Chapter 1856

The man looked at the four children.

Then at the twelve wives.

Then at Jude.

"It wants the first promise."

Jude looked at the flower.

"What was the first promise?"

The man answered in a whisper.

"Before nobody would ever be lost again, there was another promise."

The flower opened its eye.

The entire room trembled.

The man continued.

"It was a promise made by someone who was afraid that the world would never love him."

Jude stared.

"Who?"

The man looked directly at him.

"You."

The flower’s eye widened.

A long, thin root emerged from its stem.

It stretched across the floor and touched Jude’s shoe.

The moment it made contact, the dining room disappeared.

Jude found himself standing in the little room before the first house.

The bed was empty.

The table was bare.

The tree had stopped growing.

And outside the window was a vast darkness.

A child stood beside the window.

He looked exactly like Jude.

Not as a boy.

As he was now.

The child turned.

He held out a small wooden bird.

"Do you remember me?"

Jude stared.

"Who are you?"

The child smiled.

"I’m the one who asked you to stay."

Jude looked towards the door.

The fourth Sol was standing there.

Behind him were the other three children.

Behind them stood the twelve wives.

And beyond them, in the darkness, was the first house.

The child beside the window walked closer.

"You promised you would never leave me."

Jude shook his head.

"I don’t remember."

The child nodded.

"That’s why I had to make you."

Jude felt the floor shift.

"What?"

The child held out the wooden bird.

"You were the one who wanted to leave."

Jude stared at him.

The child’s expression became strangely sad.

"You wanted a world outside the room. You wanted to meet people. You wanted to see the sea. You wanted to know what was beyond the tree."

The child looked towards the darkness.

"But I was afraid."

Jude slowly reached for the bird.

The child did not let go.

"So I made a promise."

"What promise?"

The child smiled.

"That if you ever found a way to leave, I would come with you."

Jude felt something inside his mind begin to open.

A memory emerged.

The little room.

The tree.

A boy sitting on the bed.

A second boy standing by the window.

A wooden bird between them.

And a promise.

Not nobody would ever be lost again.

Something much older.

Something much simpler.

If one of us leaves, the other must follow.

Jude released the bird.

The child looked disappointed.

"You remember."

Jude stared at him.

"Who are you?"

The child leaned closer.

His voice became a whisper.

"I’m the one you left behind."

The room went dark.

A door appeared.

Then another.

Then another.

The twelve wives called Jude’s name from somewhere beyond the walls.

The four Sols began shouting.

The man from the dining room screamed.

"DON’T LET HIM OPEN THE WINDOW!"

Jude turned.

The child was already standing beside it.

He placed both hands on the wooden frame.

And outside the window, in the endless darkness, something enormous opened its eyes.

The child looked at Jude.

"Now," he whispered, "you can finally see what I was afraid of."

The window opened.

And the entire island looked back.

The island had eyes.

Jude could not understand what he was seeing.

Beyond the little room, beyond the window, the darkness had opened into something impossibly vast. The island floated in the middle of it, surrounded by a silver sea that had no horizon. Its mountains, rivers, forests and wooden houses were visible from above, but they were not arranged as Jude remembered them.

The northern mountain stood at the centre.

The eastern river flowed around it in a perfect circle.

The western meadow stretched towards a forest that seemed to continue beneath the sea.

And the village was not on the island’s surface.

It was growing from the roots of an enormous tree.

The tree extended beneath the entire island, its branches forming the ground, its roots reaching into the silver darkness. The houses were attached to its branches. The walkways were its smaller veins. The river was flowing through a hollow inside its trunk.

The island was not sitting upon the tree.

It was the tree.

Jude stepped towards the window.

The child standing beside it raised one hand.

"Don’t touch it."

Jude stopped.

"What is that?"

The child looked outside.

"Everything."

"That’s not an answer."

"It’s the answer I was given."

Jude turned towards him.

"Who gave it to you?"

The child looked at Jude with an expression that seemed far too familiar.

"You did."

A tremendous sound rolled through the darkness.

It was not thunder.

It sounded like something enormous shifting in its sleep.

The island tilted.

Far below, the village houses began sliding along the branches. Wooden bridges stretched and snapped. The central firepit disappeared beneath a curtain of roots, while the orchard’s trees bent towards the northern mountain.

Jude rushed towards the window.

"What’s happening?"

The child pressed his palm against the wooden frame.

"The island is remembering where it came from."

"Then make it stop!"

"I can’t."

"You said you were the one who made me!"

The child looked at him.

"I didn’t make you."

"You said I was the one who wanted to leave."

"You did."

"Then what are you?"

The child looked out into the darkness.

"I’m the part of you that stayed."

Jude shook his head.

"I don’t understand."

The child turned.

"Before the tree, there were two of us."

The room became quiet.

"Two?"

The child nodded.

"One wanted to see what was beyond the darkness. The other wanted to stay where everything was familiar."

Jude felt a strange pressure behind his eyes.

The memory of the two boys in the little room seemed to grow clearer.

One had stood beside the window.

The other had sat on the bed.

One had wanted to leave.