by G. Bailey
“Is your brother a fool?” Storm asks me like he can read my mind, and I just shrug. I’ve always known Hugo and Damien are dipshits, but I had confidence in Peyton having some brain cells in that large head of his. Either way, this is all stupid.
“Pey—”
“You locked my sister up for feckin’ nothing, you bastard!” Peyton charges Storm, succeeding in actually knocking him onto the ground, which I will admit is impressive. Storm boisterously laughs as he fights with my brother, and I just sigh. I think Storm might have just let him knock him over for fun.
Men.
“What the heck is going on out here!” The door next to Peyton’s room opens, and my mum walks out. She stares down at Peyton and Storm who have stopped the fight, paused like someone stopped time, though Storm is still laughing, and I’m shocked that my mum nearly used a swear word.
“Mrs. Kismet, it is lovely to meet you. Karma has told me a lot about you,” Storm politely says, pushing Peyton off him, and he goes flying into the wall with an oomph before Storm smoothly gets up. “Your son and I were just saying hello.” Men have a strange way of saying hello.
Peyton starts, “Mum, he is—”
“Enough, Pey. Storm is my friend and nothing like his adoptive family,” I step forward as I speak, catching mum’s full attention. Her eyes fly to me just before she runs over and pulls me into her arms. I breathe in her lavender scent, and I’m instantly relaxed for a long second. It reminds me of all the times she has hugged me growing up, and told me she loves me. Every time I fell off my bike, or my brothers fought a little too roughly with me. Or that one time I fell out of a tree I’d climbed and broke my arm.
“Karma, I was so worried. Are you alright?” she asks, squeezing me tightly. I pull back, looking into her eyes because I need to look at her as I ask. She looks confused as she runs her eyes over my face.
“Mum, who are my biological parents?”
5
“Did she whack her head in that prison?” Peyton asks, turning to Mum with a look so incredulous that it might be comical under other circumstances. “What the feckin’ hell are you talking about?” he asks, turning to me and looking at me like I’ve lost my god damn mind. “Karma, what did they do to you in there?” I can see the speculation on his face already: thoughts of reeducation, subliminal messaging, and torture, all in the name of psychologically breaking the prisoners. If what Xur said about my family didn’t feel so terrifyingly right, I might even wonder that, myself.
Mum doesn’t answer or look away from me, and I can see a range of emotions playing across her face like a slideshow. Guilt, regret, love, and worry, each one making my stomach drop a little lower. Finally, though, her expression settles on anguish, her eyebrows knitting together and her eyes growing moist.
I feel like I can’t breathe as I look at her and see the pure pain reflecting in her gaze. I’m sure she knew this day was coming, sooner rather than later. That was why she gave me the charm on my birthday, wasn’t it? She wanted to ease me into the news, and she did it the only way she knew how. If things had been different, she might have sat me down at the kitchen table, held my hand, and explained it all in the way only a mother could, but instead…
I just wish I had heard it from her first and not the higher gods.
Slowly, Mum clears her throat, looking like she’s in a trance. “Peyton, go and find the rest of the family and wait in your room. Karma and I need some alone time,” Mum finally says, though she isn’t speaking to me.
Peyton glances from Mum to me as if we have two heads. “What are you talking about?” he asks, his eyes wide. “Mum…?” There’s a flicker of recognition on his face, but he seems to push it away in an instant.
“I know you must remember some of the truth, Peyton,” Mum says, her shoulders going rigid, and she doesn’t pull her gaze from mine. “It’s time I told Karma the truth.”
Peyton looks like he’s been hit over the head, and his expression falters between denial and confusion. Mum just continues to watch me with that stoic, mournful look on her face, and making eye contact with either of them suddenly feels like too much.
I take a deep breath and pull my eyes away from her for a moment, only to see Storm coming over to my side. He had been lingering a few feet behind me as he watched our conversation, but he must have picked up on my distress. Just having his strong presence next to mine is a comfort, and I shoot him a grateful look. He links his fingers with mine, an action that doesn’t escape my Mum’s or Peyton’s attention. They stare at our hands in what I can only assume is shock, and Mum looks as if she’s about to say something, but then Peyton seems to snap out of the trance he’s been in.
