Chapter 1845

The front wall split open.

A doorway appeared.

Beyond it was the circular chamber beneath the northern mountain, with thirteen pillars arranged around the cradle.

But the cradle was empty.

At the centre of the room stood a boy.

He looked exactly like Sol.

Except his hair was white.

His eyes were closed, and a silver crescent was embedded in the centre of his forehead.

He opened his eyes.

"Father," he said.

The child beside Natalie took a frightened step backwards.

The younger Jude whispered something Jude couldn’t hear.

And the bird screamed.

"THAT’S THE ONE YOU LEFT!"

The white-haired boy smiled.

Then he lifted his hand.

Every door in the village slammed shut.

Every window went dark.

And all twelve wives disappeared.

"NO!"

Jude ran towards the place where Susan had been standing.

There was nothing.

He turned towards Serena.

Nothing.

Layla, Sophie, Scarlet, Natalie, all of them.

Gone.

The firepit had vanished too.

Even the wooden paths and treehouses had disappeared, leaving Jude standing on a vast floor of dark timber.

He was alone with the three children.

The younger Jude stood near the doorway.

The child who had been beside Natalie was crouched on the floor, holding his knees.

The voice inside the wooden bird had fallen silent.

And the white-haired boy remained in the doorway.

"Where are they?" Jude demanded.

The white-haired boy tilted his head.

"Where you put them."

"I didn’t put anyone anywhere."

"You promised."

"What did I promise?"

The boy smiled sadly.

"You said nobody would ever be lost again."

Jude looked around.

The wooden floor stretched into darkness in every direction.

A faint sound came from beneath it.

Twelve voices.

Calling his name.

"Jude?"

"Jude!"

"Help us!"

He rushed towards the nearest sound.

But the younger Jude caught his arm.

"Don’t."

"Let go!"

"They’re not calling from beneath the floor."

"Then where are they?"

The younger Jude looked towards the doorway.

"They’re calling from the places where they haven’t been born yet."

Jude stared at him.

The words made no sense.

But the boy looked as though he believed every one of them.

The white-haired child stepped out of the doorway.

"That’s the problem with you, Keeper."

Jude turned towards him.

"You speak as though you know me."

"I do."

"Then tell me who you are."

The boy’s expression changed.

For the first time, he seemed uncertain.

"I am the one who remembers what happened before the first promise."

"And what happened?"

The boy looked at the younger Jude.

Then at the child crouching on the floor.

Then at the wooden bird in Jude’s hands.

"Someone was afraid of being alone."

A low rumble passed beneath the floor.

"So they made a world," the boy continued. "They made a tree. They made a house. They made twelve promises and one keeper to protect them."

Jude stared at him.

"Who?"

The boy didn’t answer.

"Who made them?"

The white-haired child slowly raised his hand and pointed at Jude.

"You did."

Jude shook his head.

"No."

"You did."

"I don’t remember."

"That’s why we are here."

The younger Jude suddenly stepped between them.

"Stop talking to him."

The white-haired boy looked at him.

"You’re still pretending?"

"Be quiet."

"You still believe you can protect him?"

"Be quiet!"

The white-haired boy smiled.

"You were the first attempt."

The younger Jude went still.

The child crouched on the floor raised his head.

"And he was the second," the white-haired boy added, pointing towards Jude.

The floor cracked.

A silver light appeared beneath the wooden boards.

Jude looked down.

The cracks formed a circle around his feet.

Within it, letters began appearing.

Not carved.

Not written.

They emerged from the wood as though the material itself were remembering them.

THE KEEPER HAS RETURNED.

THE CHILDREN HAVE BEEN FOUND.

THE PROMISES HAVE BEEN GATHERED.

THE FATHER HAS NOT YET BEEN NAMED.

Jude read the final line twice.

Then the wooden bird in his hands began to move.

Its carved wings opened wider.

A small door appeared in its chest.

Inside was a folded piece of paper.

Jude pulled it out.

The paper was old, yellowed, and covered in handwriting.

He recognised the handwriting immediately.

It was his.

The message was short.

If the three children stand together, do not let them speak your name.

Below it was another sentence.

If they speak it, the tree will remember who planted the first seed.

Jude looked up.

The three boys were now standing in a line.

The child who had been beside Natalie.

The younger Jude.

The white-haired boy.

All three looked at him.

The white-haired one spoke first.

"Jude."

The younger Jude followed.

"Jude."

The child who had been crouching on the floor raised his head.

His eyes were filled with tears.

"Father."

The entire wooden chamber shuddered.

A tremendous crack split the ceiling.

Something enormous moved above them.

The white-haired boy smiled.

And the darkness behind him opened like a pair of enormous doors.

Beyond it was a place Jude had never seen.

A small room.

A wooden floor.

A single window.

A little bed.

A table with two cups.

And a tree growing through the ceiling.

There were no walls beyond the window.

Only an endless darkness.

A man sat beside the little bed.

Jude couldn’t see his face.

He was reading a book to a child whose dark hair was visible above the blanket.

The child was laughing.

The man turned a page.

Then he spoke.

"Once upon a time, before there was an island, before there was a sky, before there was even a name for the dark, there lived a little boy who wanted to make sure nobody would ever be alone."

Jude stopped breathing.

He knew that voice.

It was his own.

The child in the bed turned towards the window.

And Jude saw his face.

It was Sol.

But not the Sol he had found on the beach.

Not the Sol from the wooden bird.

Not the white-haired boy.

This child looked younger than all of them.