But what he doesn’t realize is that I’m more than happy to do so, as long as I arrive first. And when I do arrive, when I scale that tree and get to the fruit, I have every intention of sharing it. I have every intention of giving him, wel , maybe not the eternal life that he seeks, but certainly the one that he needs.
The one that wil reverse the effects of the elixir, provide true immortality, and spare him from Lotus’s fate.
I look at him, lifting my shoulders casual y as I say, “No worries.” But if his arched brow and quirked mouth are any indication, he’s going to need a little more convincing. “Real y. It’s not a big deal. For reals.”
He looks me over, his gaze narrowed, suspicious, practical y spitting the words when he says, “Oh yeah, and I’m supposed to believe that— for reals?” He scoffs and shakes his head. “Okay then, so tel me, Ever, if you’re not interested in the fruit, then why even bother with this bloody miserable trek? Huh, can you tel me that? Why put yourself through al of this?”
“I’m curious.” I shrug. “I heard about the tree and thought I’d go see for myself—didn’t even realize it was time for the reaping ’til you just said so.” I tilt my head, try to look as though I mean it. “Despite your poor opinion of him, Damen’s always been extremely generous.
He would’ve gladly shared his elixir with you if you hadn’t already pledged your al egiance to Roman. And anyway, why would I even bother with the fruit when he gives me al the elixir I need?”
“Because the fruit is forever.” Rafe’s eyes begin to blaze until they resemble two dark flaming pits surrounded by white.
“Damen and I are forever.” I glare, knowing in my heart that it’s true even though he’s not here beside me to prove it. “And, as it so happens, I like the elixir. I like it so much I drink it several times a day. So, why would I want to replace that?”
Rafe continues to study me, his mind weighing, considering, then shaking his head he opens his mouth to speak, when someone else slinks out of the mist and decides to speak for him.
thirty
“She’s lying.”
Rafe spins on his heel so he can see what I already see, know what I already know.
Marco is here.
Though, as always, Misa creeps up right alongside him with her exotic dark eyes, black spiky hair, and multipierced lobes.
My light spil s over them as I study them closely, trying to get a read, determine if their showing up is bad for me, bad for Rafe, or just bad in general. Knowing only two things for sure: No matter who it is that they’re after (though it’s probably safe to assume that it’s me) their intentions aren’t good. And, just like Rafe, they show signs of aging.
“She’s after the fruit.” Misa’s eyes dart between Rafe and me. “Lotus sent her. Convinced her to go find it just like she tried to convince us al those years ago. But now the ancient one seems to think Ever’s the only who can succeed. So Marco and I have been trailing her, which, I’m guessing, is what you’re doing too.”
Rafe squints but otherwise doesn’t move, doesn’t give anything away. Too busy assessing the situation, too on guard to supply an answer.
“Lotus has been looking for someone to make this journey for centuries.” Misa directs her words right at me as Marco snickers alongside her. “At first we thought she was crazy—wel , mostly because she is crazy. But now, with Roman dead, and with Haven having drank every last bit of his stash, and with Damen being—wel , no need to mince words here is there?—with Damen being as selfish as he is, we had no choice but to befriend her, to learn more about this tree, and to figure out how to find it. She got us to Summerland, but that’s it. Claimed she didn’t know how to find the tree, said you’re the only one who can, that it’s your destiny, like you’re some kind of chosen one or something.” She looks at me, a long, scathing glare that ends in an exaggerated eye rol , wanting me to know just how ridiculous she finds that. “Whatever.” She shrugs. “We’re just here so you can lead us to it, then we’l take it from there.”
“Except I got here first.” The threat in Rafe’s voice rings loud and clear. “A smal detail you’ve seemed to overlook.”
I watch as they tense, square their shoulders, and secure their stances as though they’re gonna duke it out right here on this reed-thin trail. Defend their right to use me to get what they want.
