‘I can’t create a flame,’ said Crowley, frustrated. ‘I think . . . Pellervoinen and Mielikki may have managed to block out the other legacies down here.’
Alice said nothing. The heat and energy she needed to carry out the final step would not be coming from a fire of Ilmarinen’s making; it would be coming from her nightjar’s cord – far more powerful.
They walked on in silence, following a winding journey below the tree and the courtyard until, finally, their footsteps gained an echo when they stepped into a wider space. This was the chamber – the stone room with curved walls drawn in the book. Except that, unlike in the drawing, the walls were threaded with tapered, winding roots. The Summer Tree had wrapped itself around the chamber walls and ceiling. It looped over the floor, disappearing below the stone and rising up elsewhere like two fabrics knitted together. If Mielikki and Pellervoinen really had loved each other, this room of inseparable legacies was the clearest expression of that love.
‘The Lampyridae—’ Crowley started in warning.
‘They won’t hurt you,’ said Alice, turning as a drift of incandescent fireflies seeped towards him. Their glow lit the planes of his face, and he held out his hand in awe, watching as they settled like flames on his palm. A moment later, they floated off to hover lazily around the room, illuminating the strange chamber with their eerie light.
‘There’s the Rookery Stone,’ said Alice, sliding carefully past a root to examine the centre of the room. It lay on the ground, cradled by a nest of roots. The ground was damp beneath it. Ground water?
‘It looks every bit as ordinary as the London Stone, doesn’t it?’ she said.
Crowley shook his head, a flash of wonderment in his eyes.
‘No,’ he said in a ragged voice. ‘Can’t you see it?’
‘See what?’
‘The threads of light,’ said Crowley, reaching down as though to caress the stone but stopping short. He swallowed hard and then moved off, staring at something Alice couldn’t see. He hesitated before stroking the wall on the opposite side of the chamber.
‘I think there’s a door here,’ he said. ‘You really can’t see the light?’
She shook her head.
‘Threads of blue light,’ he said quietly, ‘surrounding the stone. They’re weak, certainly – but they lead to this wall. If there’s a door here I think they lead to a path out of the chamber – maybe to the void.’
Alice nodded. She stared at the stone, trying hard to see what Crowley saw – but to her, it was nothing more than a pockmarked monolith, smaller even than the London Stone and less impressive for it.
She moved closer to examine it, noting the way the Summer Tree’s roots nestled it, but otherwise there was nothing holding it in place, no connection. It was strange in a room made so completely from their union. But of course, Leda and Helena had severed the connection. It must have looked very different decades ago.
As Alice stepped back, something crunched under her feet. She picked up a chunk of broken stone; it had a grain in the surface like wood. Her breath stilled, and she peered more closely at the roots nestling the stone. They . . . were broken. The tips at the ends were greyed, not like wood at all. Alice glanced at the stone fragment in her hand and dropped it back to the floor.
‘They severed the link by snapping it,’ she said to Crowley. ‘The roots were petrified at the ends, connected to the stone, and they just . . . broke them. I doubt anyone else would have had the power to break Mielikki and Pellervoinen’s magic but their heirs, but . . .’ She trailed away.
Crowley moved closer, looking into her eyes as though to give her reassurance. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said, placing the book gently on the ground. She knew what she had to do, though she wasn’t certain of the outcome. The book had made a vague reference to what Mielikki had done, but not why. Alice had had to reason it out herself. To petrify normal wood, it must be dead but not rotted. Mielikki had not sought to kill off her own tree. Instead, she had withered the Summer Tree’s roots. An act that might otherwise have filled Alice with dread, but the Rookery was so unstable now that they no longer had anything to lose. It would be destroyed if they did nothing. This way, there was at least hope.
‘Try not to lose your grip on the Rookery Stone,’ said Alice. ‘I think it will recognize you.’
He nodded and scrambled to position himself where he could lay his hand on the stone. There was symmetry to the plan – she would wither Mielikki’s tree and he would push Pellervoinen’s magic towards it. Together, they would begin to petrify the roots, turning them into stone until a final burst of energy was required to complete the process . . .
