The village was still asleep in the warm breath of the day, but the first skylights were already dancing over the ditch. Above the roofs there was the smell of smoke from the bonfires and dried lime blossom. In the middle of Grandma Jadwiga's farmyard grew an old lime tree, so wide that two children would not be able to embrace it. It had a beehive in the trunk - a hollow chamber from which bees buzzed like silver strings from the morning. - 'Today's Kupala,' muttered the grandmother, tying a red string on the door handle. - The night is short, the songs long. A bowl of milk by the cooker for the householder, and a reminder for you: do not wander by the Wolf's Yard after dark. The river carries garlands, the forest carries names. Lena looked at her brother. She was eleven and her pockets were always full of strings, feathers and pins that 'might come in handy'. Johny, two years younger, carried his dad's wooden penknife at his belt and jotted down everything in a small notebook, as if the world needed to be immortalised line by line. - What if the forest doesn't carry our names? - he parsed, seemingly daring, but glanced at the lime tree. Basil the cat slowly wrapped his tail around his own paws and purred as if he knew something himself. - Then he bows and goes on his way," replied the grandmother with a smile. - And now to the granary for the honey. Bees good as a word today, but don't touch the barns. Let Borowy watch over the forest, I will add honey to the bowl of milk - the householder likes it sweet. The air at the granary was crisp. The wooden walls smelled of juniper, and a golden streak seeped inside through a crack in the boards. Lena picked up a clay pot, Jas lifted the lid. It was then that ji noticed something else: a small clay whistle in the shape of a bird, hidden between the jars. He lifted it carefully, blew once, lightly, as if he wanted to see if it still remembered the song. The whistle answered with a quiet "piii", and the bees in the barn hummed in unison, as if someone had touched the strings of a harp. The leaves of the linden trees rustled, though the wind was calm. The flashes of the skylights thickened, weaving themselves into a thin, trembling ribbon leading straight up to the trunk. - Can you hear? - whispered Lena, tightening her fingers on the pot's ear. - It was as if someone was calling us. - 'Bees,' Jas tried to explain, but he himself froze as he heard it clearly: a name. Said softly, like a breeze, so quietly that it could only have been imagination. "Lena..." "Jas..." Basil the cat dragged himself up and unceremoniously jumped onto a root sticking out of the ground. He leapt onto the next one as if it were a stepping stone, and trotted towards the trunk. At the height of the children's knees, they saw something in the bark that had not been there before: a pattern of thin, smoothed knots and cuts, arranged in a circle. Someone had woven a red thread between the fibres of the bark - the same thread that Grandma had tied on the doorknob. - It wasn't here this morning," Lena whispered. Her heart was as fast as the wings of a bumblebee. - I swear on my notebook. Under the circle of knots was a small wooden stake, like a bump. Jas held out his hand, hesitated. - Maybe it's not allowed... - he muttered, but curiosity was like an itchy mosquito: it did not let up. He touched the stake. The bark under his fingers twitched, as if alive. Something clattered quietly, rustled, and then a circle in the bark moved away, revealing a narrow opening. Cool air flowed from inside the trunk with the scent of honey, moss and a storm yet to be born. - Let me ... - began Jas, but aborted as tiny lights lit up inside, as if someone had shaken stars into the centre of the tree. They revealed a spiral, tight staircase of roots, twisting downwards, as smooth as if someone had been walking on them for a very long time. - 'Children,' came a voice that was not that of the grandmother or anyone from the village. It was like the snap of a dry twig and the whisper of grass, like the bubbling of a river under a bridge. - It's time to fix one thing before the night glues all the paths together into one. Help. Lena and Johnny looked at each other. The red string that Grandma had tied around Lena's wrist 'just in case' suddenly became warm, as if someone was holding the other end of it somewhere deep underground. The cat Basil slipped his head inside and purred so low that the steps trembled. Somewhere from the field, on the side of the river, came laughter and songs. The fires of the Kupala Night flashed over the treetops and the leaves of the linden tree rustled as if giving a sign. From inside the trunk came three rhythmic tapping - as even as a gate waiting for someone to cross it. - Shall we go? - Lena asked, putting her foot on the first root. And then something they had not yet had time to see moved in the darkness below and called their names a second time, more clearly, as if it were standing right below them.