Chapter 1888

Jude couldn’t move. The child sitting at the head of the dining table had his face. Not a resemblance. Not the unsettling similarity of the other Judes he had encountered beneath the mountain or inside the first house.

It was his face.

The same eyes, the same shape of the mouth, the same small crease between the eyebrows that appeared whenever he was trying to understand something difficult.

But the child looked no older than ten.

He was wearing a simple white shirt, and his dark hair was neatly combed. His hands rested on either side of the old photograph.

He looked exhausted.

"Father," he repeated. "You promised."

Jude stared at him through the open doorway.

"What did I promise?"

The child lowered his eyes.

"That you wouldn’t count me."

Behind Jude, the white-haired woman stepped forward.

"Don’t listen to him."

Jude turned.

"Who are you?"

She smiled faintly.

"That’s a question you should have asked a long time ago."

"Everyone seems to know who I am except me."

"That is because you keep asking the wrong people."

"Then give me the right answer."

The woman glanced towards the child.

"He is not supposed to be here."

The child looked up.

"Neither are you."

The woman’s smile disappeared.

For a moment, the village became unnaturally quiet.

Even the leaves stopped moving.

Then the child pushed the photograph towards the edge of the table.

"Look at it, Father."

Jude approached the shared house.

The five Sols standing inside had not moved. They were arranged along the walls, each wearing slightly different clothes. One held a wooden bird. Another had a silver thread wrapped around his wrist. A third had a small crescent pendant hanging from his neck.

The remaining two were looking at the floor.

None of them seemed surprised by the child at the table.

Jude stepped through the doorway.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold, the wooden key in his hand became warm.

Behind him, the white-haired woman said, "Don’t cross the room."

He stopped.

"Why?"

"Because the child is waiting for you to sit."

Jude looked towards the table.

There were fourteen chairs.

Thirteen were occupied by familiar-looking figures.

The four Sols he had encountered before sat along one side. The fifth, the child who claimed to have never been born, sat near the window.

The sixth child, the one with Jude’s face, occupied the chair at the head.

But there were other people at the table.

Twelve women.

Susan, Rose, Serena, Layla, Natalie, Zoey, Lucy, Stella, Emma, Grace, Sophie, and Scarlet.

They all looked exactly as they should.

Except none of them were moving.

Their hands rested on the table. Their eyes were open. Their expressions were calm.

They looked like figures carved from wood.

Jude turned towards the doorway.

The real women were still outside.

He could see them through the open door.

He looked back at the table.

The twelve women were still there.

"How many of you are there?" he whispered.

The child with Jude’s face sighed.

"You’re doing it again."

"I’m not counting."

"You already have."

Jude looked at the photograph.

It showed the same dining room, but the walls were unfinished. There were no windows, no curtains, and no lamps.

A large tree root extended through the ceiling.

The twelve women stood behind a long wooden table.

A man sat at the head.

He had Jude’s face.

And beside him stood a little boy.

The boy was holding a wooden bird.

Jude leaned closer.

The child in the photograph had a small scar beneath his left eye.

He looked like the white-haired woman outside.

But that was impossible.

The child at the table watched Jude carefully.

"You see?"

Jude looked at him.

"See what?"

"She wasn’t always a woman."

The white-haired woman appeared behind him.

"Enough."

The child didn’t turn.

"You were there too."

"Be quiet."

"You remember the first room."

The woman raised her hand.

Every candle in the dining room went out.

The twelve motionless women at the table turned their heads towards her.

Not their bodies.

Only their heads.

Jude stepped back.

The child with his face looked at him.

"Don’t let her take the photograph."

The woman moved towards the table.

Jude caught the photograph first.

The moment his fingers touched it, he heard a child’s laughter.

Not from the room.

From somewhere inside the photograph.

The dining room dissolved.

For a heartbeat, Jude was standing in another place.

A small room.

No windows.

No doors.

A wooden floor.

A little table.

Two chairs.

And a tree seed resting inside a shallow silver bowl.

A man sat on one chair.

A child sat on the other.

The man had Jude’s face.

The child had the face of the boy at the head of the dining table.

Between them stood a woman.

She was not white-haired.

She was not wearing a pale embroidered cloth.

She looked young, with dark hair falling across her shoulders.

She held two wooden birds.

One had silver eyes.

The other had no eyes at all.

The man spoke.

"One must remain."

The child shook his head.

"Why?"

"Because someone must remember."

"Then let me remember."

The woman looked towards the seed.

"No," she whispered. "Not you."

The man placed a hand on the child’s head.

"You will understand later."

The child looked up at him.

"Will you come back?"

The man did not answer.

Instead, he took the silver-eyed bird and placed it in the child’s hands.

Then he stood.

The woman grabbed his arm.

"If you leave, the room will forget us."

The man looked at her.

"Then make it remember."

The child began crying.

"Father?"

The man turned towards the door.

And Jude heard himself whisper:

"I will come back for you."

The memory shattered.

Jude found himself standing in the dining room again.

The photograph was still in his hand.

The white-haired woman was staring at him.

The child at the head of the table was crying.

And the wooden bird in Jude’s other hand had begun to sing.