Alice took a shaky breath and crouched down on her knees. Shuffling to the nearest root, she hovered a hand above it, glanced at Crowley, nodded and pressed her palm against it.
A surge of raw energy thundered through her arm and she gasped as the sensation almost threw her off. The air crackled, and static lifted the ends of her hair. Pulsing waves of power throbbed through her body, unlike anything she’d ever felt before. Her bones vibrated with it, her neurons sparked and tingled and her blood sang. This was life and growth – wild and pure. Something shifted and creaked. The roots had slithered lower, their wooden arms cradling the stone tightly while Crowley tried to retain his connection with it.
Alice closed her eyes, forcing herself to focus on the rough bark beneath her palms. She imagined the tree’s power beneath her dwindling as she forced it back. Pressing her fingers harder, she willed the root to shrivel. It can’t be allowed to rot.
She opened her eyes and her stomach clenched. The root was as firm and vibrant as ever. Gritting her teeth, she rose up on her knees to gain the leverage needed to push harder. Come on, she ordered. Wither. Shrink back.
Nothing happened.
Sweat dusted her forehead as she tried again. And again. But nothing worked.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said, helpless. This was Mielikki’s tree. Alice was a Wyndham, and a Westergard, and a Mielikki too. She had taken the final binding draught to link herself to the Summer Tree.
‘I’m not strong enough,’ she said, withdrawing from the root. She sat back on her heels, her shoulders sagging, staring blankly at her hands. ‘I’m not Mielikki and . . . I don’t have her kind of power.’
A long, painful silence filled the chamber, and then Crowley cleared his throat. ‘You have . . . a different kind of power, Alice.’
Her head shot round in alarm. ‘I can’t risk that,’ she said. ‘I’m trying to wither it, not kill it.’ Her voice was faint as she murmured, ‘I’ve spent all this time trying to box those instincts away. To be someone else, someone worthy of Mielikki’s gift, Crowley.’
Crowley smiled, his eyes searching her face. ‘Forget about being someone else,’ he said gently. ‘Be Alice Wyndham.’
She stared at him. He didn’t know what he was saying – what he was asking her to do.
‘It’s too dangerous,’ she said. ‘You might get hurt. I can’t control it. Risdon said so himself.’
‘I trust you,’ said Crowley.
‘Well you shouldn’t,’ she snapped.
‘I trust you.’
Alice turned away, unable to look at him. A flicker of movement at the corner of her eye sent her pulse racing. But it was only Kuu. She reached up to her nightjar, and the little white bird swooped in close, flying inches from Alice’s chest as though for safety.
‘It’s okay,’ she said, putting some force into her voice to dispel her own fear. She smiled and gave the bird a last stroke. Kuu ruffled her feathers and pecked at Alice’s fingers.
Alice pursed her lips and exhaled steadily, a soft whistle reverberating around the chamber. Her chin dropped onto her chest and she closed her eyes, trying to centre herself. She leaned in to the feel of Kuu’s soft feathers wafting against her cheeks and the cold dread creeping down her throat. Could she really control this?
‘Kuu,’ she mu
rmured, her eyes opening gently. ‘Go.’
With a loud squall, Kuu arced to the left and glided away. The cord tugged at Alice’s wrist and the luminous glow dimmed. Her bird was a ghostly blur swooping through the air. The rapidly thinning cord juddered and a sudden pain squeezed her chest. She doubled over with a gasp, breathing into the sensation. Alice had just managed to regain her focus, manoeuvring herself upright, when a bolt of electricity slammed into her spine. She snapped backwards. Her mouth fell open with a gasp and something escaped. Churning, glittering particles funnelled out, seeping into the air. Her soul. It stretched out, spreading itself wide. She thrummed with energy. She was energy: a collection of vibrating atoms, shimmering and colliding, reaching out for something warm . . . for something to consume . . . Not Crowley. Not Crowley. She rose higher, a sense of exhilaration nudging her consciousness. She was so hungry. So cold.
And then . . . a pulse of life. Vivid, and thriving, and so very warm. Unimaginable power and heat, waves of it, calling out to her. She reached for it, and in her grasp it weakened.
It couldn’t be allowed to rot.
