Chapter 13
Exodus
Hours had gone by. Jesstin didn’t know how many, didn’t even know how to count them. He knew only that Elloven was still out, and he was exhausted.
The dead had begun to arrive some time back, at first in scattered assemblies, lingering outside the door marked THEM, but after a few had gone through successfully, the others left their doubts behind.
Over the hours, the migration became a steady stream.
Clusters of emotional farewells dotted the landscape.
Many waved in gratitude. How they knew he’d been the one to open the door, he’d probably never know for certain, but there’d been an entire troupe of believers with Mon in the maze, and there had to be more.
As the exodus moved forward, inevitable grief settled in. All ends begin here was as bittersweet a final sendoff as he could imagine. The dead would find their peace. Elloven could finally begin the life she was owed.
But for Jesstin, it was the beginning of a penance he’d spend the rest of his life working off.
Tears rolled down his cheeks. He couldn’t remember when or why they’d started, but he wasn’t embarrassed anymore.
What reputation had he to uphold? What was real at all about a man who had contrived an entire life to hide from the one he’d been given?
He longed for a time when being called a bastard was the worst of his afflictions.
He wished he could kneel before the boy who’d been so lost and tell him he’d never find himself in the clamor if he couldn’t live with himself in the silence.
What he’d done that night, in the small apartment above the seamstress shop, had never felt right, no matter how much he’d pretended otherwise, but he’d borne it when he’d believed Gennady was the villain—when it had been a matter of honor and his only grief was for the man he’d believed his friend to be.
Jesstin let it all go as he finally mourned the truest friend he’d ever known. He made farewells with the excuses and rationalizations, and he held the woman whose life he would save and then crush.
In the mass departure, he spotted some familiar faces.
A schoolmate. A neighbor he’d been fond of.
Two staff from Riverhelm Citadel, who’d been married in life and were still together when they stepped through the door.
Mathias made it as well, and they shared a brief nod from afar.
It was all they had left to share. He watched for his mother and for Elloven’s, but he saw neither, though there were so many streaming in, it was hard to pick anyone out of the crowd.
He didn’t know how long it would take millions of souls to trek through the spiral, but weeks didn’t seem unreasonable.
Jesstin jolted at the intrusion of a shadow, its edges glowing from the explosions beyond. He tensed and carefully set Elloven aside to deal with whatever fresh nightmare he’d been sent.
“Easy.” Mon sat beside him. “You kept your promise.”
Jesstin’s muscles screamed as he adjusted from the position he’d held for hours. “Don’t sound so shocked.”
“Shocked you were capable? No, no. Shocked you cared enough?” Mon chuckled. “A touch.”
Jesstin surprised himself by laughing too. “Fortunately for all of you, it was convenient to my main objective.” He gave Elloven a squeeze. “You know, I’ve had some time to think, sitting here.”
“Excuse me while I go warn the others.”
Jesstin ignored his sarcasm. “I was thinking... What happens when someone else decides to curse this place and closes the door again?”
“Because of you, now we know it can be reopened. There will be more like you.” Mon leaned against the rock and watched the sky with Jesstin. “I’d only ever heard the warnings about this place. Never imagined I’d be standing inside the spiral.”
“When I see signs telling me to keep out, it only makes me want to go in more.”
Mon grinned. “What will you do next?”
“Save her.” Jesstin nodded at Elloven.
“I pray you do. But after?”
Jesstin shrugged. “Not given it too much thought.”
“Your life won’t be as you left it.”
“What a revelation, Edmond.”
“Don’t you see this means you can begin anew, choose whatever life you fancy? Why, you could be a baker... or a farmer!”
Jesstin chortled. “Anyone foolish enough to eat anything I’ve grown or cooked deserves their fate.”
Mon sighed. “At least they’ll be able to move on when they die.”
Jesstin rolled his head to look at Mon. “Why are you still here?”
“Am I so offensive?”
“I’d already be on the other side, lapping at the afterlife like a feral dog.”
“Now that’s an image,” Mon said. “I came to thank you and offer one last piece of wisdom, if you’ll hear it.”
“I’ll hear it. Can’t promise to heed it.”
“The fate of all wisdom.” Mon kneaded his palms over his bent knees.
“Don’t wait for everyone to leave. It’ll take longer than you think, and you can’t know how time has passed for you in your world.