“But—” he begins, glancing up at Mum with a panicked look on his face.
I look up at Storm, who is staring down at me, and his gaze fills me with a strength I didn’t know I had. I don’t have to tell him I don’t want him to leave - he knows, and nothing needs to be said between us. I need him here with me as I find out the truth. Peyton, on the other hand… It’s not that I don’t love him, or want him to share the truth with me. It’s that I love him too much; he’s been here for me for as long as I can remember, and I’ve shared everything with him. I don’t want him to have to hear firsthand how I’m not actually his baby sister, how I’m the reason he’s caught up in this mess. And I’m afraid to see his reaction, afraid that after this, our relationship will never be the same.
“Now, Peyton!” Mum snaps, and after another moment or two, I hear Peyton’s footsteps receding away back into their chambers. The knot in my stomach loosens a little, and slowly I turn away from Storm and back to Mum.
Mum doesn’t say another word; instead she just retreats back into the room she came out of, and I quickly follow behind her.
I let go of Storm’s hand so he can shut the door behind us, and together we head into the lounge. It’s pretty basic in here: two cream sofas, white walls and tiled floors. There is a small kitchen pressed against the one wall with a few white cabinets, a mini fridge and a coffee machine on top of it that smells like French roast. Two windows stand at the back of the room, stretching from floor to ceiling and looking over a beach. Outside, the sea looks almost pink as the rising sun reflects off it, a view that would no doubt be breathtaking if we weren’t in our current situation. It’s a relief to see that my family has been living in relative comfort, though; I was half-expecting a dingy basement with no windows and nothing more in the way of furniture than a cot in the corner. I have no doubt that this castle has a proper dungeon, too, and I’m sure that if I don’t behave myself, Xur could easily have my family moved there. The fact that these digs are nicer than I was expecting doesn’t fool me, though; it’s still a prison.No doubt any teleportation charms have already been taken away, and given the magic in this place, charms probably wouldn’t work anyway. Even if the windows aren’t enchanted, we’re still trapped within the palace walls, and outside, there’s nothing but open ocean. An escape attempt would be deadly; my family is completely at the mercy of our captors, and that knowledge is enough to make my blood boil.
Other than a staircase in the corner of the room, which I assume goes up to some bedrooms, there isn’t much more to see. Or to distract myself with looking at. Taking in another shaky breath, I turn back to Mum, giving Storm’s hand an involuntary squeeze. There’s no getting away from this.
“Come and sit down, Karma,” Mum quietly instructs me. “You too,” she adds, turning to Storm but barely giving him a second glance. He’s on my side, and that seems to be enough for her for now. “I don’t want to tell you the truth,” she continues, moving over to the pristine sofa and sinking into it stiffly.
“Mum,” I begin, “I know it can’t be easy, but I need to know-”
She holds up a hand. “I have feared this day for a long time. You have to understand that I never thought I would have to tell you this way.”
“You owe me the truth though, Mum,” I tell her, and she gives me a s
low nod, patting the spot on the couch next to her. I let out a breath and do as I’m told, coming to sit next to her on the sofa. Storm remains by the door, crossing his arms over his chest and averting his eyes. It’s clear he wants to give us some privacy but still stay near for me, and for that alone, I could kiss him.
“No, you don’t understand,” mum says, and she is right. I furrow my brow in confusion as she picks up her handbag from the side of the sofa and starts searching through it. “I always have too much stuff in this bag.” She continues to rummage, looking up at me to add, “I can’t tell you the truth, Karma, but I can show you.”
I try not to chuckle at the look on Storm’s face as my Mum begins to pull out a massive range of things from her bag. An umbrella first, then a makeup bag, a pack of tissue, a box of biscuits, and a postcard with a picture of Michael’s face on it. I even miss that damn goat, and the sight is nearly enough to make fresh tears well up in my eyes, but the absurdity of watching Mum dig through her purse like it’s the most normal thing in the world is enough to keep my emotions from overwhelming me.
