Chapter 1843

Jude couldn’t immediately identify it. He stared at the child’s face, searching for the small details that had become familiar over the last few days. The way Sol tilted his head when listening. The way his eyebrows drew together when he was trying to understand something. The way he sometimes looked at Jude as though he wanted to ask a question but couldn’t find the courage.

This boy did all those things.

Perfectly.

Too perfectly.

"Jude," the boy whispered. "Please."

The wooden bird screamed once more.

"DON’T BELIEVE HIM!"

Natalie stepped away from the boy. "I don’t like this."

"Neither do I," Lucy murmured.

"Everyone stay together," Jude ordered.

The younger Jude near the firepit slowly raised his head.

He had not moved since the village went dark. He still held his own wooden bird, the one that had appeared in his palm earlier, wrapped in a different arrangement of silver thread.

He looked at the boy beside Natalie.

Then he looked at Jude.

"It’s happening again," he said.

Jude turned towards him. "What is?"

The younger Jude shook his head.

"I don’t know."

"You seem to know quite a lot for someone who keeps telling me he doesn’t remember anything."

"I remember enough to know that we shouldn’t be here."

"Where should we be?"

The younger Jude looked towards the northern mountain.

"Underneath."

A deep wooden creak travelled through the village.

It came from the shared house.

Or rather, from the place where the shared house should have been.

The structure had disappeared during the earlier encounter with the first house, leaving only the open space between the village paths. But now a dark outline was forming there. First came the roof, then the walls, then the windows. It was as though an invisible hand were drawing the house into existence, one piece at a time.

Except the walls weren’t made of ordinary timber.

They were covered in roots.

Hundreds of thin roots crawled over the surface, weaving themselves together into the shape of doors and windows. The roof seemed to bend beneath an invisible weight. The windows were black, and behind each one a faint silver light moved slowly from side to side.

Sophie stared at it.

"That’s not our house."

"No," Jude said.

Scarlet looked at the boy beside Natalie. "And that’s not Sol."

The boy lowered his eyes.

"I am Sol."

The answer was so quiet that it almost disappeared beneath the creaking of the forming house.

Natalie turned towards him. "Then why is the bird saying you’re not?"

The boy looked at the bird in his hands.

"I don’t know."

"Give it to me," Jude said.

The boy hesitated.

"Please."

For a moment, Jude thought he would refuse. Then the child slowly extended his hands.

The bird was surprisingly warm.

Jude took it carefully, and the instant his fingers touched the silver thread, the village seemed to inhale.

Every window in the surrounding houses lit up.

Every door opened.

And from somewhere beneath the ground came the sound of a bell.

One ring.

Then another.

Then twelve more, each slightly different from the last.

The bird’s carved eyes turned towards Jude.

"Don’t let them sit," Sol’s voice whispered.

Jude looked at it.

"Who?"

"The twelve."

All twelve wives turned towards the bird.

A silence fell over the village.

Then, from the dark windows of the newly formed house, twelve figures emerged.

They stood behind the glass.

Susan.

Rose.

Serena.

Layla.

Natalie.

Zoey.

Lucy.

Stella.

Emma.

Grace.

Sophie.

Scarlet.

They looked exactly like the women standing beside Jude.

Not similar.

Not nearly identical.

Exactly the same.

Each wore the clothes she had been wearing moments earlier. Each had the same expression, the same posture, the same little imperfections that made them recognisable.

One of the figures raised a hand.

The real Susan immediately stepped backwards.

"No," she whispered.

The figure behind the window smiled.

It was a familiar smile. A gentle one, the kind Susan used when she wanted to reassure someone.

But her eyes remained fixed on Jude.

Then the twelve figures spoke together.

"Bring the promises home."

The younger Jude closed his eyes.

"Oh, no."

Jude turned towards him. "You know what that means?"

The younger version shook his head.

"I know what happened the last time."

"What happened?"

"I brought them home."

A cold breeze swept across the village.

The twelve figures behind the windows began knocking.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Their hands made no sound against the glass.

Yet the wooden bird in Jude’s hands trembled with every knock.

The child beside Natalie suddenly grabbed Jude’s sleeve.

"Don’t open the doors."

Jude looked down at him.

"Why?"

"Because they aren’t waiting outside."

The child pointed towards the house.

"They’re already inside."

A sound came from behind Jude.

A chair scraping across a wooden floor.

Everyone turned.

The new shared house had no visible doors open, but its windows now showed a dining room.

A long table.

Thirteen chairs.

And one empty place at the far end.

The table was set with thirteen plates.

There was a small wooden bird beside every plate.

Jude counted them.

Thirteen.

Then he noticed something else.

One of the chairs had a name carved into its back.

Jude.

The chair beside it bore another name.

SOL.

The next one was marked LAYLA.

The remaining ten chairs had no names at all.

But the thirteenth chair was different.

It was made from a darker wood, and silver roots had grown around its legs.

Above it, written in a language Jude had never seen before, was a single word.

FATHER.

The younger Jude took a step backwards.

"No," he whispered.

The boy beside Natalie looked at the window.

His face had become strangely calm.

"It’s not for you," he said.

Jude looked down at him. "What?"

"The chair."

"Who is it for?"

The child did not answer.

Instead, he looked towards the northern mountain.

The darkness there had changed.

A thin line of blue light had appeared along the mountain’s highest ridge.