I cover my face and double over. The darkness presses in around me, feeding my memories, awakening my ghosts. They whisper in my ears, and all I can do is curl into a ball, pull my arms in close, and wait for the nightmare to pass.

The horse traders had scars shaped like three wavy lines. My new brand looks similar, though the lines are broken up in the places where I tied the leaves. The result is a wound that’s similar to their tribe, but not close enough to be identified as theirs.

Over the next days, I apply Zivah’s salve every morning, waiting for the burn to look a little less fresh. In the meantime, I have preparations to make. In addition to the burn salve, the crows bring me other medicines. One is a cream to tint my umbermarks red. The other is a root to induce fever.

As the days pass, my brand scabs over and the scabs fall off. My umbermarks grow red with ointment. And I know it’s time. I send Zivah one last note and get one last reply: Be careful.

That afternoon, I start chewing the fever root as I wrap my belongings and dig a hole for them near a cluster of bushes. The root has a funny taste—a spicy earthiness that goes up my nose. I chew slowly as Zivah told me, sucking juice out with every bite. Then, when it’s lost all its flavor, I swallow it whole. I don’t feel any different after I swallow it. Maybe the sickness takes some time to settle in.

I shovel dirt over my things, and camouflage the newly packed dirt with rocks. Among the things buried in my bag are the vials of potion keeping my memories intact, and I can’t help but feel as if I’m burying myself under that bush as well. I wonder what it will be like to see the gates of Sehmar City and not feel the anger bubbling up inside me, to face an Amparan dog and see him as simply another soldier. It feels like a betrayal to forget like this. It feels like the easy way out.

It starts to grow dark, and I make my way toward the compound. A headache starts to take hold, first a sneaking tightness in the back of my head and then an insistent drumbeat as the walls of the compound come into view. Spots dance in front of my eyes when I blink, and I’m muttering choice insults at Zivah as I struggle ahead. I sincerely hope she got the timing right. If this gets much worse before I can make it to the wall, I might be riding out this fever in the open desert with snakes and jackals for company.