Everlasting (The Immortals #6)(56)

chapter twenty-eight


I watch him leave, my thoughts racing through a maze of conflicted feelings. Part of me wanting to crash through the fading corner of that shimmering veil before it’s too late—so I can return to the earth plane right alongside him.

But the other part, the bigger part, is determined to get on with the journey.

A journey that is long overdue.

Encouraged by the memory of something Riley

said when I’d made a futile attempt to go back in time, only to return to my most current life. It was just before the accident that claimed me again, when she leaned across her seat, looked at me, and said: Did you ever stop and think that maybe you were supposed to survive? That maybe, it wasn’t just Damen who saved you?

And though I had no idea what it meant at the time—now I do.

This is what I came back for.

This journey is my one, and perhaps only chance to seize my destiny.

Which means I can’t al ow Damen’s fears to dissuade me from what I’m meant to do.

Though I do understand his decision—his

refusal to search for the tree. He blames himself for giving me the elixir, for altering the course of my life

—the journey of my soul—and now I insist on finding the tree so I can reverse those effects, return us to the way we were always meant to be.

Trouble is, if there’s no tree, there’s no reversal. Just Damen, me, and his deepest regrets—for

the rest of eternity.

But I know something he doesn’t. There is a tree. I know it in the deepest part of me.

And as soon as I find it, Damen wil be freed of his burdensome guilt and self-blame. Guilt that’s not even warranted since everything he’s done, every choice that he’s made, was with the best of intentions. He may have acted out of fear, but the motivation behind it was love.

But since I can’t exactly tel him that—I’l have to show him instead.

And so, newly dedicated to what I know in my heart I must do, I steal a moment to manifest a few things I might need before I get too far along and possibly end up in a place where magick no longer works. Manifesting stuff like a flashlight, a sleeping bag, water and food, a light jacket, sturdier shoes, a backpack—then once I have that secured, I busy myself by making a mental list of al that I’ve learned about the tree so far. Things I’ve learned from Damen, Lotus, and the few things I’ve picked up from movies and books and working in Jude’s store, repeating this list to myself as I head down the trail. It’s mystical—true.

Some claim it’s merely a myth—that remains to be seen.

It’s said to bear only one piece of fruit every thousand or so years—if so, then I fervently hope this is the time of the harvest and that I’m the first to arrive (otherwise, I’m in for an awful y long wait). arrive (otherwise, I’m in for an awful y long wait). I stop, close my eyes, and tune into the wisdom of Summerland. Trusting it to guide me in just the right direction as my feet start moving again, seemingly of their own accord, and when I gaze down at the ground, I’m glad I had the foresight to manifest the hiking boots when I start leaving big clumps of grass in my wake. Clumps that soon turn to thick clouds of dust when the grass suddenly gives way to loose dirt, forcing me to rely on the thick treads of my soles to keep my gait steady when the terrain changes again, becoming rougher, littered with sharp rocks and boulders, and so loaded with hairpin curves and switchbacks I’m forced to go slower, and then slower stil .

But no matter how treacherous the path may become, I wil not cry uncle, I wil not give up, and I wil not even think about returning to where I came from. Even when it ultimately grows so narrow and steep it fal s off into two bottomless chasms that yawn on either side, I’m committed to the journey. There wil be no turning back.

I strive to keep my breath even, steady, as I do my best not to look down. Just because I can’t die doesn’t mean I’m looking for danger. Given the choice, I prefer to play it safe for as long as I can. The trail soars higher, and then higher stil , and when it begins to snow, I can’t help but wonder if it has something to do with the altitude. But it’s not like it matters. It’s not like knowing the reason wil keep my feet from slipping precariously close to the craggy abyss that gapes wide far below. It’s not like it’l stop my skin from chil ing and turning frigid and blue.

Knowing the light jacket I stashed in my bag is hardly equipped to handle a drop in temperature so extreme, I close my eyes and picture a new one—

something big and down-fil ed, something that’l leave me looking like a big shapeless blob but wil hopeful y get the job done. But when nothing happens, when no coat appears, I know I’ve reached the part of the journey where magick and manifesting no longer work. I’l have to rely on myself, and the few things I had the foresight to manifest before I got to this point.

I slip into the jacket, pul ing the sleeves down past my wrists until they cover my numb, frozen fingertips, keeping my eyes on the trail and my mind on my destiny, committed to making do with what I have, while reminding myself of al the chal enges I’ve already survived—obstacles that wouldn’t have seemed possible just one year ago.

But despite al my focus, despite the continuous loop of pep talks and tree facts I repeat in my head, I eventual y get to the point where I’m just too cold and exhausted to continue. So I start searching for a place to set up camp, though it’s not long before I determine there isn’t one. This freezing cold landscape doesn’t offer much in the way of rest. I toss my bag on the icy cold ground and position myself right on top of it, pressing my nose to my knees and wrapping my arms tightly around me in a futile attempt to both warm and steady myself. And though I try to sleep, I can’t. Though I try to meditate, my mind won’t slow down. So instead, I spend the time convincing myself that I made the right choice. That despite my completely miserable state, al is fine and good and exactly as it should be