“Do you hear yourselves?” My eyes dart between them. “Seriously. You guys are unbelievable! And you cal Damen selfish.” I shake my head, not even trying to hide my outrage. Though the truth is, while my lips keep moving, spewing forth a slew of similar words, while my features arrange and rearrange to keep up with whatever it is that’s being said, my mind is someplace else entirely. Working furiously to find a way out of this mess, knowing I could’ve taken Rafe while he was stil on his own, but now that it’s up to three immortals versus my one—I’m no longer sure.
Despite the fact that they can’t kil me, they can stil do some major damage, or, even worse, they can stop me from getting there first.
“We don’t even know for sure if this fruit exists,” I say, my eyes darting among them. “But let’s just say that it does, let’s just say we find it right there, waiting to be plucked. Why can’t we just share it? Why can’t you each take a bite, then give me whatever’s left to take back to Lotus? That way everyone wins. And no one gets hurt.”
But instead of the refusal I expected, I’m met with dead silence.
A horrible, lingering silence that’s far worse than any argument they could ever wage.
They’re no longer interested in me.
Their attention is claimed by something else entirely.
And I know without looking what it is. I can feel it in the way the breeze whispers against the nape of my neck. I can see it in the sudden glow that shines in their eyes.
They see it.
The tree.
Which means they no longer need me.
And though I try to move, try my best to flee, it’s too late.
There are too many of them, too little of me. And it seems, or at least in this case anyway, they’ve chosen to work together. Chosen to col aborate.
Misa and Marco grab hold of my arms as Rafe slinks behind me. His cheek pressed close to mine, his lips chil ed, pushing into my flesh when he says, “Remember when I told you earlier that I lost my footing and fel deep into the canyon?”
I swal ow hard, steady myself, know al too wel what’s coming next.
“As it turns out, I lied.” He grins, I can feel his lips lifting and curling against me. “Had I been unlucky enough to fal , I never would’ve made it back up. You see, Ever, it’s a sheer drop. A very sheer drop that offers no outcroppings of rock—nothing for one to grab onto in order to stop. But then, I should probably let you see for yourself. I mean, no need to wreck the surprise with a bunch of spoilers, right?”
I fight.
I kick.
I scratch, and bite, and claw, and scream, and thrash, and struggle with al of my immortal might.
But despite the fact that I can be satisfied in knowing I did a good bit of damage to each of them, in the end, it’s not enough.
I can’t beat them.
I’m no match.
And the next thing I know Rafe’s pushing me at the exact moment Misa and Marco let go.
Sending me flying.
Soaring.
Hurtling straight over the edge and deep into a bottomless canyon.
thirty-one
Just like a dream where you find yourself fal ing and can’t seem to stop because there’s nothing to grab onto and you’ve lost al control of your body—that’s exactly what this is like.
Except for the fact that usual y when I find myself caught in one of those dreams, my body eventual y jerks me awake before any grave disaster can take place.
But this time, I’m already awake. And from what I can tel , the disaster is now, and it’s about to get worse.
My hair lifts, waving high above my head, as my legs furiously kick,
attempting to temper the pace, halt my speed, slow myself down, but it’s no use. The effort is as useless as my arms, which continue to flail al around, searching for something to hang onto, but succeeding only in proving Rafe right.
There is nothing to save me.
Nothing to stop me.
The cliff is a sheer solid drop into the void.
The lower I go, the darker it becomes until I can no longer see in front of me—can no longer see below me—can no longer see where I’m going.
Al I know is that the fal seems to quicken, picking up speed, as I race toward an end that may not exist. The awful truth of my existence, the absolute irony of it, is that if I can’t find a way to stop this—then this is how I’l spend my eternity.
I can’t die—my chakras are so strong they won’t let me.
And any injuries sustained won’t heal—this part of Summerland won’t al ow for that sort of thing.
Two horrible thoughts I find too overwhelming to contemplate.
So I don’t.
I choose to focus my mind elsewhere instead.
