“Wait,” I say quickly. “Let me help you.”

He rolls his eyes like a panicked horse, and I fetch my potion before he has more time to doubt. “Drink this. It will help you remember.”

Dineas hesitates a split second, but then raises the bowl to his lips and drinks it down in one shot. It doesn’t hurt that soulstealer venom causes extreme thirst.

“Nothing’s happening,” he says. His eyes still dart from one corner of the room to another.

“Give it time.” I take the bowl back. Please let it work.

He puts a hand to his head and squeezes his eyes shut. I reach for him, worried he’ll collapse, but he shrinks away. Then his eyes snap open and he fixates on something I cannot see.

It’s a fascinating thing, seeing memories rush across someone’s face. He folds forward slightly, and his eyes go back and forth as if he’s tracking a herd of horses. He grabs the edge of the cot and grips it tight. Once in a while, he shudders.

Finally, he looks at me again. He opens his mouth to speak. No sound comes out at first, and he shakes his head and tries again. “That was…So was that it? I can’t…”

Near our village is a small waterfall that children like to run through. Dineas’s expression reminds me of how the children look coming out—disoriented by the onslaught of water, and blinking in the sunlight.

I take his hands. “Who are you? Where do you come from?”

He answers seriously. “My name is Dineas. I come from a tribe of Shidadi under Warlord Gatha.” He says those things quickly, as if to reassure himself that he still knows who he is. “You just took away my memory.” The tone of his voice is half accusation and half amazement.

“It worked, then.” A giddiness runs through me. “How much do you remember of what happened?”

He shakes his head again, trying to clear it. “I remember everything. Falling asleep, waking up. I remember not remembering anything.”

“That’s good.” I lean toward him. “Now listen carefully. The potion I gave you just now was not the antidote. It’s just a temporary restoration. From now on, you must take this potion twice a day, or you’ll forget yourself again. When it comes time for us to put the plan into place, you’ll stop taking the potion, and your memories will fade away.”

His eyes widen. “I’ll have to do this for the rest of my life?”

“No. There’s also a permanent antidote.” I look around for a better way to explain. Finally, I grab a basin and a handful of smooth, flat stones from outside. “Think of it this way. This basin is your mind, and”—I drop a layer of pebbles into the bottom—“these pebbles are your memories.”