Alderwild Village, 19 terrestrial miles, 17 avian miles.
Desidero, .5, 2, or 7 terrestrial miles, .5, 1.7, or 6 avian miles.
And on they went, but he had what he needed, though it wasn’t exactly inspiring. Over four hundred walking miles to Elloven’s library was a hell of a long walk. The Forum Obscura had better have what he needed, or it really might take weeks.
Before he turned away, he paused and reread the sign listing the river. If the Desidero was only a half mile back, then why say two or seven?
Furthermore, who was in need of avian miles? Birds couldn’t read. The Ravenwoods weren’t real.
Jesstin started toward the market, the same direction as the library. He’d been walking roughly a half tick of the sun before he realized he’d left his broadsword at the cloister. Shioven had seemed to be onto something when she’d said it wouldn’t do anything but slow him down—another sign fate was nudging him forward and asking him to trust there was no need to look back.
White flakes dissolved into water the moment they landed on the vermilion stones. Thunder rippled, giving the earth a little shake, and when he looked up, there was what looked like, but could not possibly be, a bridge between two sizable, fluffy clouds. Upon them stood a robed figure with his arms spread.
“He does that sometimes,” a small voice said. A child, a boy of perhaps six or seven, came running up beside him.
“Pardon?” Jesstin asked, squinting. “Who?”
“Steven! What have I said about bothering strangers?” The woman’s quick shuffles sounded from behind. “I’m so sorry. He doesn’t understand not everyone is his friend.” Despite her polite apology, her eyes flashed with darkness. Fear. “Come on, boy, we’ll be late.”
Jesstin watched her usher the boy away. The moment with little Steven reminded him how much he missed his nieces and nephews. Sometimes he’d be so wrapped up in watching them laugh and play, he’d forget himself for a moment, forget who he was, and daydream about having his own family. It was such a careless lapse, and one he almost always caught before his thoughts could wander too far down a road he’d never travel.
His most effective defense was disgust. He’d once laughed at Rhiain as she spoke of how “romantic” Asterin was, and he’d asked her if she realized how silly she sounded, that romance was something little girls fantasized about. Then, about a year later, after she’d endured an incredibly rough and harrowing delivery with her fourth child, Rhydian, Jesstin had accidentally walked in on a private moment between the couple. He knew he should turn around and leave, but he could only stand there and stare. The sight of Asterin sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling Rhiain like a mother would a child, rocking her as he sobbed and sobbed, all his fears and vulnerabilities laid bare, stirred in Jesstin something he didn’t understand then or now. It was the only time he’d ever seen Asterin cry. Rhiain had tried to reassure him through her delirium, but Asterin couldn’t stop expressing how scared he’d been, how he’d almost lost her, and how there was no life for him without her. And the words he’d whispered, keening, so exposed and so intimate. My heart. My heart, Rhiain, my heart. Oh, my heart.
Later Jesstin had revisited the moment in his head, telling himself Asterin had been acting so ridiculous, it was a damn good thing he could never be that way. But it hadn’t felt good or validating like it usually did. And those words, my heart, haunted him.
Jesstin shook his head to clear the memory. The day had started so promising; there was no reason to sabotage it with things that didn’t help and didn’t matter.
The road ahead looked the same as far as he could see, but he could break up the monotony by at least trying to measure the distance. He usually walked at a pace of two miles for every half tick of the sun. In the Infinitum, it could be more or maybe less, depending on the “humors” of whoever ran the place. Thunder Man was gone, though, and the snow had stopped. A droning hum sounded from his right, deep in the woods, but it was surprisingly easy to ignore the compulsion to follow.
The sky was still awash with light, but the forest’s darkness seemed to close in as he walked, the road narrowing further as he rounded a bend. Hisses warned him from the left, but they were soon overtaken by a local choral chanting, a refrain of youthful voices so profoundly beautiful, he understood how easily travelers could be tricked into following it.
We don’t go in the woods. Rule number... Who knows?
Clouds raced across the sky, like time was jumping ahead right in front of his eyes. Just ahead was a fork in the path, with another sign. As he neared, he read:
Left: Continue your journey.
Right: Interrupt your journey but be swift! Forum Obscura waits for no one.
Well then. Now he was getting somewhere.
He’d been warned against the Forum Obscura—three times. Mon, Stef, Shioven—though Shioven had also claimed it was his best bet of finding Elloven. He wouldn’t for a second forget what Daire had said about how years might be gone by the time they returned. Years. Rhiain and Asterin wouldn’t have settled for any of Sesto’s explanations, and he wouldn’t put it past either of them to try to march on Rivenholde. Rhiain would slash her way to the netherworld and end up there in earnest.
Jesstin had already taken the biggest leap of faith in coming to Infinita Mori. If he couldn’t weather a diabolical market, he certainly wasn’t going to be saving anyone.
The only way out is through.
The road disappeared, the sky darkened, and a violet dome formed overhead, extending to all sides. A solid, honeycombed pattern refracted just enough light to see what lay ahead.
Never mind the darkness, a sign said, right where his gaze had gone after the initial alarm of the time jump. You’ll find no light in the Obscura. On the opposite side of the road, which was paved with slick, obsidian stones that gleamed as though oiled, was another sign. Time pleads no case here. The dials show you the time beyond the Obscura. Just behind it: Should you discover you have missed your safe exit, see yourself to one of our spectacular inns, for a modest fee.
Another step and the sudden din of a bustling market rocked him. Hundreds of people, from patrons to proprietors, filled aisle after aisle, each fanning out from where he stood. He turned around, but the path was gone, replaced by more market stalls, all tucked under the unbelievably large dome.
A duo wearing identical violet suits approached. The women looked nothing alike, one tall with reddish hair and a round face, the other stocky with a close-cropped blonde cut, but something in his mind said twins. It was their movements. Their hands lifted at the same time and pace. Their smiles formed in tandem. Their arms swept out from opposite sides, two wings of the same bird.
Usher Janelle was stitched in gold silk diagonally across the chest of the tall one. Usher Raena Mae the other.
“Welcome to Forum Obscura, the only official trade coalition of the Infinita Mori and the Great Imperators,” they said in perfect unison. Even their vocal tics were indistinguishable. “Have you come to sell or buy?”
