Chapter 58 Jude
Jude
‘Look who decided to grace us with their presence,’ Elden remarked with a sly smile as they made their way down the stairs. The smell of frying bacon greeted them, reminding Jude of one of the few meals Elden was wonderfully proficient in.
‘Eggs, too?’ Jude asked, stealing a strip of bacon. He leaned his back against the counter. ‘When did you head out this morning?’
‘Early enough.’ Elden slid the fried eggs onto the waiting plates.
‘Met my great-aunt. Some cousins, too.’ He smiled, sadness lingering around his eyes.
‘They were surprised to see me, and happy to hear Brigid was still alive and planning to visit soon. Offered us dinner tomorrow, should we like it. It was—’ he blew out a breath. ‘Nice. Good. Really good.’
Jude fought for an answering smile as he debated how to tell Elden about Ezra. Before he could, Elden was already speaking. ‘I know about him, that he died. Ezra. My… father.’
Maeve half-rose from her seat, stopped by a raise of Elden’s hand.
‘No, don’t worry. He hadn’t been a father in a long time.
Maybe ever. Not when he took me from my mum, or when he realized I didn’t hold the magic he wanted me to and decided to turn to Jude in my place.
Not when he decided I could be someone he could use.
’ His throat bobbed, and Jude sensed there was a lot he wasn’t saying.
As badly as Ezra had treated him, Elden had suffered worse.
‘I don’t want any pity. Don’t need it, okay? ’
He waited for Jude and Maeve’s nods before his expression softened. He pointed the frying pan towards Felix. ‘We both went into the village. Thought Felix ought to have a good look at Little Westworth.’
Felix kept his gaze on his mug as he turned it round and round by its handle.
Jude still wasn’t certain how to approach the other man, not with the weight of their childhood friendship lying heavy behind them, his involvement in Elden’s manipulation still bitter on his tongue.
Years had passed since, years when Jude had falsely believed Felix to be his enemy.
Now, they were little more than strangers.
He picked up his plate and moved to sit next to the former saint. Perhaps he could move a step in the right direction. ‘Why’s that?’ he asked.
Felix glanced at him once before turning back to his mug.
Black tea swirled in the bottom, smelling of bergamot and bitter citrus.
‘I might stay here for a little while. Elden offered, and well…’ he hesitated, shifting in his seat.
‘I thought the quiet might do me some good. After, I’m going to see what’s become of the Goddenwood.
Brigid said that’s where she was going, and I want to join her.
See what happened to my mother. Maybe I can—’ his throat worked. ‘Maybe I can bury her.’
Elden sat down next to him, warmth in his eyes as he smiled at the other man. He reached out and patted Felix’s wrist, lingering for a long moment before retreating. Felix tracked the movement.
‘Aye,’ Elden said. ‘Told him he’s welcome ’long as he likes. And I’ll go with him to the Goddenwood whenever he’s ready. I want to spend more time with Brigid, too.’ His voice dropped. ‘With my mum.’
Maeve cleared her throat, clinking her fork on her plate as she cut into her egg.
‘We’ll head out tomorrow morning if that’s okay.
My family lives only a few more hours’ walk north.
It’s been a few years since I was last there, but I think I remember the way.
’ She smiled at Elden. ‘Maybe you could lend me a map.’
Elden nodded. ‘Sure, I have one around here somewhere.’
Jude tucked into his breakfast. They’d discussed their plans earlier, deciding to take their time on the journey to Maeve’s family.
Neither of them had much experience of the world outside the Abbey and Jude’s home, and they were eager to see more of it.
After they spent time with her family, they’d head back to his home. Their home. ánhaga.
As Elden began describing a farm they’d pass by that offered fresh-baked scones every morning, Jude studied Maeve.
Though she smiled and offered quips when needed, her fingers tapped an anxious beat on the table next to her discarded mug.
Her gaze kept flitting to Felix. He wondered if her thoughts were wandering to their earlier conversation about religion.
Finally, Maeve took a deep breath, flattening both hands on the table. ‘Felix.’
He looked up. ‘Yes?’
Under the table, Jude placed his hand on her thigh.
‘I was wondering,’ she began. ‘Do you still believe? In the saints.’ At his raised eyebrow, she hurried on. ‘Not in the way the Abbey does, but… well, in prayer, I guess. In someone listening when you ask for something.’
Elden stood and collected the dishes, leaving them to their conversation. Jude wished he’d stayed, thinking that maybe Elden could do with hashing out his relationship to the Abbey, too, but decided to keep quiet. He’d approach it in his own time.
‘Yes and no,’ Felix replied slowly, every word a product of careful deliberation.
Maeve leaned forward in her chair. ‘How do you mean?’
‘While I think the saints’ power, all of our power, that is—’ he gestured between the three of them ‘—is something very real and very potent, I don’t look at it like the Abbey had always taught us to believe.’
Jude found himself asking, ‘How do you look at it, then?’
‘Well, to fully answer your question, we’re best off examining how the Abbey dissects and uses the saints’ power and, thus, how they’ve taught acolytes to view it for generations,’ Felix replied in his smoke-stained voice.
Jude’s mouth twitched at the familiarity in his professorial tone, remembering it from more than a few lectures growing up.