Every moment you sit here is a moment wasted.
You’ve upheld your promise. There’s nothing left to do. Go home.”
“Ryquin,” Jesstin said. “I walk out my door, he can walk in. I’ll make sure he finds the place empty when he does.”
“He cannot close our door. As long as you leave it open—”
“It wasn’t me, Mon. It was this.” Jesstin tugged at the cursed stolen flame, still hanging around his neck. “The Conductor. Architect. Overseer. I don’t know what you call the fucking soulless fiend, but it was its magic that opened your door. Not mine.”
Mon leaned in and frowned at the amulet. “No, I think you’re wrong. It was both.” He looked up with a stunned expression. “You figured that out.”
“Got dropkicked into it is more like,” Jesstin murmured.
“You are ill-practiced at receiving gratitude,” Mon said in a snooty tone. “This means if you leave this place, with the flame, you take with you the two things that opened the door. Without both, the door cannot close. Ryquin can do nothing about it.”
Jesstin tilted his head back and sighed.
“I offered my piece. You’ll do as you will.
” Mon patted Jesstin’s leg. “Be kind to yourself, Jesstin Skylark.” He held out his hand, and Jesstin halfheartedly shook it.
“We are all comprised of sin but also promise. Dare I say hope? Whatever you’ve done, whatever you will do, no one else in all the worlds can say they offered the dead freedom from purgatory. ”
There didn’t seem to be an appropriate response, so Jesstin said nothing.
“I’ll be getting on then.” Mon stood and clapped his hands twice.
“I don’t know what Ryquin put in your ear about resurrecting this girl, and I don’t know if you can, but even with all you’ve done here, your necromancy is still mostly untapped.
People spend their lives training in magics not half as complicated, and you’ve never given yours more than a passing thought.
I believe you’ll get one chance to get this right.
If you try to save more, you’ll risk saving none.
Make your peace with that before you go through the door and don’t spare a worry for the rest of us.
I’d rather be going through my door than yours.
” He tipped a nod. “Until we meet again in a better place.”
Jesstin’s nod followed Mon as he walked away.
As the hours stretched and the netherworld continued to turn on itself, Elloven’s heartbeat stayed true, and her breaths were just as they should have been.
He wanted so badly to kiss her one last time, but the closer they were to the moment he’d come there for, the more it felt like a deception even he couldn’t shoulder.
He tried not to think about it, beyond the loving, mindful comforts he passed onto her as she slept soundly in his lap.
Mostly he thought of Rhiain, Asterin, Emrys, and the children.
There was an equal chance of them knowing him as not.
His head had been so hot, he hadn’t really considered what it would be like to go home and find himself truly alone.
Rhiain’s love for him was of the purest expression, and Asterin had taught him to be a man when neither of his fathers could—a man who was both strong and vulnerable.
Emrys had made mistakes, plenty of them, but that only made him more relatable to Jesstin.
And the children... He’d raised them. All those nights Rhiain and Asterin had been on the road, bartering for rare documents, Jesstin had taught the little ones how to cook—not well, mind—and how to do their letters and numbers.
He’d played silly games with them, nursed their wounds, and fallen asleep beside them after one too many bedtime stories.
One of his favorite memories was when he’d taken them all to Wintertide Jubilee, along with Emrys’s daughter, Nara.
He’d spoiled them rotten, parading them around to each of the sweetmeat, cake, posset, pie, and pudding vendors, and they’d all gone to bed with sore bellies and huge smiles.
Caterina, the eldest, had said, of course she knew she had the best mommy and daddy in the kingdom, but all her friends said the same thing about their own mommies and daddies.
But she was luckier than her friends because she had her Uncle Brother, and there was only one of him.
That was what she’d called him, Uncle Brother, and it was apt because he’d always felt like both.
Jesstin supposed there was some comfort to take from knowing that, whether they remembered him or not, he’d had a steadying and nurturing impact on their lives.
If they did remember him, then that would mean his soul was damned for eternity. He didn’t trust that his actions had fully destroyed the Conductor’s power. He’d weakened it, hopefully long enough for the dead to pass, but power like that could never have been destroyed by a single man.
It was hard to say which outcome was worse. He could imagine the pain of losing his family, but his very soul? That was beyond his reckoning.