Finally, Mum finds what she is looking for: a small, nondescript blue box, like the kind used to carry jewelry. Mum shoves everything back into her bag, somehow (I’m still not sure how she manages to fit it all in there), before handing me the box. I steel myself, afraid of what I’ll find but unable to avoid the truth any longer. You asked for this, I remind myself. Whatever the truth is, it’s better to find it out know. Just rip it off like a band-aid.
Slowly, I open it up, finding a small charm inside it, much like the ones she’s gifted me every year for my birthday. The charm is blue, shiny and shaped like a perfume bottle.
I furrow my brow. “What is it?” I ask Mum, picking up the charm out of the box and holding it in the palm of my hand. Mum covers my hand with hers before she speaks, sounding like she’s choosing each word carefully.
“It is a memory charm,” Mum replies. Seeing my questioning look, she continues, “See, I knew one day I’d have to tell you about the past, but I didn’t know what the right words for the truth could possibly be.”
“Mum,” I begin, “it’s all right-”
But she puts her hand up again, and it’s clear from the strain in her voice that she’s having a hard enough time just getting this far in her explanation. I bite my lip and wait for her to collect her thoughts before she continues.
“It breaks my heart to see these memories,” she says. “Even just thinking about them makes me feel guilty… sad…” Her voice cracks a little, and she takes a steadying breath. “And it has for a long time, so I knew from the start that I wouldn’t be able to talk about it. I didn’t want that to affect you, so I got this charm. It stores memories, so I used it to make a copy of the important parts of my memory. The ones relating to you,” she explains to me.
“I can’t believe they let you keep this,” I breathe, holding the charm up to the light and wondering what sorts of memories it could possibly hold.
“It wasn’t an easy fight,” Mum replies with a look of grim determination. “They took the rest of our charms away. But in the end I convinced them that it was worth showing you these memories, if only to make it easier for them to sway your opinion. I… did what I had to.” She clears her throat. “I’m so sorry for everything you are about to see, Karma. I wanted you to be older when I showed you this. I had a plan… but I can’t protect you from the truth anymore, it seems. This has become bigger than me - bigger than all of us. I just want you to remember that I love you,” she adds. “Please.”
“Mum,” I say quietly, my eyes wide, “I love you, too. Always.”
She smiles a little at that, and reaches across the seemingly endless gap between us to stroke my hair the way she did when I was a little girl. “Remember that bringing you up as my child was an honour, and loving you was a present I will always treasure.”
Before I can answer, my mum closes her eyes, and in an instant my hand starts to warm up. My eyes drift closed unwillingly, as if I’ve just been given a powerful sedative, and soon the warmth begins to spread throughout my entire body. It’s a pleasant feeling, like nostalgia, and I’m unable to fight it; when I open my eyes again, I’m not in the same room, and my mum isn’t with me.
I’m standing under a tree on a sunny day in someone’s garden. It’s strange - I can feel the warmth of the sun beating down on my face, smell the freshly clipped grass and hear the buzzing of insects among the flowers. It feels so real, even if it is a memory. I don’t recognise the garden as I look around, but it’s pretty big, and there is an old cottage in the distance, with a table and chairs set up outside. I can make out the sound of chattering birds in the trees, and the sound of water in the distance - a beach, perhaps? Glancing down, I’m taken aback when I see that my body is translucent, almost non-corporeal. It’s like I’m a ghost, spying on a memory that I can’t interact with.
“What did you want to tell me that you didn’t want anyone else to know, Maria?” comes a voice from above me. It’s uncannily like Mum’s, although it sounds younger and more carefree. I take a step back before looking up to see that there is a treehouse built into the branches of the large oak tree in front of me. Two young women are sitting on the edge of the platform, their legs dangling down. The branches rustle and the boards creak with their movement, and a handful of leaves flutter down from the tree, passing through me like air to land at my feet. I have to take a few more steps back to get a good look at the two women, craning my neck and shielding my eyes against the glaring sunlight.
