Thea awoke, which was shocking.  She lay there breathing in the darkness, marveling at the lack of pain.

A halo of light appeared in the darkness.  Blinking, she turned her face away.

“Still alive? I suppose not everything in that old treatise was complete bunk.”

As the light became bearable, she looked at the speaker. An old man stood over her bed, holding a clay lamp aloft to light his way.  In the circle of light she could see that his robes were threadbare and several decades out of date. His skin was the texture and color of parchment, pale with bony, liver spotted hands.

Her gaze swept the room, taking in the bare stone walls and the drinking gourd laying next to her straw pallet.  Questions flooded her mind.

“Am I —“ she rasped.  Before she could continue, the old man was kneeling beside her, making shushing sounds.

“Don’t try to talk yet,” he said as he helped her to sit up.  He picked up the gourd and held  the spout to her lips like a mother would feed a baby.

She drank from the vessel.  The liquid had the flavor of bitter herbs and broth.  Now that she was drinking, she realized that she was both parched and hungry.  

“Slow down,” he cautioned.  “Easy. You don’t want to throw it back up.”

He set the gourd aside, then brought the lamp closer to see her better.  

“I’m not dead.” She concluded. If she were in some kind of afterlife, she would either be in less pain, or possibly more.

“No,” the old man said, tilting her chin higher so he could look into her eyes.  “You survived the disease.  Follow the light, please.” He moved the lamp slowly across her fiend of vision.

“Was there a dragon, or did I hallucinate that?”

He set the lamp down, looking amused.  “That was no dream.  You came face to face with Inexsuperablis the terrible. And you sassed him.”

She paled at that.  “I did?”

The corners of the old man’s mouth twitched.  “You did.”

“Ah.” She sighed.  The head librarian used to tell her that her smart mouth would lead to a sticky end.  “In my defense, I was dying.”

“You were.” He eases her back onto the pallet before folding himself into a seated position, crossing his legs before him. He rested his elbows on his knees, placing his thumbs under his chin. “That sass was your salvation. Hang onto it, and you may survive.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that.  

“You may call me Joshua.” He touched his own chest.  “I’m a physician: the previous person that Inexsuperablis chose to spare.”

Her thoughts were still muddled. And now her eyelids felt heavy again. “The drink.”

“Something to help you rest while you regain your strength,” the old man said.  “We’ll speak again when you get your energy back.”

Though she wanted to stay awake, her eyelids dropped, and the blackness closed in.