The Elder Steward was waiting beside the tree, a solemn figure in white. High Janissary Jannick stood beside her, his unpleasant eyes as unyielding as the stone. His blue janissary robes looked wrong, a splash of colour in the grey room like life disturbing the dead. The doors closed behind Will and he was alone with them.
With each step forward Will’s sense of familiarity grew. He could almost see what had been here before, a phantom vision just out of reach.
‘What is this place?’
‘This is the Tree Stone,’ said the Elder Steward. ‘It is the oldest and most powerful place in the Hall. But it is also a place of great sadness, where Stewards rarely come.’
Will knew the Elder Steward and the High Janissary were both watching him. But he couldn’t take his eyes off the Tree Stone. He knew it, he remembered it, or almost remembered it, like a word on the tip of his tongue, except that what he remembered was different from what was in front of him—
‘You sense something from it,’ said the Elder Steward, ‘don’t you?’
The High Janissary made a scornful sound. Will barely heard him, his attention fixed on the Tree. It was as if he was standing in the dark, where there should be—
‘Light. It shouldn’t be dark. There should be light—’
‘The Tree of Light,’ said the Elder Steward, her eyes on him. ‘It was called that once.’
‘A guess,’ said High Janissary Jannick.
‘Or else he really does feel it,’ said the Elder Steward.
He could feel it. Except that he was looking at its absence, like looking at a wasteland and knowing it had once been a forest, where she had walked among the trees.
‘She was here, wasn’t she?’ said Will, turning to the Elder Steward, his heart pounding. ‘A long time ago, the Lady was here and the Tree was alive—’
It was more than alive; it was bright.
Who was she? How had he seen her in the mirror? She had felt so real, when this place was long dead. He lifted his hand to the medallion under his tunic. The Tree of Light was a hawthorn tree, like the hawthorn medallion he wore around his neck. A hawthorn tree was the Lady’s symbol. How did he know it had once shone with light?
‘It died when she did,’ said the Elder Steward, nodding. ‘It’s said her touch will bring it back to life, and make it shine.’
Will looked up at the Tree, its dead branches like skeletal remains in an empty landscape.
‘Put your hand on it,’ said the Elder Steward.
His stomach twisted. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. The Elder Steward and High Janissary Jannick were looking at him as though it was a test.
He reached out and placed his palm on one of its cold granite branches. He could feel it, worn smooth by the passage of time. No light shone or green shoot stirred. It was dead, like everything in this place.
‘You see? Nothing,’ said Jannick.
Will glanced at the High Janissary, who was staring back at him with a mixture of scorn and contempt.
‘Ignore him,’ said the Elder Steward. ‘I want you to try.’
‘Try?’ said Will.
‘Close your eyes,’ said the Elder Steward, ‘and try to find the Light.’
He wasn’t sure what she meant him to do, but he could feel the weight of her expectant gaze. Will drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Under his hand the stone was cracked and weathered with time and felt cold. He tried to silently will the Tree to light up, but it was like trying to will stone to fly. Simply impossible.
The Elder Steward stepped forward and spoke again gently, as if he had not understood.
‘No. You’re looking in the wrong place. The Lady made the Tree Stone shine, but the Light wasn’t in the stone. It was in her.’
Will closed his eyes again. He could feel the tension, the sense of importance from both the Elder Steward and the High Janissary. In her. He tried to imagine that there was something inside him that was waking up. His memory was starting to churn. He remembered the Lady, staring out at him from the mirror. He remembered his mother’s face, white with fear. Will, promise.
He didn’t want to remember. He didn’t want to unearth the past, the pain slicing through his hand, the breath sobbing in his bruised throat as he stumbled across the muddy hill, his mother’s last words ringing in his ears. Will—
Will wrenched open his eyes. There was no light. Not even the faintest glow. The High Janissary was right. The Tree Stone was dead and cold, and whatever was needed to bring it to life, it wasn’t inside him.