Morning did not arrive at the house.
At least, not in the ordinary way. The fire had burned low, the kettle had cooled, and the clock on the mantelpiece still showed a little after eleven. Yet the light outside had changed. It was softer now, and the hollow beneath the dark hills seemed washed in a pale silver glow.
Maelin was already in the kitchen when we came downstairs. She had made porridge, set out bread and honey, and placed a bowl of small red apples on the table.
“Did anyone come?” Nell asked.
“Not through the door,” Maelin replied.
She handed Merrick a cup of tea.
“But someone has been beneath the tree.”
We looked through the window. The great tree stood in the same place, its branches spreading over the roof. Beneath it, where the grass had been undisturbed the previous evening, there was now a narrow track of flattened leaves.
Maelin noticed us looking.
“You may go out after breakfast. Don't take the path behind the tree unless someone invites you.”
“Who might invite us?” Rowan asked.
Maelin buttered a slice of bread.
“The tree, perhaps.”
Rowan gave her a look that suggested he was beginning to regret accepting the invitation.
After breakfast, we went outside.
The air was cool, though not cold. The tree was larger than it had appeared from the window. Its trunk rose from a low mound of stone and earth, and its roots spread across the ground like great sleeping animals. Some disappeared beneath the hillside; others emerged several yards away, forming little arches beneath which the grass grew pale and soft.
Merrick walked slowly around the trunk.
“There are marks here,” he said.
On the western side, just above the roots, someone had carved three leaves around a circle. The carving was old, but its edges were clean.
Nell found another mark on the opposite side: a small bird with its wings folded.
Merrick took his wooden bird from his pocket and held it beside the carving. The shapes were not identical, but the bird's head was turned in the same direction.
“Someone knew about this place,” he said.
“Someone who knew you,” I suggested.
He nodded.
We followed the flattened leaves around the tree until we came to a narrow opening between two roots. Beyond it was a little hollow, sheltered from the wind. A stone bench stood there, and beside it lay a child's wooden box.
Merrick stopped.
“I know that box.”
He knelt and lifted the lid. Inside were three things: a smooth grey stone, a blue glass bead, and a small wooden whistle.
He picked up the whistle.
“I made this too.”
“Did you play it?” Nell asked.
“I don't remember.”
He put it to his lips and blew.
No sound came out.
Then, from somewhere above us, came a clear note, like a bird calling from the highest branch.
We looked up.
A woman was standing among the roots on the far side of the tree.
She was tall, with dark hair threaded with grey, and wore a long brown coat. A red scarf was tied loosely around her neck. She looked neither young nor old, and her face had the familiar quality of someone remembered from a dream.
Merrick stood.
“Do I know you?”
The woman smiled.
“You used to.”
She came closer and looked at the wooden whistle in his hand.
“You made that because you wanted to call the birds down from the branches. They didn't come, of course.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Orla.”
She looked at the tree.
“I walked with you here when you were a boy. You were carrying a wooden bird, though it wasn't the one you have now.”
Merrick frowned.
“Why did we come?”
“You wanted to see whether the tree had a door.”
“And did it?”
Orla smiled again.
“You found one.”
She led us around the trunk to the northern side, where a great root curved away from the earth, leaving a dark opening beneath it. We had not noticed it before.
The opening was just large enough for a person to enter.
“Where does it go?” Nell asked.
Orla looked at Merrick.
“Where you went.”
He crouched and peered inside. The passage descended gently, its walls lined with roots. A faint golden light came from somewhere below.
“I remember being afraid,” he said.
“You were,” said Orla. “But you went in anyway.”
“Did you come with me?”
“No. I waited here.”
“Why?”
“Because you asked me to.”
Merrick looked at the opening for a long time.
Then he turned to Orla.
“Did I come back?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
Orla's expression changed, just slightly.
“No.”
She glanced towards the tree, where the pale leaves stirred despite the stillness of the air.
“Someone came back with you. But you had forgotten them by then.”
A silence followed.
Nell moved closer to the opening.
“Can we go down?”
“Not today,” Orla said. “The tree has only just opened the passage again.”
“Why now?” Rowan asked.
Orla looked at Merrick's wooden bird.
“Because he has brought back something he once left here.”
Merrick examined the bird. He turned it over, as though expecting to find a new mark.
Orla reached into her coat and took out a small folded paper.
“You gave me this when we parted.”
Merrick unfolded it.
It was another drawing, in the same uncertain pencil as the picture Rose had kept. This one showed the great tree, the house beneath it, and two small figures standing beside the roots. One figure carried a bird. The other wore a red scarf.
On the back, in a child's handwriting, were the words:
We will come back when the tree has finished growing.
Merrick looked from the drawing to Orla.
“Did I write that?”
“Yes.”
“Has it finished growing?”
Orla looked up into the branches.
“No,” she said. “But I don't think that was what you meant.”
From the house, Maelin called that the kettle was boiling again.
Orla handed the drawing back to Merrick.
“Keep it safe. There are other things you left here, but they can wait.”
“Will you be here tomorrow?”
She smiled, and for a moment the red scarf seemed brighter than the leaves around her.
“I am here now.”
Then she walked around the far side of the tree.
We followed, but when we reached the place where she had disappeared, there was no one there. Only a narrow path leading away through the trees, towards the dark hills.
Rowan looked at it.
“I'm beginning to think that a straightforward journey is too much to ask.”
Nell laughed and ran back towards the house.
Merrick remained beside the tree, holding the drawing.
For a moment, I thought I saw someone standing in the opening beneath the roots. A small figure, perhaps, with a wooden bird in his hand.
Then the light shifted, and the opening was empty.
We returned to Maelin's house for tea.
The clock still showed a little after eleven.
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