Croaker pushed the green curtain aside with the back of his hand and disappeared into the room beyond. "Come," he said, leaving Herald to glance once toward Fancy before following him through.
The chamber behind the curtain was smaller than the main hut. A low wooden table occupied most of the space, scrolls leaned in uneven stacks against one wall, and a stone basin filled with clear water sat beneath a narrow opening that let in a strip of sunlight.
Croaker reached across the table and picked up a bronze ring engraved with symbols Herald did not recognize. "Hand," he said, holding out his palm while Herald stayed where he was.
"What does it do?" Herald asked, looking from the ring to Croaker’s open hand. Croaker gave his fingers a small impatient curl. "Checks things."
Herald still did not move. "What things?" Croaker exhaled through his nose before answering, "If I explain every tool before using it, we’ll still be here tomorrow."
Herald hesitated before extending his hand. Croaker slid the bronze ring onto one of his fingers, and for a moment nothing happened before the inscriptions began to glow and shift through one pattern after another.
Croaker’s thumb had been tapping against the edge of the table. It stopped.
Herald narrowed his eyes. "That’s bad." Croaker reached for one of the scrolls instead of answering, which only made Herald lean closer. "You made a face. That was a bad face."
"I have many faces," Croaker said as he opened the scroll across the table. Herald kept watching him rather than the ring. "That one was bad."
"Be quiet for a moment." Croaker compared the shifting symbols with several lines of Sanskrit, moving his finger down one line before returning to another. Water murmured through the channels beneath the floor while Herald watched the old man’s hand slow over the parchment.
After a while, Croaker removed the ring and placed it beside the scroll. Herald flexed his freed finger. "Well?" Croaker gave him no answer and instead turned toward the faint green glow visible beyond the curtain.
Herald followed his gaze and pulled his hand against his chest. "No." Croaker looked back at him. "No?"
"You already used the ring, and now you’re looking at those." Herald pointed toward the glass containers in the other room. Croaker stepped toward them anyway. "And now I’m using these."
"They’re glowing," Herald said, staring at the pale-green shapes shifting behind the glass. Croaker answered without slowing. "Very observant."
"They’re leeches." Herald waited for that fact to bother the old man even slightly. Croaker only glanced back at him. "Also correct."
Herald pressed his lips together and dragged the stool closer to the table. "This day continues getting worse," he muttered as he sat, while Croaker lifted one of the pale-green leeches from the water.
"That’s an excellent sign," Croaker said, brushing Herald’s hair aside. Herald looked up at him. "How?"
"You still have enough energy to complain." Croaker placed the leech near Herald’s scalp before he could reconsider, and Herald’s fingers immediately curled around the edge of the stool.
There was no pain, only the faint movement of something living against his skin. Croaker added another and worked without speaking while Herald fixed his attention on the water beneath the floor and the rustle of hanging herbs beyond the curtain.
Several minutes later, Croaker removed the last leech and held it toward the strip of sunlight entering through the wall. He studied the faint green glow beneath its skin, returned it to the container, then washed his hands in the stone basin.
Herald rubbed the place where the leech had been attached. "Well?" Croaker dried his hands before answering, "You’re stable."
"That’s it?" Herald asked, watching him fold the cloth once. Croaker placed it beside the basin. "For now."
Herald leaned forward with his forearms against his thighs. "What happened to me?" Croaker’s hands slowed before he answered, "I don’t know."
Herald’s fingers stopped against his knee. "You’ve studied me for years." Croaker met his eyes. "I have."
"And you don’t know?" Herald asked. Croaker glanced briefly toward the curtain separating them from Fancy. "I know pieces."
Herald followed the glance toward the green cloth before looking back at him. "Then give me the pieces." Croaker rested one hand against the table and took a moment before answering.
"Your memories are gone." Herald let out a short breath through his nose. "I noticed."
Croaker did not smile. "It has happened before." Herald’s fingers pressed harder into his knee, and the stool gave a faint wooden creak beneath him.
"How many times?" Herald asked. Croaker lowered his gaze toward the scrolls instead of answering, so Herald leaned forward. "Croaker."
