Chapter Sixteen: "Borrowed Memory"
Darkness.
Yusuf did not know how much time had passed. Perhaps hours. Perhaps days. The world was absent, and dreams, if there had been any, had faded before leaving a trace.
Then he felt the pain.
It was not the sharp pain it had been, but a dull, faded pain, as if an old wound was awakening to the sound of rain. It came with every breath, with every small movement, reminding him that he was still alive.
He tried to move his right hand, and the pain contracted throughout his shoulder.
— "Ah…"
He opened his eyes slowly. The light was soft, warm, coming from a high window covered with linen curtains.
It was not the tense torchlight he had grown used to in the forest, nor the cold firelight he had seen in the sky. It was a gentle light, as if the morning itself was entering the room slowly, not wanting to wake anyone.
The room was spacious, but not grand. Its walls were painted a pale ivory color, topped with simple plaster decorations—repeating geometric shapes, like ocean waves or lines rippling through sand. The ceiling was slightly vaulted, with a small opening covered in yellowish glass that let in light without burning the eyes.
The bed he lay on was comfortable, more than he had ever known in his life. A woolen mattress over a layer of soft straw, and a heavy blanket of sheep's wool that smelled clean, as if washed with herbs. His pillow was low but soft, placed under his head in a way that supported his neck without pressing on his injured shoulder.
He looked at his right shoulder and his body. He was wrapped in clean white bandages, carefully arranged. There was no trace of the armor or his torn shirt. He wore a loose shirt of rough linen, clean, white, reaching his knees. He felt a slight chill on his bare arm.
He raised his head a little, despite the pain's protest. He turned it slowly, examining the place.
Beside him, a small walnut wood table held a green glass bottle containing a dark liquid, a small clay pot of water, and beside them a damp piece of cloth. Above the table, a burnt candle in a brass holder, but it had gone out some time ago, leaving a trail of hardened wax.
On the opposite wall, he saw a wooden shelf holding several books, some covered in leather bindings, others simply stacked pages. Beside the shelf, a small painting on a piece of wood, depicting an old man sitting under a tree, his hand on the head of a small girl. The drawing was not precise, but it was warm, as if the one who drew it had not wanted to be an artist so much as to preserve a memory.
The place seemed… peaceful. As if outside of time, outside the forest that had nearly consumed him, outside the fear he had lived in for countless days.
He stared at the ceiling, trying to gather his thoughts. He did not know how he had arrived here. He remembered the wolf, the claws, the screaming, then darkness. Perhaps someone had saved him.
He thought he was alone, so he did not notice that someone was sitting in a low chair near the bed, in a corner covered by the curtain's shadow.
— "Good morning. It seems you've finally woken up."
Her voice was quiet, warm, like someone speaking to a child who had woken from a nightmare.
He turned toward her quickly, and the pain lashed his body like a whip. He bit his lips and turned his whole body slowly to face her.
She sat on a small wicker chair, her hands clasped over her knees, her face tilted slightly toward the bed. She wore a simple gray dress, her long black hair braided in a single plait over her left shoulder.
She was not wearing the transparent veil he had seen her in on the night of the ritual, so her face appeared clearer, more human. Her eyes were still large and dark, but they were not tearful this time.
They watched him with curiosity and attention, like a doctor examining a patient.
— "You…" His voice was hoarse, as if his throat was dusty. "Where am I? What am I doing here?"
She smiled a faint smile, then rose from her chair and approached him slightly. She extended her hand to his shoulder, placing her fingertips gently on the bandages, feeling them without touching the wound itself.
— "I am Seren," she said, her voice calm. "A physician. And you are now in my home. Or rather, in the guest room I've turned into a small clinic."
She paused for a moment, pressing gently on the bandage to see if the bleeding had stopped.
— "You sustained a deep wound in your back and right shoulder, from a wolf's claws. I managed to stitch the wound and stop the bleeding. No bones were broken, thank God. No other damage. If you continue to rest, you'll be able to leave in a few days."
She said this with confidence, but she was still examining his shoulder bandages carefully.
Yusuf took a deep breath. The pain was still there, but it had become bearable. He was thinking, trying to piece together his scattered memories. He remembered last night… or before he lost consciousness. He remembered the wolves, the gate, that he had carried her on his shoulder. Then the wolf pounced. Then…
He looked at her again. She was now standing beside him, waiting.
She saved me, he thought. But how will I explain who I am? How will I explain why I was there, wearing a soldier's armor I didn't own, a sword not mine, wandering through the forest like a madman?
He felt his heart pounding in his chest. He did not know the laws of this place, nor its punishments. Perhaps the stolen armor was enough to have him hanged. Perhaps his sudden appearance in the midst of the attack made him a suspect.
Perhaps… perhaps I can pretend I don't remember anything. That would be an excuse for everything. I won't ask very strange questions, and I won't have to explain who I am.
