Chapter 1869 - 1868.1

Inside were hundreds of rooms.

At the centre was a large hall.

And in that hall stood a throne.

On the throne sat a woman.

Her face was hidden behind a veil.

She wore the pale embroidered cloth.

Her hands rested on two wooden arms.

And beside her stood twelve empty chairs.

The figure looked towards the throne.

"Do you see her?"

Jude nodded.

"Who is she?"

The figure smiled.

"She is the reason the first promise was made."

The woman beneath the veil lifted her head.

Then she spoke.

"Bring me the Keeper."

The figure turned towards Jude.

"You see, we have been waiting."

The woman slowly stood.

"And now," she said, "I would like my son returned."

Jude looked at the four Sols.

Then at the figure.

Then at the woman.

"Which son?"

The woman lifted her veil.

And Jude saw Layla’s face.

But beneath her eyes were two silver circles.

And across her forehead was the symbol of the first house.

She looked directly at Jude.

Then she smiled.

"Not you," she whispered.

She pointed towards the smallest Sol.

"Him."

The child beside Jude suddenly began to glow.

The other three Sols fell to their knees.

The figure in the doorway bowed his head.

And the woman spoke a name.

A name Jude had never heard.

Yet the moment it reached his ears, every memory in the room stopped.

Every clock on the island stopped.

Every bird fell silent.

The enormous tree bent towards the ground.

The sea withdrew from the shore.

And somewhere beneath the northern mountain, the fourteenth door opened.

The smallest Sol looked up at Jude.

His eyes filled with tears.

"That’s my name," he whispered.

Then he looked towards the woman on the throne.

And added:

"Mother."

For several seconds, Jude could not move.

The word had barely left the child’s mouth, yet it seemed to have travelled far beyond the little chamber. It had passed through the wooden walls, through the roots beneath the island, through the mountains and the sea, reaching somewhere that Jude could neither see nor understand.

Mother.

The woman wearing Layla’s face stood beneath the enormous tree.

The silver circles beneath her eyes began to shine.

The smallest Sol took a step towards her.

Jude tightened his grip on the child’s hand.

"Don’t."

The child looked up at him.

"But she knows my name."

"She knows a name. That doesn’t mean she knows you."

The woman smiled.

"You have become very protective of him."

Jude stared at her.

"Who are you?"

"I have answered that question before."

"You have given me several answers. None of them makes sense."

"Perhaps you are asking the wrong question."

The woman descended the steps from the throne. Her pale embroidered cloth moved gently around her, although there was no wind inside the enormous hall.

"I am the one who waited before the first house existed. I am the one who heard the first promise. I am the one who watched the tree grow from a seed."

"Then why do you look like Layla?"

The woman stopped.

For the first time, her expression changed.

"Because that is the face you will trust."

Jude felt the child’s hand tighten around his.

"That’s not Layla," Sol whispered.

"I know," Jude replied.

The woman tilted her head.

"Do you?"

Behind her, the twelve empty chairs began moving.

One by one, they turned towards Jude.

The first chair was marked SUSAN.

The second ROSE.

The third SERENA.

Then LAYLA.

The remaining chairs bore the names of the other women.

Jude looked at them.

"Where are they?"

The woman glanced at the chairs.

"They are where they have always been."

"No. I mean the real ones."

"Ah."

The woman smiled.

"You still believe there is a difference between a person and the memory of that person."

Jude stepped forward.

"There is."

"Then tell me, Keeper. What makes them real?"

Jude did not answer.

"Is it their bodies? Their voices? Their memories? Their ability to remember you?"

The woman approached the chair marked LAYLA.

"Suppose I remember everything Layla remembers. Suppose I know every conversation she has ever had with you. Suppose I know which flowers she prefers, which paths she avoids, and which words make her angry. Suppose I can laugh exactly as she laughs."

She placed a hand on the chair.

"Would I still be false?"

"Yes."

The woman looked at him.

"Why?"

"Because you aren’t her."

A strange silence followed.

Then the woman laughed.

Not loudly.

Not mockingly.

It was a quiet, almost sorrowful sound.

"Perhaps that is the only answer you have ever given that matters."

The smallest Sol pulled at Jude’s hand.

"Father said she would ask that."

Jude looked down.

"Which father?"

The child glanced at the figure standing in the doorway.

The man with Jude’s face.

The one who had claimed to be the name Jude was born with.

The man smiled.

"Not me."

The child shook his head.

"No. The other one."

The silver-haired older Jude.

Jude turned towards the doorway behind them.

There was no staircase anymore.

Only darkness.

"Where is he?"

The man looked towards the darkness.

"He is still trying to prevent what has already happened."

Jude frowned.

"What does that mean?"

"It means he has been repeating the same mistake for longer than you can imagine."

The woman in Layla’s face interrupted.

"Enough."

She raised her hand.

The hall changed.

The twelve chairs disappeared.

The throne vanished.

The enormous tree outside the doorway became a familiar village.

Jude recognised the wooden houses, the gardens, the orchard and the central firepit.

The evening sun rested above the western meadow.

Smoke rose from the cooking area.

The sound of laughter drifted through the air.

It was home.

But something was wrong.

There were thirteen people gathered around the firepit.

Jude recognised all twelve wives.

And the thirteenth person was himself.

Not one of the copies.

Not the older Jude.

Not the younger Jude.

It was Jude as he remembered himself before all the strange events began.