Chapter 5 #3
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?”
“Uh...” Jesstin forgot himself for a moment. “Buy.”
They shared a knowing look. “And may we escort you in the direction of your fantasy?”
“I don’t have a fantasy. I have a need.”
“Are they not the same?” sang the twins, who couldn’t possibly look more different. Beyond them, stall after stall after stall stretched down seven rows—no, nine. Eight. The count changed. There were more behind him. He shouldn’t be there. Leave while you can.
Not without what I came for. “I need to travel a great distance in as short of time as possible.”
They brightened. “You want an especular!” Then giggled. “Oh, this will cost you indeed.”
“A speck... what?”
“Come, come. We have but one Conductor in the Obscura, and they do not like to wait.”
“They don’t even know I’m coming,” Jesstin replied, but they’d already started down an aisle without him.
He looked behind again. However he’d entered the market, it wouldn’t be how he exited.
Each stall they passed was an assault to the senses.
One was bedecked in vibrant silks with a line thirty deep, people waiting to be given the dubiously accurate predictions of when they’d find the person they most desired.
There is a soul out there for all of us! Let us scry your happy acquaintance!
Another proprietor had rows of cloudy, tiny bottles, hundreds of them, and they all looked the same, but when each patron made their request, he knew precisely which five to pull down off his racks.
From the signs, Jesstin gathered he was a dealer of illicit substances.
If sleep cannot find you, you must find sleep!
Wish to rid yourself of those horrid, vivid dreams? Now you can forget the past!
“Keep up,” sang the not-twins when he fell behind gawking.
A man and woman in another booth sat behind two lathes, carving and smoothing small wooden talismans in varying hues of umber and brown. The sign above the center read Carving season. Return in the next.
On and on they walked, the aisle without end.
Shopkeepers promised all manner of bizarre outcomes and remedies, from family reunification to contact with earthly necromancers.
The most menacing one claimed they could send a fiend after one’s enemy, to have their soul stolen.
The sign above said Soul Collectors United.
Nowhere did he see prices, but a star system appeared on a long pole next to every stall, each marked with anywhere from one to five stars. The soul stealers had five stars. The apothecary had one.
The women stopped at the end of the aisle.
The booth they approached closed off the path, like a king’s throne at the head of an incongruously long table.
Mirrors hung around the booth in varying stages of decay and disrepair: hand mirrors, vanity mirrors, even toy ones given to children, any kind one could imagine.
The pole had five full stars, but also something no other stall had. A sixth was perched atop the pole like a cane adornment.
A tall man sprouted from the ground behind the counter, like a plant in spontaneous bloom. It was a startling move, but he’d seen his share of aberrations already.
“The Conductor,” said the sisters, each spreading an arm toward the spectacled beanpole waiting for Jesstin’s reverence. Upon closer inspection, the Conductor wasn’t a “he” at all but a sharp-eyed woman.
She must have caught Jesstin squinting. “I have many miens,” she said, her voice unexpectedly a silvery soprano. “But you did not come to marvel at me.” Her gaze drifted above Jesstin’s head, which was unusual. He was usually the tallest person in the room. “Sisters, you may return.”
The two women didn’t move.
The Conductor’s eyes slanted. “You will receive your fee when I receive mine and not a moment sooner.”
“Yes, Conductor,” they both said dejectedly.
“They get kickbacks?” Jesstin asked, thumbing toward the departing twins.
“Kickbacks?” The Conductor’s violet eyes turned upward. “Ah! You mean commissions. Yes, when they don’t squander my time with unserious patrons. Are you an unserious patron, Jesstin?”
He hadn’t given her his name, but being “surprised” at this point would be purely theatrical. “You’ll find I’m quite serious, madame.”
“Conductor will do.” She swept a low bow, bending at the waist like a hinge. “Will you come to the back den with me?”
“Where?” Jesstin could see nothing but the wall behind her.
She gave him a look. Are you sure you’re not unserious?
Jesstin came around the side. She waved a hand, and the wall turned to a curtain, which parted for him.