didn't you go after her?"
"I've been saving your life," she said, looking hurt by his scolding tone.
Bitterwood looked around for his clothes. If Zeeky had gone into the mines, he'd have to go after her. "Where did you put my-?"
"Here," Jandra said, lifting a folded bundle of leather and linen. "I took these off because I didn't want to get the fibers entangled in your wounds. I repaired them as best I could. Nothing fancy. There wasn't much to work with."
She tossed the bundle to Bitterwood. He caught the familiar fabric, recognizing at once the linen shirt and buckskin pants he'd worn for so many years. He couldn't recall the last time they'd been so completely free of blood stains. The tattered blanket he'd worn on his journey had been fashioned into an actual cloak, complete with a drawstring hood.
"I didn't know you were a seamstress as well as a witch," he said. He took a sidelong glance at her. "You've changed your hair again." Her long brown locks hung freely past her shoulders from beneath the silver skullcap. In the Free City, her hair had been black, and barely shoulder length. Her clothes also caught his attention, as it looked like dragon hide. The material clung to her body in a way that seemed part of her. Elaborate flourishes of feathery lace around the cuff and collar seemed more appropriate for a palace than for a cave in the wilderness. "Your clothes look like something that peacock you consorted with might have worn. What was his name? Pet?"
Jandra frowned. "Pet wasn't my consort. I don't appreciate being judged simply because I want to wear something nicer than rags."
As she spoke, Bitterwood sniffed the air. "It's not my imagination. There was a sun-dragon here."
"Hexilizan," said Jandra. "He likes to be called Hex."
"Ah. The disgraced first-born."
"You've heard of him? I lived in the castle all my life and didn't know who he was." She turned her back to him. "Put your clothes on so we can go see the others."
"I know Albekizan's family well," said Bitterwood, unfolding the bundle. "He had six sons and four daughters. Only two of the sons survive-Hexilizan and Shandrazel. Lancerimel followed the Dragon Road beyond the Cursed Mountains and never returned. The other three I killed… though only Bodiel's body was discovered."
"Don't brag about that to Hex," she said. "In fact, before we go further, I want to lay down some rules. Back at Chakthalla's, you gave me your word not to kill Vendevorex, and you kept it. Now, I want your word that you won't kill Hex. He's my friend, and I won't have him become another notch on your bow."
"I don't carve notches in my bow," said Bitterwood, struggling to pull his pants over his thighs. The buckskin had tightened. "It would weaken the wood."
"You know what I mean. At Chakthalla's castle, you didn't take sides. If it had scales, you put an arrow into it. But all dragons aren't alike. Hex has done nothing to hurt you."
"You know nothing of the real world, girl," Bitterwood answered, finally getting the pants up to his waist. Despite the snugness of the buckskin, Bitterwood could tell he'd lost weight during his time of fever. The skin of his belly lay tight against the muscles beneath, all hint of fat eaten away in an effort to keep him alive. "As Albekizan's son, Hex trained in the art of hunting humans. Your so-called friend has feasted on the meat of slaves he's brought down. No dragon is innocent."
"Sun-dragons' reputation for eating humans is vastly exaggerated," Jandra said. "Most of them eat the same stuff people do-fish, beef, bread-just a whole lot more of it."
"Foods produced by human labors, which the dragons steal. You don't know that because you've led a sheltered life, protected by a dragon who treated you as affectionately as some men treat their dogs."