"Enough," Croaker said after a pause. Herald pushed himself to his feet, and the stool scraped across the floor behind him. "That’s not an answer."
"It’s the answer you’re getting today." Croaker began rolling the Sanskrit scroll closed, but Herald placed his palm on the parchment and stopped it. "Why?"
Croaker looked at Herald’s hand, then toward the faint mark beneath his sleeve. "Because tomorrow matters more."
Herald followed his gaze to his wrist. "What happens tomorrow?" Croaker answered without hesitation. "The ritual."
Herald’s fingers moved toward the cloth covering the mark. "What does this have to do with it?" Croaker said nothing, leaving only water moving beneath the floor between them.
Herald pulled his hand from the scroll. "What is wrong with everyone?" His voice struck the walls harder than he intended. "Fancy won’t tell me anything, you won’t tell me anything, and everyone speaks as though I’m supposed to understand a life I can’t even remember."
Croaker stayed beside the table without interrupting him. Herald looked at the ring, the Sanskrit scroll, then the stool he had just left, and the same thought kept pressing back into his head.
If this happened before... did I stand here before too? His mouth went dry as another question followed it. Did I ask him all of this already?
Herald looked down at his own hands. How many times can someone wake up without himself before the person waking isn’t the same person anymore? His fingers closed slowly into his palms before he faced Croaker again.
"You say I’ve lost my memories before. Fine." Herald stepped closer. "Then tell me who I was."
"Herald—" Croaker began, but Herald cut across him before the name could become another answer that explained nothing. "Who am I?"
Croaker stopped. Herald grabbed the front of his robes, bunching the cloth between his fingers. "What home am I supposed to return to? What life? I don’t remember having either."
A low hum moved through the chamber, and Herald’s grip stopped tightening. The ebony staff resting against the wall began to vibrate, its black jade skull rattling against stone while ripples spread across the water in the basin.
Beyond the curtain, clay jars clicked against one another on the shelves. The bronze ring on the table flashed once, and Croaker’s eyes shifted toward the staff before returning to Herald.
"Let go," Croaker said, but Herald kept hold of his robes. "Tell me."
"Not like this." Croaker glanced toward the vibrating staff again. Herald followed his gaze. "What does that mean?"
"Your anger is affecting something you don’t understand." Croaker reached toward the bronze ring and pressed one of its inscriptions. Crimson light flashed across the chamber, and the hum stopped at once.
The water flattened inside the basin, the jars beyond the curtain fell silent, and the staff settled against the wall. Herald released Croaker and stepped back, his eyes fixed on the ebony staff while his fingers remained half-curled at his side.
"What was that?" Herald asked. Croaker straightened the robes crushed beneath Herald’s grip. "One of the questions we need answered."
Herald turned toward him. "You know more than you’re telling me." Croaker smoothed the last fold of cloth before answering, "Yes."
Herald stared at him for a beat. "Then why won’t you tell me?" Croaker crouched beside the table and pulled a folded parchment from beneath it.
"Because right now, you don’t even know which questions are dangerous." Croaker held the parchment out until Herald took it. Herald unfolded it and watched symbols shimmer briefly across the surface before settling into ordinary ink.
"A map?" Herald looked across the markings. Croaker returned the bronze ring to the table. "In case you decide to disappear into the desert again."
Herald folded the parchment while Croaker began gathering the scrolls. Before he could turn toward the curtain, the old man raised one hand. "One more thing."
Croaker pointed toward Herald’s wrist. "Keep that covered." Herald pulled his sleeve back enough to expose the faint mark beneath it. "This?"
"Yes." Croaker stopped arranging the scrolls and fixed his attention on the mark. "Don’t show it to anyone before tomorrow."
Herald pulled the sleeve back into place but kept his hand over the mark beneath the cloth. "Why?" Croaker left him waiting while water continued murmuring beneath the floor and something glass clicked softly beyond the curtain.
Herald’s fingers remained pressed against his wrist. Croaker finally lifted his gaze from the covered mark and met his eyes. "Because not everyone who recognizes it will react the way I did."