I recognise my mum almost instantly, mainly because of her wavy red hair and bright eyes. She has a flowery top on and high waisted jeans, but it’s the happiness that throws me. There’s a look of bright, unworried joy on her face - a look of love. I’ve only ever seen her look at our family the way she is looking at the woman sitting next to her.
I gulp as I see Maria, my mother’s sister, who I know little to nothing about. Her red hair is darker than my mum’s, and is pulled up in a high ponytail. She is dressed in a white dress, showing off the freckled skin on her arms and chest. She is very beautiful, just like my mum, and has an almost otherworldly quality to her. It’s clear that she’s family from the way that Mum is looking at her... but I can’t keep my eyes off her for another reason entirely.
She looks almost just like me. We have the same high cheekbones, long lashes and pouty lips. The slant of her nose is exactly mine. But there’s more, too: the way she tucks a stray red curl back behind her ear, the the little half-smile on her face as she stares at her beloved sister, and the way her shoulders slouch in a carefree, almost lazy posture. These are all qualities I’ve seen every time I’ve looked in the mirror, little things I’ve been unable to put my finger on… until now.
I know who she is without needing to see the rest of this past memory. My throat suddenly feels tight, and tears begin to fall unbidden down my cheeks as I watch the two women. There’s no doubt in my mind that this is my biological mother, and seeing her next to the woman who raised me is stirring emotions in me that I don’t even have a name for. Questions begin to flow through my mind, each one impossible to answer: what was she like? Was this how they interacted? What would life have been like if she had raised me, instead of Mum? This is followed by an immediate surge of guilt. She didn’t raise me, and she isn’t my Mum - at least, not in the sense that truly matters. My Mum is the one sitting next to her… but that doesn’t alleviate the confusion I’m now feeling to see the two of them side by side.
The emotions are almost too much to handle, and I nearly miss what they are talking about as I try to get a handle on myself.
“I’m pregnant,” says the strange yet familiar woman sitting next to Mum.
Mum’s eyes grow wide. “How far along are you.”
“About three months gone, Blaine,” Maria says, and my mum throws her arms around Maria while letting out a happy squeal. My middle name gives a lot away in this story.
I rub my chest as my heart hurts with a nostalgic ache that I didn’t know it was possible to feel. Maria is my biological mother. If I wanted confirmation, I finally have it.
“Congratulations,” says Mum, putting a hand on Maria’s shoulder. “I’m so delighted for you! Are you happy?” she asks earnestly, and I can see her pure joy.
Maria smiles softly in response, placing her hand over her stomach, and she gazes into the distance. For a second, I think she is looking at me, but she moves her eyes away to my mum too quickly to have actually seen me. I’m just a stranger looking in on a memory that I cannot touch, the closest I’ll ever be to the woman who gave birth to me.
“It’s not that simple,” Maria replies, glancing down at her belly.“This poor child is going to have a complicated heritage.” She takes a long breath to steady herself, closing her eyes for a moment, and then looks at Mum. “But I already love my baby,” she says. “I will protect her, shield her and hide her. The moment I found out, I was in love with my child, and that will never change… despite how much I love her father,” Maria finishes. Thick tears continue to fall down my cheeks as my hand goes to my mouth to hold in a sob that threatens to escape. I never knew how much I craved hearing her say those words, but it feels like an incredible weight has just been lifted off my shoulders. Ever since Xur told me the truth about my parentage, there has been a nagging worry in the back of my mind, one that I haven’t really even been able to articulate. But these words have cast it away: Maria wanted me. She didn’t give me to my mum because she was afraid of me, or because she didn’t love me. Whatever else happened, she did what she did in order to protect me.
“What did—” begins Mum.
“He doesn’t need to know,” replies Maria. “I love Neritous...but he wouldn’t love the baby - or want it.”
“How do you know?” asks Mum quietly, her eyes wide.