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them, making his face frown with exhaustion and confusion.
— "Thank you, noble lady Seren," he said in a hesitant voice. "For caring for me. But…"
He paused, as if trying to remember something difficult.
— "I don't remember anything. Not about yesterday, nor the day before. I don't remember how I got here. It seems… I've lost my memory."
He looked at her with wide eyes, like someone seeking help.
Seren's expression changed. She raised an eyebrow slightly, then returned to her meticulous doctor's demeanor. She placed her hand gently on his forehead, feeling his temperature, then moved to the back of his head, her fingers searching for any sign of a bruise or swelling.
— "Strange," she said after a moment, pulling her hand back. "I examined your head when they brought you. I found no head injury. Not even a bruise."
She stood silent for a moment, staring at him with medical eyes. Then she whispered as if thinking aloud:
— "Perhaps the shock was strong… or blood loss… or fear…"
But in her eyes there was something else. Something she did not fully show on her face, but Yusuf could glimpse it: a faint doubt, like a doctor who knows the symptoms do not entirely match the diagnosis.
She shook her head, as if dismissing an incomplete thought.
— "Very well. We'll deal with that later. The important thing now is to take care of your wound. Do you at least remember your name? Your age? Where you're from?"
There it is, Yusuf thought. I can't tell the truth. And I can't say I don't remember anything at all, or they'll think me mad or a liar. But if I give a name, and seem to remember some things, it will seem more logical.
A name… what name? I'll say I'm from Forsen too. A name… Eric. A foreign name with the same feel as theirs. Yusuf felt a kind of harmony with this name; at least it wouldn't raise suspicion.
And profession? A sailor. A sailor who arrives on a strange shore. That explains why I don't know the place. I'll say I lost my way in the forest.
And why was I wearing a soldier's armor? No… I'll avoid that. I'll say I don't remember the details. Just a vague image of a shore and a forest.
After reviewing the answers he would give, he took a breath and made his face appear confused, like someone trying to recover a distant memory.
— "My name is… Eric," he said slowly, as if testing the word on his tongue. "I think I was a sailor."
He paused, as if remembering something difficult.
— "I remember… a shore. I reached it after sailing. Then I entered a forest. And stayed there… I don't know how long. I don't remember more than that."
He raised his eyes to her, making his gaze appear weak, bewildered.
— "Is that all I remember? I'm sorry."
Seren listened to him with great attention. She showed no signs of complete belief, but neither did she show accusation. Her eyes watched him like someone reading between the lines.
— "Eric," she repeated the name, as if tasting it. "A sailor from Leinhart who arrived at our shore."
She paused for a moment, then said in a slightly cooler voice:
— "And where did you get the soldier's armor you were wearing? And the soldier's sword that was with you?"
There it is, the question I dreaded.
Yusuf felt his heart leap. He had not expected her to ask so quickly. He thought she would be preoccupied with the memory loss first. But she was sharp, observant.
He tried to keep his face calm, to make his gaze appear confused, bewildered.
— "Armor? Sword?" He pretended to think deeply, then shook his head slowly. "I don't remember. I don't remember carrying anything. All I remember is the forest… and fear. Then the wolves."
He looked at his outstretched hands before him, as if searching for something that was not there.
— "Perhaps I found them in the forest. I don't know. I'm sorry, everything is hazy."
Seren did not take her eyes off him. She watched every movement of his face, every change in his tone. Then she sighed, but it was not a sigh of relief so much as a decision to postpone the matter.
— "Alright," she said, her voice returning to professional warmth. "Don't strain yourself. Memory sometimes takes time, especially after such a shock."
She moved toward the small table, took the green glass bottle, and poured a few drops of its dark liquid onto the damp cloth. She began wiping his forehead gently, the herbal scent spreading through the room.
— "If you have any questions," she said as she worked, "go ahead. Perhaps the answers will help you recover some of your memory."
Yusuf felt relieved. He had passed the first obstacle. Now he could ask. He could find out exactly where he was.
He raised his head slightly and tried to make his voice sound natural.
— "First, I want to know… where exactly am I? I mean, what is this place called?"
Seren paused her hand for a moment, then continued wiping his forehead.
— "You are in the city of Forsen. The first fortress of the outcasts in the Forest of Misguidance."
She said this simply, as if saying "you are in your bedroom."
Forsen, Yusuf thought. So that is the name of this place. Outcasts… Forest of Misguidance… all names I've never heard before.
He needed more. A broader understanding. How did people live here? How did they organize themselves?
He looked at her again.
— "And why do you call it the Land of the Outcasts? Who have you exiled?"
Seren finished wiping his forehead, then put the cloth aside and took the bottle to prepare a new dose.
— "Because this land is the exile for everyone the other kingdoms do not want. The Kingdom of Leinhart, the Kingdom of Pedrock… and others. Anyone they do not need, or cannot contain, they throw here."
