The apparition bowed her head. When she raised it again, she was crying. “The day you were born, they almost took you away from me. Mathias was a complicated man, but in those days, he was so protective of his brood. He didn’t yet know you were... not his own.”
“And why would they take a child from its own mother?” She’d referred to Mathias in the past tense, which meant either she’d made an incidental choice in her wording or she knew he’d recently died.
“You were born with a sixth toe on your left foot. The mark of a witch, they say, passed down only through other witches. I was no witch, and you were an innocent, but superstition is strong in Riverchapel. Anything that threatens the authority of the Reliquary is dealt with and disposed of. I was so afraid they would take you... but Mathias used his power to have the memories of those who had been present for your delivery destroyed. They all lost a day of their lives, but you gained a lifetime in exchange.”
Jesstin’s left foot tingled with the phantom reminder of the small scar on the side, an uneven circular puckering of skin that had never healed well. No one had ever explained to him how it had happened. Rhiain used to say he’d been kissed by the Guardians, and he’d liked her explanation as a boy. It made him feel loved in the midst of such abandonment.
“You were a fussy baby. There was this song I’d sing you, and it was the only thing that would quiet you. It was more of a parable that I set to a tune of another song, but it was about the long lost kingdom of?—”
“Ilynglass.” Jesstin fisted the pillows beside him. After his mother had died, he’d tried to get Rhiain to sing it, but she’d never heard it before, nor had Emrys, or if they had, they could no longer remember. He couldn’t remember either, but sometimes the notes bled into the Night Soul.
How could this apparition possibly know that, or about the scar, unless Ryquin had been in his head? And how deep had the man had to dig to find it? Jesstin hadn’t thought about the scar in years.
“You remember.” The apparition folded her hands over her mouth. “Jessie, my mistakes were unforgivable, but I loved you so. I loved you more than the others, even though I saw Sestinn in your eyes every time I looked into them, yet if I had never loved him, you would not be, so how can I regret it?”
The old man was struggling. His eyes, rolled back to the whites, shook in their sockets. His entire body was the same. Whatever this was, he couldn’t sustain it much longer.
The man blurred the longer Jesstin stared at him. This conjuration... She knew things she shouldn’t, things no one else knew. And then there was how he felt, not afraid or even suspicious anymore, but... comforted, in a way he’d forgotten was possible.
“It can’t be you.” He needed to get ahold of the weakness strangling him, but he could neither release the cushions from his hands nor break his gaze from the spirit. After years of creating new realities, he knew the difference between deception and sincerity. He could lie to himself, or he could accept she was exactly who she claimed to be, even if his heart was screaming to turn back time and never open those curtains.
“You know what’s real, Jessie. More than most, I would guess.”
Jesstin didn’t answer. He didn’t think he could even if he wanted to.
“I’ve seen Mathias in the Infinitum. He had a message for you.”
Jesstin shook his head, trying to say, No, I don’t want it, but he couldn’t open his mouth.
“He knows how much he’s hurt you. He knew it every day of his life, and he hated himself for it. It’s not your forgiveness or pity he wants, only for you to know that he loved you. His unkindness came from the guilt over what he’d done to me and your unborn sister when he found out about my affair.” The apparition wavered. A tight grunt filtered from the other pile of pillows. “What he did was unpardonable, Jessie, and he will suffer across many lifetimes. But he wishes he could have been a stronger man and a better father. He wishes he’d told you how special you are, and how proud he is you’ve become your own man, even if your path isn’t the one he’d have chosen for you.”
Jesstin lost his composure and bowed over his lap, hungering for breath. He wished he’d never met Elloven, never embarked on this terrible and bizarre journey that had him questioning everything he’d worked so hard building.
“But everything you’ve built has been a lie,” Gennady said insistently. A pocket of warmth landed between Jesstin’s shoulders. “Believe her or don’t, but your fondness for self-deception is another kind of death. You know this.”
“And why do you care?” Jesstin whispered. “You weren’t really my friend in life, and you’re far less than that in death.”
“Have you really never asked yourself why I’m one of the few dead people you can actually see?” The warmth disappeared. “You have. You know you have.”
“I remember you, Gen. What a sweet boy you were,” the apparition mused aloud. “But you were wrong. You should have told him. He might have understood.”
Gennady disappeared midway through her statement.
Then she started disappearing too, flickering until she was translucent. He reached for her, but it didn’t stop her from fading. “Mother? Mama?”
The old man jerked forward. “That is all I can offer you this evening.”
“Where did she go?” Jesstin leaped off the pile but tripped and caught himself on a support pole. “What did you do with her?”
“She was never here. Only her consciousness. Did no one explain things?” The old man stood slowly, wincing through creaking joints. He shooed his hands without looking up. “I have a line tonight. Please leave a gratuity in the bowl on your way out and have an agreeable Cirque Calliope.”
An attendant appeared, to guide the stupefied Jesstin back through the curtain. He was still staring at the thick velvet when Ryquin came up beside him.
“Now you see.” Ryquin draped an arm around his back. “Question is will you help?”
Velanthe led Elloven through a field filled with spectators sitting on blankets. They were all focused on the sky, but there was nothing except stars.
“This is far enough,” Velanthe said.