The warmth called to her. She couldn’t resist as she seeped closer, pouring over the roots like a poisonous gas. So hungry . . .
Stop. That’s enough!
Alice juddered. The glittering particles of her soul hesitated. And pulled back. Her nightjar cried out. Kuu darted into view and swooped towards her, wings steady and a fierce look in her eye. Alice shrank back, every particle receding, pulling into the centre. Back. Back.
Her eyes flew open and she slumped forward. Her palms took her weight, pressed numbly into the gritty stone floor. Alice exhaled shakily and pushed herself upright. She was herself again. Whole. Corporeal. She had sent out her soul and called it back. She had controlled it, and Crowley—
‘Are you okay?’ she gasped. ‘Crowley?’
He fell back from the Rookery Stone with a sharp breath and crawled towards her, pulling her close. ‘Alice,’ he said. ‘Look. We’ve done it.’
Together, they watched in astonishment as the roots of the Summer Tree withered before their eyes . . . but far from crumbling to ash and dust, where the knotted tree limbs had draped over the Rookery Stone they hardened and fused to the monolithic block. The roots petrified before their eyes, the sheen of the rough bark turning grey and gritty.
‘The roots,’ said Crowley, ‘they’re turning to stone.’
Alice reached out a shaking hand and stroked a finger over the surface of the stone. Tingles of pleasure rippled through her arm and she gasped. She knew that sensation.
‘Mielikki’s power . . . It’s in the Rookery Stone,’ she murmured.
‘And Pellervoinen’s is in the Summer Tree,’ said Crowley, his eyes tracing the stony roots.
Tree becomes stone, and stone becomes tree.
They sat in silence for several awestruck minutes while the fireflies fluttered around the chamber, their glowing lights illuminating the spectacle. This was the counterweight. This was why the Summer Tree wasn’t supposed to grow – because its roots were inert. A tree that was inanimate, and a stone that had been animated.
Alice glanced upwards. Kuu hovered over her shoulder, her cord pulsing brightly. I didn’t have to sacrifice my bird. Somehow, the cord’s energy hadn’t been required.
‘I can see the threads now,’ said Alice, her eyes glistening. Kuu is safe.
Soft fibres of light, like incandescent gossamer, were spun around the Rookery Stone. And Crowley was right – they led to the wall of the chamber and stopped.
‘I think,’ Crowley began, ‘these are the threads that bind the anchors. They must reach through the void, beyond that wall, to the London Stone.’
And no sooner had he spoken than the threads stuttered. The light dimmed, fading to a dull glow. Small cracks began to appear at the point where the petrified roots and stone were joined. It was breaking.
‘No,’ Alice whispered.
Overhead, the Summer Tree’s roots – those unpetrified, draped from the ceiling – began to tremble and creak. The stone walls shuddered and grit shook loose, falling around them.
‘Open the door!’ shouted Alice over the thunderous quaking of the chamber. ‘The threads tying the anchors together,’ she said, rising unsteadily to her feet, ‘they need access to the void! We’re only half finished!’
Crowley staggered upright, confused, but followed her orders. He moved quickly to the wall and flattened himself against it, his hands spread wide on the stone, searching for a door he couldn’t see.
Alice jerked her head upwards. Her nightjar fluttered over her shoulder, her wings striking powerfully at the air. She swallowed thickly and turned back to Crowley, trying not to meet Kuu’s beady gaze.
There was a resounding click, and then a section of the wall rumbled open like a door. Beyond the gap, the dark void yawned open before them and a blustering wind swept into the chamber, scraping their skin raw and tossing their hair about their faces. Crowley shoved the door wider to allow the threads of ebbing light to eke out, but the force of the raging winds sucked him through the open doorway. Clinging to the door by his fingers, he struggled to find enough purchase to power his way back into the chamber.
Alice glanced at him, and back at the Rookery Stone. The threads were no brighter, despite the opened doorway. It wasn’t only access to the other anchors – the London Stone, the replica tree in Oxleas Wood – that was needed. The Rookery Stone was failing, its magic dulled by its defective link to the Summer Tree. Like this, it wasn’t strong enough to tie itself to the other anchors. Alice took a step towards the cradled stone and roots. The small cracks where they joined were growing. It would snap soon. The petrification wouldn’t hold.