Her words were sharp, but not angry. They were merely a fact, like the fact that the sky is blue or that fire burns.
Yusuf felt the weight of her words. He looked at Seren—a physician, beautiful, kind—how could anyone have thrown her here?
— "If you are exiles," he said, trying to sound merely curious, "then why don't you go back? Isn't there a way out?"
Seren's expression changed. For a moment, he saw something like pain in her eyes. She sighed deeply and sat on the edge of the bed, away from his injured shoulder.
— "There is a way," she said in a quiet voice. "But it is not open to anyone who wishes to return. A gate with an ancient magical seal, controlled by the Kingdom of Leinhart. They only open it for those they want… or those they need."
She paused for a moment, then looked directly at him.
— "No one leaves here of their own free will, Eric. That is the meaning of exile."
The words were heavy. Yusuf felt they applied to him more than she knew. He was a fugitive. He was lost. And now he was lost in a place even farther.
A short silence fell. Yusuf was trying to find another question, any question, but Seren beat him to it.
She rose from the edge of the bed and took the glass bottle and the cloth.
— "That's enough for today," she said. "I've answered what you asked. Now, you need rest. Your wound hasn't healed yet."
She headed toward the door, but paused for a moment. She turned her head toward him, her eyes carrying a different look. Not just the doctor's look, but the look of someone trying to understand something that did not fit.
— "Eric," she said, her voice more serious than he expected. "I'll tell you something."
She stepped back toward the bed.
— "I am a physician. I know when injuries are real and when they are… pretended. I examined your head thoroughly. I found no sign of injury. No bruise, no swelling, nothing. The only wound on your body is your shoulder wound. And memory loss does not come from nowhere."
She paused for a moment, letting her words settle in the air. Yusuf felt his heart stop for a moment. Her eyes looked at him as if reading what he was hiding.
— "Don't worry," she added, her voice returning to warmth, but a cautious warmth. "I won't throw you out into the street or leave you to the wolves. You saved my life that night, and that is a debt not repaid with suspicion."
She took another step closer and lowered her voice.
— "But let me tell you something: if you are hiding something, you have the right. This place… has made each of us carry secrets we don't want to share. I don't ask you to disclose what you hide. Just…"
She paused, as if searching for the right words.
— "Just don't lie to me about your health. If your head doesn't hurt, don't say it does. If you remember something, don't say you forgot it. Because if I don't know the truth of your condition, I won't be able to treat you properly."
She smiled a small smile, but it was a sad smile.
— "You are not the first to lose his memory in this city, and you won't be the last. Some were honest, and some were… tired of questions."
She stood there for a moment, waiting. Yusuf knew she was giving him a chance to back down, to say he had been hiding something, to admit that his memory had not completely vanished.
But he could not.
If he confessed now, she would ask: who are you really? Why were you wearing a soldier's armor? How did you get here? And what would he say? The truth? That he had come from another world? That he did not even know how he had arrived here?
They would think him mad. Or consider him a danger. Or perhaps throw him in a cell for interrogation.
He looked at her with eyes as honest as he could muster.
— "I don't know what to say," he said in a faint voice. "All I know is that I don't remember. Perhaps you are right, perhaps there is no injury to my head. But that doesn't mean I remember anything. I feel as if there is a big white wall in my head, behind which are things I cannot reach."
He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.
— "I remember my name. I remember that I was a sailor. I remember a shore and a forest. That's all. If I could remember more, I would. Believe me."
Seren looked at him for a long time. There was a struggle in her eyes between the doctor's doubt and human compassion. Then she sighed.
— "Alright," she said, her voice calm. "I will believe you. Not because the evidence says so, but because I choose to believe you."
She smiled a faint smile, but it did not quite reach her eyes.
— "When you recover, perhaps your memory will return on its own. Or perhaps not. What matters now is that you rest."
She headed to the door, opened it, then paused for a moment.
— "If you need anything, there is a small bell on the table. Just pull it."
And she left quietly, leaving the door slightly ajar.
---
Yusuf closed his eyes. He was tired. Tired from the pain, from the lies, from the questions he had not dared to ask, from the answers he had not wanted to hear.
Eric, he thought. My name is now Eric. A lost sailor who lost his memory.
But Seren had not entirely believed him. It was clear in her eyes. She was watching him, analyzing his words, weighing his honesty. And if she had decided to leave him for now, what would she do tomorrow? Or the day after?
He wondered if he would succeed in deceiving her in the long run. If he would find a way out of this place. If Seren would remain his kind physician, or turn into an adversary standing in his way.
But exhaustion was stronger than all the questions. He took a deep breath, smelling the herbs from the cloth that had wiped his forehead, and the smell of the clean wool covering him.
For the first time in days, he felt safe. Even if temporarily. Even if built on a lie that no one was convinced of.
His thoughts faded one by one, and he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
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End of Chapter Sixteen