Felix held two fingers up. ‘Firstly, the Abbey views the saints’ ability to access and change memory as a commodity.
An exchange. Prayer equals power. It was only ever a vessel.
Something to pour into the icons and fuel them, which, in turn, bound the saints to the Abbey. ’ He folded one finger down.
‘Secondly, their focus was never on making the acolytes feel heard. It was always about control. If you convince the people that for their prayers to be granted, they needed to give of themselves – their devotion and time and money – you have a method of control.’ He ticked down the second finger.
‘So praying was virtually meaningless in the grand scheme of things, outside of fuelling the magic in the icons?’ Maeve asked. Her face was very pale, and her eyes very dark. Jude pressed the side of his leg against hers.
Felix shrugged. ‘You can look at it that way.’
‘But you don’t?’
‘Not exactly. Even though the saints never heard prayers, I still view their devotion, all of our devotion, as something to be honoured. It’s a beautiful thing, to release the deepest contents of your heart into the universe in the hopes that someone might be listening.
’ He smiled at Maeve. ‘I still pray, you know.’
She blinked. ‘You do?’
‘Yes. All the time.’ Felix laid his hands flat on the table, studying the gaps between his fingers.
‘Belief and institution are not married. They can exist separately from each other. I can still pray, maybe not to the saints, but to anyone who might be listening, call it the universe or energy or whatever you’d like, and keep that belief separate from the Abbey. ’
She nodded slowly. The stiff angle of her spine relaxed alongside the haunted look she’d worn for most of their conversation. Jude saw the refuge offered by Felix’s encouragement in her face. It unknotted one of the ropes around his chest, seeing her reform part of her identity.
‘Thank you,’ Maeve murmured. ‘Even at the Abbey… the letter. Your warning. I can see now that you were looking out for me.’
Felix shook his head. ‘It wasn’t enough. Not even to distract Ezra. I didn’t protect you from exile.’ His eyes caught Jude’s. ‘Nor you.’
Something vital lurched inside Jude at his words. ‘No,’ he insisted. ‘You can’t put that weight on yourself, Felix. You were barely an adult when I was exiled. And we can only guess the kind of life you were forced to live at the Abbey as a saint. You did everything you could.’
Felix shot him a look, half pleading and half guilty. ‘The house… ánhaga. I was the one who decided that’s where you should be sent.’
Jude stilled. His belly performed an odd, swooping dip. ‘What?’
‘It was my father’s house. He was an elder. I was born there.’
Jude paused, trying to meld together the home he’d slowly begun to claim as his own to what Felix was telling him.
And – he felt dizzy at the thought – the library.
He rubbed a hand over his scalp, collecting his thoughts.
It made sense. He’d always wondered if someone from the Abbey owned the house.
He remembered the strange feeling he sometimes got in the library, like there was someone else with him, their memories imprinted onto the walls.
‘The books,’ Jude all but whispered. ‘You knew about the library.’
‘I did,’ Felix confirmed. ‘Though I hadn’t been back to ánhaga since I was a boy, I remembered my father’s collection, both the Abbey books and the sketchbooks. I thought there might be something in there you’d find useful.’ He drummed his fingers on the table. ‘… Was there? Anything useful?’
Jude smiled. ‘You could say that. My magic, it…’ he hesitated, wondering how much to say. ‘It found its outlet in books. In the… sketchbooks, I suppose. The blank pages.’
Felix smiled. ‘So, you have your books, Maeve’s magic loves her paintings, and I have the birds.’
‘Birds?’ Jude echoed, voice slightly faint.
He nodded. ‘It’s different to how both of your magic manifests.
It’s less of an outlet and more of a reminder.
I can work memories into the sight of a bird.
It’s… complicated. Hard to describe and even harder to demonstrate.
Like how a certain smell will remind you of an event, in a way.
’ Suddenly, his eyes flashed to Jude’s. ‘Are you okay? You look pale.’
Jude pictured one, two, three birds on the horizon. His heart gave a tremulous lurch.
‘Fine,’ he murmured.
Felix met his gaze. A familiar current passed between them, harkening back to boyhood antics and secrets shared between friends. ‘You can tell me some other time,’ he said. A rare, shy smile pulled at his lips.
‘Do you want it back?’ Maeve asked. Her cheeks were faintly pink. ‘The house.’
Felix raised a brow. ‘ánhaga? Absolutely not.’
Maeve laughed. ‘Not a fan of crumbling old houses, I take it?’
He chuckled and shook his head. ‘Nor the ghost of my father.’
‘Understandable,’ Jude said. ‘Nevertheless… thank you. Both for sending me there and for letting us stay. I know it’s been a long time, Felix, but ah—’ he cleared his throat, feeling somewhat awkward.
Felix had gone back to studying the grain of the table.
‘It’s good to have those memories back. Maybe we can return to them someday. ’
Felix looked up. Smiled. ‘I’d like that.’
Maeve reached across the table to squeeze Felix’s hand.
A wash of resolve passed over the three of them.
They’d been wounded, but they were healing.
Life stretched out in a clean sweep of possibility, in a way it never had before.
The Abbey would fade away, its advocates slinking back to nurse their wounds and look for ways to knit back together what they’d lost, but ultimately, they didn’t hold a candle to what burned brightly inside them.
Hope.