Chapter 150 The Ritual of the Oak
The night was turning grey. The first light of morning was trying to break through the smoke. I looked at the old man. His eyes were like polished stones.
"What is in the box?" I asked. My voice was a rasp.
"The anchor," he said.
He opened the lid. Inside was a piece of silver, shaped like a tuning fork. It glowed with a soft, pulsing light. It didn't look like the Board's silver. It looked like it was made of starlight.
"Evan’s body is gone," I whispered, looking at the fire. "How can he come back without a home for his soul?"
"The Great Oak is the oldest living thing in this valley," the man said. He touched the thick, rough bark of the tree. "It has deep roots. It remembers the first moon. If we use the silver to call him, the tree will hold him until we find him a new shell."
"A new shell?" My heart skipped a beat. "You mean a new body?"
"The child," the man said, looking at the golden-furred baby in my arms.
"No!" I stood up, backing away. "I won't use my son. I won't let you put a dead man inside a baby!"
"It is not like that, Cassia," the man said, his voice calm. "The child is a bridge. He is half of you and half of Evan. He can act as a beacon. He can pull his father out of the silence and into the living world. He won't lose his own life. He will just share it for a while."
I looked at my son. He was awake now. His amber eyes were wide, watching the glowing silver fork. He reached out a tiny hand, his claws clicking softly. He didn't look afraid. He looked curious.
"Is there another way?" I asked.
"There is always the way of the shadow," a new voice said.
I spun around. Julian was standing near the well. He was a mess. His expensive suit was torn. His skin was burnt. But his most terrifying feature was his left eye. It was gone, replaced by a glowing mechanical sphere that hummed with a low, blue light.
"The Board doesn't like to lose its property," Julian growled.
He wasn't moving like a wolf. He was moving like a machine. His steps were heavy. His mechanical eye zoomed in on the baby.
"The old man is a fool, Cassia," Julian said. "The tree can't save a soul. Only the Board has the technology to rebuild a man. Give me the child, and I will give you the file containing Evan Thorne’s consciousness. We can put him in a new body. A perfect one. One that never ages. One that never dies."
I looked at the old man. I looked at Julian.
"One is a miracle," I said, looking at the old man. "And one is a lie."
"One is a risk," the old man countered. "The tree might not let him go. He might become part of the forest forever."
"And the other?" I looked at Julian.
"The other is a contract," Julian said. "And the Board always collects."
Suddenly, the baby let out a sharp yip. He wasn't looking at the men. He was looking at the air.
A soft hum began to fill the clearing. It was the music. It was the silver violin. It was coming from the Great Oak.
"He’s here," I whispered. "Evan?"
The leaves of the tree began to shimmer. The smoke from the fire was pulled toward the branches, forming the shape of a man. It was faint. It was like a ghost made of ash.
"Cassia..."
The voice didn't come from my neck. It came from the wind. It was soft, but it was him.
"Evan, stay with me!" I reached out, but my hand passed through the smoke.
"The silver, Cassia!" the old man shouted. "Strike the silver against the stone!"
I grabbed the tuning fork from the box. I looked at the well. I looked at the dark stones.
"Don't do it!" Julian yelled. He raised a silver-plated pistol. "If you strike that, I’ll kill the child!"
I looked at Julian. I looked at the mechanical eye.
"You can't kill a miracle," I said.
I slammed the silver fork against the stone rim of the well.
The sound was a blast of pure light. It wasn't a noise; it was a wave of energy that knocked Julian backward. The mechanical eye in his head exploded in a shower of blue sparks. He screamed, clutching his face.
The Great Oak groaned. Its roots began to glow with a deep violet light. The shape of Evan was pulled toward the trunk.
The baby in my arms began to glow, too. He let out a loud, healthy cry. The light from the tree flowed into the baby, and the light from the baby flowed back into the tree.
"What’s happening?" I cried, shielding the child’s eyes.
"The connection is being made!" the old man shouted over the wind. "He is anchoring!"
For a minute, the world was nothing but white light and the sound of a thousand violins playing the same note.
Then, everything went quiet.
The glow faded. The smoke was gone. The old man was gone. Julian was gone, leaving only a trail of black oil on the grass.
I sat on the ground, gasping for air. I looked at my son.
He was quiet. He looked back at me. His eyes were still amber, but there was something else in them. A depth. A recognition.
He reached up and touched my face.
"Cass..."
The baby didn't speak. But the voice was in my head. It wasn't a digital whisper. It was a warm, living thought.
"I’m here," the thought said. "I’m in the light."
I burst into tears, hugging the child to my chest. "You're safe. We’re safe."
"Not yet," the thought whispered. "Look at the well."
I looked. The dark liquid in the well wasn't bubbling anymore. It was turning clear. But at the bottom, something was glowing.
It was a small, silver locket. I reached in and pulled it out.
I opened the locket. Inside was a tiny photograph. It wasn't of Evan.
It was a photo of my mother, holding a second baby. A baby with black hair and a small, silver birthmark on its shoulder.
A baby that looked exactly like Mrs. Higgins.
"She wasn't just a neighbor," I whispered. "She was my sister."
And then, I felt a cold metal circle press against the back of my head.
"Give me the locket, sister," a voice growled.
It was Mrs. Higgins. She wasn't a wolf. She was human again. But she was wearing a Board uniform, and she had a silver-plated rifle in her hand.
"The Board didn't give me a cure," she said, her voice full of hate. "They gave me a promotion."
If Mrs. Higgins is my sister, why does she want the locket, and what is the secret hidden in our shared blood?