‘I’m sorry, Kuu,’ she whispered, reaching up for her nightjar.
Kuu nuzzled her hand, her feathers illuminated by the glow from the cord wrapped around Alice’s wrist.
‘Alice!’ Crowley yelled from beyond the door. ‘What are you doing?’
She screwed her eyes shut. ‘There’s a final ingredient,’ she called to him. ‘You couldn’t see it, and I couldn’t tell you. More energy to complete the binding. To fuse them fully. To strengthen the join.’ Her eyes opened, and she turned towards the door. ‘It needs something to tie it all together, Crowley. A nightjar cord.’
Just as Death had once fused her cord after Marble Arch and used it to bind her to Kuu again, so she would do the same for the tree and stone.
For the briefest of moments, Crowley didn’t seem to understand. And then his eyes widened with alarm, and grief transformed his face.
‘Not your cord!’ he shouted, his voice ragged with panic as he fought to re-enter the chamber. ‘Alice, wait!’
A cheerless smile crept across her face and she gave the slightest shrug. ‘You said – at the university – that you wanted only good things for me.’ Her throat pinched. ‘I want that for you too. I hope you’ll remember that.’
Alice turned away from the door. Crowley’s roar of wild fury and pain was stolen by the wind.
‘Use mine!’ he shouted desperately. ‘Alice! Use mine!’
Blocking out the sounds of his determined fight against the gales of the void, Alice knelt down by the Rookery Stone with Kuu on her palm.
The bird pecked at the luminous cord around Alice’s wrist and she shook her head.
‘Not yet,’ she murmured. ‘Break it when I’ve wrapped it around.’
Kuu dutifully stopped and peered up. Alice saw herself reflected in the pale bird’s glassy eyes, and her breath hitched. They’d grown used to each other, in the end. The pale nightjar and the Daughter of Death. Alice stroked the feathered head with a tremulous smile. But it was over now.
She reached for the pulsing cord and lifted it so that she might loop it around the threads’ nexus and the meeting point between the granite Summer Tree roots and the Rookery Stone.
And then a voice cut through the chamber.
‘Wait.’
&
nbsp; Not Crowley’s voice.
She turned towards it, her muscles tensing and her pulse racing.
Reuben Risdon – Tuoni – stood at the entrance to the chamber, a knife in his hand.
Alice lurched to her feet. Rage stilled her breathing, and she stared at him, jaw clenched as he stepped into the chamber.
‘What do you want?’ she hissed.
Risdon made as though to lunge in her direction, and she pedalled backwards, her heart slamming against her ribs. He edged around the room, and she watched him, furious with herself for not standing her ground.
He took no care to clamber over the tangle of live roots that still draped from the ceiling or curled out from the stone walls. They disintegrated at his touch, and he moved with ease to the open door.
‘Alice, run!’ shouted Crowley, inches from landing his foot at the lip of the doorway so that he could force his way back in.
‘Silly boy,’ said Risdon with a grim smile. He flicked a finger, and Crowley lost his grip with a gasp. Risdon reached into the void and pulled the door shut, stranding Crowley outside. Then he turned to Alice.
‘Open the door!’ she snapped.
‘I’m sure he’ll find his way home,’ he said, spinning the knife through the fingers of one hand.
‘What do you want?’ she repeated.
He held the knife up by the blade’s tip. ‘Do you recognize this?’
She frowned, and then her chest tightened and a wave of pure anger washed over her. It was Jude’s knife. The knife Risdon had used to cut Jen’s throat at Marble Arch.
‘I kept this as a souvenir,’ he said, ‘of the night I discovered you were mine. The night I discovered what you were capable of.’
Alice trembled with rage, her face twisted with bitterness.
He tossed the knife at her, and it skittered to a stop by her feet.
‘I want you to use it to kill me.’
She gaped at him. ‘What?’
He turned away to examine the walls, studying the collection of roots dropping from the ceiling, their ends tapering to stone – and the other, still-organic roots woven through the chamber walls.
The Rookery Page 41