Sifting through the long list of things I’ve learned this past year—going al the way back to the day when I first died in the car accident that claimed my whole family—to this never-ending crevice where I find myself now. Remembering what Lotus said about knowledge coming when we’re most in need of it, and hoping my accumulated knowledge wil help me find a way out.
Forgiveness is healing—everything is energy—thoughts create—we are all connected—what you resist persists—true love never dies—the soul’s immortality is the only true immortality—
Repeating the words again and again, until it becomes like a mantra, until the words begin to take shape, begin to take hold.
Until my breath begins to steady, my body begins to stil , and my heart is able to unload this burden of fear.
Forgiveness is healing—I send a silent thought of forgiveness to Misa, Marco, and Rafe for being so misguided and untrusting they wouldn’t even try another way.
What you resist persists—I stop resisting the fact that I’m fal ing, and start concentrating on a solution instead.
Thoughts create—Even when instant manifestation won’t work, our thoughts are stil creating on our behalf.
I free my backpack from one shoulder, slide it around to my front, yank the zipper down, and plunge my hand inside. Making sure I’ve got a good grip on the light jacket I manifested earlier—the one that got me through an excess of repetitive seasons by shielding me from heat, rain, wind, and snow—before I drop the bag, listening as it whizzes down below. I grasp the jacket by either sleeve and lift my arms up high over my head, cutting the wind along with my trajectory, while thrusting my body toward what I can only hope is the side of the cliff. Knowing I’ve succeeded when I’m left momentarily stunned by the sudden impact of my body bashing into a bed of sharp rocks.
My flesh cutting, scraping, as the jagged edges serrate my clothes, grating smal chunks of me, as my body continues to fal .
My eyes sear with agony, as my teeth gnash from the excruciating pain of being flayed. Assuring myself that if it won’t heal now, it eventual y wil . Just as soon as I can locate an outcropping of rock, something tangible to hang onto, something to stop this downward descent. Just as soon as I can get to the fruit and make my way back to a better part of Summerland.
My body a toboggan of blood, flesh, and bone that continues to careen down the cliff, and just as I’m sure I can’t take another second, something catches—something that juts hard against my foot, stabs me in the knee, and pummels me so hard in the gut it robs me of breath before puncturing me right in the base of my neck where at the very last moment, I reach up, grab ahold of it, stop it from removing my head.
Knowing it’s my one and only chance—knowing I can’t possibly hold on to both my makeshift parachute and this strange outcropping of sorts—I close my eyes and let go.
My jacket instantly claimed by the airstream as my hands grasp in the dark, putting al of my faith in this odd and pointy protrusion I can’t even see.
My fingers circling, curling around it in a death grip, my palms scraped ragged and raw as my weight rappels me down the length of it.
Down.
Down farther stil .
Down so far and so fast I can only pray it’l end soon. Knowing that if I lose my grip I’l be right back where I started—free-fal ing through black, empty space, only this time without my bag, without any tools to help me. Doing al that I can to clear such thoughts from my mind, my body jumps to a stop and I find myself dangling from this strange thing’s end.
Caught in midair, my legs flailing crazily beneath me, I grip tighter, reposition myself, using my raw and skinned knees along with this unknown thing, to pul myself up.
At first I go slowly. Very, very slowly. Reminding me of the time I had to climb up a rope in my freshman-year gym class. Back when I was just another mortal. Back when, other than being a cheerleader, I had no athletic prowess to speak of. Every inch feeling like a lesson in overcoming unbearable pain in order to put my faith in something I can’t even see. My progress measured in inches, not feet, eventual y creeping close enough to the summit that I’m rewarded with a tiny spot of light—just enough to reveal exactly what it is that has saved me.
It’s a root.
A long and spindly tree root.
A long and spindly tree root that belongs to the tree—the one I’ve been searching for. I know it instinctively.
The Tree of Life has saved me.
thirty-two
The moment after I reach the top—the moment after I heave myself over the ledge and lie facedown, gasping in the dirt—I bolt upright and run like the wind.
