When they're done, I look at the others. Vashael is already thinking about the Cathedral's regeneration; I can see it in the way her fingers twitch, running through her mental catalog of poisons. Nimor's eyes are calculating the shadow-paths through the tunnel system. Eltrien is looking at Thalia's marks with an expression of intense professional fascination.
"Where do you need us?" I ask.
Kaelren looks at Elle. She nods.
"Sarnyx, you're with Rhyven's defense force on the second-ring perimeter," Kaelren says. "They're good, but they've been fighting the same enemy the same way for fifty-three cycles. They need someone who has a different technique."
"You know I excel in that area," I say.
"I'm aware." The faintest trace of a smile. "Vashael, the Cathedral regenerates. Its vine armor regrows faster than it can be cut. We need something that slows or stops that regeneration."
"Toxins that target the cellular structure of Root-based organisms," Vashael says immediately. "I'll need samples of the Cathedral's material and two hours."
"You'll have one hour. Nimor, the tunnel system connects the inner rings to the surface near the Cathedral's projected manifestation point. I need you scouting those tunnels and finding paths that aren't on Thalia's maps. Shadow-paths. Places where the root system is thin enough that you can phase through."
Nimor nods. He's already half-phased, his edges blurring.
"Eltrien," Kaelren turns to him. "Thalia's anchoring ability is the linchpin. If she holds the Cathedral in place, we can reach the core. But the power required could destabilize her. I need you to figure out how to extend her hold time and reduce the cost."
Eltrien looks at Thalia. Thalia looks back at him with the steady gaze of someone who has been studied before and doesn't flinch from it.
"I'll need to examine your marks," he says. "Your connection to the Rootline. The specific mechanics of how you channel."
"Come to the Heartwood chamber in thirty minutes," she says. "I'll show you everything."
Suddenly the knot sparks again, and the white light flashes once more.
Then the flash peaks, and everything goes silent, and in the ringing quiet that follows, I hear something I haven't heard in over a month.
Buzzing. Faint, familiar, getting louder.
And a voice, distant but unmistakable, carrying through the fading light with the particular combination of bravado and confusion that could only belong to one person.
"Okay, what the hell just happened? Where are we, and why does it smell like a spa in here?"
Bryx.
Let me tell you about my morning.
I was in Grandma Jo's kitchen, attempting to make what Leo called a "grilled cheese" using Earth's primitive cooking technology and a flat metal device that heats up when you plug it into the wall. Mora was supervising, which meant she was standing three feet away with a wet towel ready because the last time I used the hot metal device, I set the curtains on fire. Kevin was on the porch. Raskel was in the garden doing something to the elm tree that involved a lot of muttering and occasional whacking with his stick. Leo and Sarah were in the living roomarguing about whether the news anchor on the television box was wearing a wig or not.
A normal morning.
Quiet. The kind of day where the biggest threat was burning bread.
Then the elm tree exploded with light.
Not fire. Not the gentle glow of the portal we'd used before. This was a detonation of white radiance that blew the kitchen window inward, knocked me off the stool, sent the grilled cheese flying into Kevin's face through the open porch door, and turned every plant in a fifty-foot radius into a searchlight.
Mora hit the floor beside me. "What was that?"
"Either the Rootline just activated, or the tree is having a religious experience. Either way, I think we should investigate."
We ran outside. Leo and Sarah were already in the garden, Leo standing between Sarah and the elm tree with his arms spread wide like a man who thinks he can shield his wife from a tree that's pouring white light from every crack in its bark. Raskel was standing six inches from the trunk, his tiny hands pressed flat against the wood, his eyes closed, his face scrunched in concentration.
"Raskel!" I shouted over the roaring hum of the Rootline. "What's happening?"
"Someone is pulling from the other end!" he shouted back. "With enough power to light up every Root connection on the planet! It's a summons, you cotton-headed nincompoop! Someone wants us there!"
