Chapter 1889

It was the same tune Sol had hummed on the beach.

The child looked at Jude.

"That was the promise."

Jude swallowed.

"Which promise?"

The child wiped his eyes.

"The one you broke."

The white-haired woman leaned closer.

"Don’t believe him. That memory belongs to someone else."

"Then whose memory was it?"

She hesitated.

The child answered.

"Mine."

The woman looked furious.

"Yours?"

The boy nodded.

"I was the one sitting in the room."

Jude stared at him.

"But you look like me."

The child gave a sad little smile.

"That’s because you were made to look like me."

The words settled heavily over the room.

Jude slowly lowered the photograph.

"Explain."

The child shook his head.

"I don’t know how."

"Try."

"I remember the room. I remember the seed. I remember the woman. I remember the man leaving."

He looked at Jude.

"But I don’t remember what happened after."

The white-haired woman stepped forward.

"Because I took you away."

The child turned towards her.

"No."

"I carried you."

"No."

"I kept you safe."

The boy’s expression hardened.

"You kept me here."

The woman reached for him.

All five Sols stood up simultaneously.

"Don’t touch him," the first one said.

The second Sol stepped away from the wall.

"He’s not ready."

The third looked at the photograph.

"He’s remembering too much."

The fourth child, the smallest, moved closer to Jude.

"Father, please."

Jude looked at him.

"Which one of you is speaking?"

The child lowered his head.

"I don’t know anymore."

The fifth Sol, the one who had claimed to have never been born, remained seated by the window.

He was staring at the wooden bird.

Then he said something that made everyone turn.

"She’s not the first mother."

The white-haired woman froze.

The child at the table looked at him.

"What did you say?"

The fifth Sol pointed towards the woman.

"She was the first one who remembered being a mother."

The woman took a step backwards.

The fifth child continued.

"But she wasn’t the first one who made us."

A faint sound came from beneath the dining room.

A slow, rhythmic tapping.

The same three knocks.

Then three more.

Then three more.

Jude looked down.

The floorboards had begun to separate.

Between them, thin silver roots were growing.

They spread across the floor, curling around the table legs and climbing the chairs.

The twelve motionless women at the table began to move.

Susan lifted her head.

Rose opened her hands.

Serena turned towards Jude.

And Layla whispered:

"Don’t let her count us."

Jude looked towards the doorway.

The real Layla stood outside, watching him.

She looked frightened.

"Jude!"

He moved towards her.

But the dining room stretched.

The doorway became farther away.

The wooden floor extended beneath his feet, and the walls began to move apart.

He turned back.

The white-haired woman was standing at the head of the table.

The child with Jude’s face was gone.

The five Sols were gone too.

Only the twelve motionless women remained.

The woman placed her hands on the table.

"Now you understand."

Jude looked around.

"Understand what?"

"The room was never beneath the village."

The roots climbed higher.

"It was beneath the promise."

The dining room shuddered.

"Every time you tried to remember, you opened another door. Every time you opened another door, the room became larger."

Jude looked at the walls.

They were no longer wooden.

They were made of pale stone, covered in silver roots.

"Where are the children?"

"Which children?"

"The Sols."

She smiled.

"They are all here."

Jude turned.

At the far end of the room, a narrow staircase had appeared.

Five small figures stood on it.

The Sols.

But there were six shadows.

Jude stared.

One shadow was standing behind the others, shaped like a child with Jude’s face.

The white-haired woman followed his gaze.

"Don’t look at the shadows."

"Why?"

"Because they are not shadows."

A voice came from the staircase.

"Father."

The sixth child stepped into the light.

He looked exactly like the boy at the table.

But this one was not crying.

He was holding a wooden bird with silver eyes.

He looked at Jude.

Then at the white-haired woman.

Then he said:

"You brought him back."

The woman nodded.

"I did."

The child shook his head.

"You weren’t supposed to."

"I had no choice."

"You always have a choice."

He held up the bird.

The silver eyes began glowing.

A door appeared behind him.

It was made of dark wood, with a silver handle shaped like a crescent moon.

Jude recognised it.

It was the door beneath the village.

The child stepped aside.

"Come with me."

The woman moved towards him.

"Don’t open that."

The boy looked at her.

"Why?"

"Because the room beyond it is empty."

He smiled.

"That’s what you told us before."

Then he opened the door.

Beyond it was a familiar landscape.

The village.

The firepit.

The shared house.

The river.

The orchard.

The treehouses.

Everything appeared exactly as it should.

Except the sky was black.

And the sea had disappeared.

In its place was an endless forest stretching beyond the beach.

At the centre of the village stood the enormous tree.

Its roots surrounded the houses, the gardens, the paths, and the firepit.

And beneath its branches stood a woman.

Jude couldn’t see her face.

But he knew the pale embroidered cloth she wore.

The child looked towards the woman.

"She’s waiting."

The white-haired woman stepped between Jude and the door.

"That is not her."

The child tilted his head.

"Then who is it?"

The woman said nothing.

The boy looked at Jude.

"She wants the room back."

Jude took a step towards the doorway.

"Who?"

The child lifted the bird.

"The one who gave us the first name."

The white-haired woman suddenly screamed.

"NO!"

Every silver root in the room pulled tight.

The table broke apart.