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his only chance.
    “If you’re smart,” Jack said, “you’ll keep this memory of us in a safe place. Think about it all the time: every morning when you wake up and every night before you go to bed and every time you take a bite to eat and every time you empty your bowels. If you can train yourself to do that, then in however many years’ time, when you’re waking up to the world again, this will be the first thing—the only thing—in your mind. Are you listening?”
    Rumbold listened with his whole body. He heard the bedclothes rustle under Jack’s legs. He heard the toast crush between his teeth. He heard the spoon stir the steamy broth on the tray. He heard the air Jack took in through his nose before he spoke. He even heard the gold medallion slide along the ribbon around Jack’s neck as he straightened.
    “There are two very important things. Number one: You must remember to breathe. Just like in swordfighting. Open mouth. Lungs. Air in, air out. Get your tongue out of the way. If you forget how to breathe, everything else won’t matter. Got it?”
    Rumbold nodded silently again.
    “Number two: Stay still. Don’t try to stand up.” Jack flashed Rumbold a crooked grin. “Trust me, you don’t want to be standing up when your mind comes back.”
    ***
    He wanted to die, and it was the most wonderful feeling in the world.
    Open mouth.
    Lungs.
    Air in, air out.
    Nothing was happening.
    Get your tongue out of the way.
    Life burned into his lungs. On the exhale, he cried so loud and so long that the birds fled the trees above, leaving him naked and alone in the wild silence of spring.
    He shook, his skin covered in cold, primordial slime. Skin. He retched again, and thought to move his head this time. Head. Stomach. Face. Skin. Pain washed in waves up and down his body. Body. He wiggled his fingers and toes, excruciating and wrong.
    But not wrong.
    Right.
    So incredibly right.
    He opened his mouth to laugh before he realized he’d forgotten how. It would come back, in time. He would heal. He would be himself again. He would stand on his own two feet, like the man he had been, like the man he was.
    Stand.
    He braced one hand against the ground and began to lift himself up.
    Stay still.
    The man’s voice echoed sharply in his head. Was that
his
voice? He wondered what buried insistence could possibly want to stop him from jumping to his feet and running all the way home.
    Home.
    Memories surged and broke the dam the curse had built inside his mind. He didn’t have time to scream before the blackness consumed him.
    ***
    His own soft tears woke him. They made him smile.
    Strong men did not cry. But even if doing so made him a weak man, he was still a man nonetheless.
    Somewhere a woodpecker rapped. The air on his skin made him shiver. The sky was so bright he could see red through his thin eyelids. He opened them.
    Too bright.
    He closed them again.
    One thing at a time.
    He listened to the Wood for a while: the birds and insects, the wind in the leaves, the rustle of small animals in the brush. He breathed deep, smelling the moss, the dirt, and then himself as the warm sun made him sweat. He spread his fingers wide and felt the breeze dance between them. He ran his fingertips over the jagged, moss-covered stones beneath him. He eased a stick out from under his back, thrilled that he once again had a back to lie on.
    He touched his belly, his throat, his face, ran his hands over his eyebrows, his ears, his hair, his smile. His eyes were damp in the corners and his lips had teeth under them. His tongue was attached to the back of his palate now, not the front. His hair was longer than he remembered it.
    Remember.
    He stopped before his mind lost him again in the full-scale regurgitation of his life. He took another slow breath and returned to the comfort of the Wood. He would start from here and work his way backwards. It would be easier. Safer. Less painful.
    Instantly she filled his mind so completely, his heart