Ignoring the searing pain that shoots through my battered legs and feet, I cal upon every immortal power I have to help me find my way along the root with some semblance of speed. Sometimes stumbling, sometimes fal ing, but always picking myself right back up and forging ahead, knowing I need to get there before it’s too late, that I’m so far behind I’ve no time to waste.
Making do without the aid of my flashlight, figuring it’s stil free-fal ing in the crevice along with my bag, I push my way through the fog until the trail becomes less treacherous, easier to navigate, until final y, it’s just a matter of surviving the climb, pul ing myself along, and al owing my body to adjust to the ever-increasing altitude.
An ever-increasing altitude, the kind of which I’ve never experienced before.
An ever-increasing altitude that leaves me dizzy, short of breath, and that would surely require unlimited use of an oxygen tank if I were back home on the earth plane.
And before I can actual y see it, I know that I’m near.
It’s in the way the darkened sky begins to glisten and glow.
It’s in the way the mist begins to vibrate and pulse.
Throbbing with an entire spectrum of colors—a rainbow of blues and pinks and oranges and deep sparkling purples—al of it shimmering with the finest flecks of silver and gold.
I hurry along the massive root, noting the way it rises and grows. Becoming tal er and wider as it mixes with the other roots, tangling and overlapping into a complex system that, from what I can tel , seems to meander for miles and miles before it reaches an enormous trunk I can just now barely see.
I pause for a moment, left breathless as much from the vision that glows before me as I am from the hike. Taking in the whole glorious sight of it—the awe-inducing breadth of it—the branches that reach miles into the sky, the glistening leaves that first appear green and then gold, the vibrant aura that emanates al around it—noting the way the air has grown warmer despite the elevation that should make it anything but.
“So that’s it,” I whisper to myself, my voice trancelike, laced with wonder, so overcome by the colors, I’ve momentarily forgotten my enemies, forgotten my pain.
For the moment anyway, I’m a pioneer, a pilgrim, a founder of this glorious frontier. So fi
l ed with the wonder of what I witness before me, I’m rendered completely and total y speechless. No words could ever do it justice.
I thought the Great Hal s of Learning were amazing, but this—wel , I’ve never seen anything like it. Never seen anything quite so magnificent.
But my awe soon turns, and I’m on guard once again. My initial look of amazement quickly hijacked by suspicion as I glance around the area, study it closely, searching for signs of my fel ow travelers.
Remembering the way Rafe’s eyes blazed with an unspoken threat when he verbal y laid claim to the fruit, and knowing that the best way to overcome them is to surprise them, to catch them off guard. Catch them completely unaware.
Best to keep quiet, move stealthily, to not al ow for even the slightest of hints that I’ve made my return.
I make my way along the long and winding tangle of roots until I’ve final y progressed far enough to get a clearer view of the enormous trunk. Its width the size of a building—its branches reaching so high it looks like one of nature’s skyscrapers. And I’ve just reached its base, when I see them.
See them looking as battered and bloodied as I probably do—and knowing they did it to one another, that they fought like hel to be the first one to reach it. And despite being outnumbered by Misa and Marco, it appears Rafe has won.
He clings to a branch—one that soars a good few feet from the one Misa and Marco now dangle from.
And if the sight of that wasn’t bad enough—if the fact that they’ve managed to beat me by a long shot isn’t completely and total y deflating—what’s worse is the fact that Rafe not only beat us al to it—but that he now holds the fruit in his hand.
He succeeded.
Accomplished what we could not.
I can see it in his grin of victory. I can hear it in his triumphant yel .
He’s won.
We’ve lost.
I’ve lost.
And a thousand years must pass before we get another shot.
But despite the obvious defeat, that doesn’t stop me from making a mad scramble up the side, my fingers digging deep into the bark as my feet desperately seek for a foothold. Even though the game is clearly over, even though Rafe is clearly the victor, I refuse to surrender, refuse to forfeit.