Everlasting (The Immortals #6)(63)

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.





chapter 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 fil 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.

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. He wil not rob me of my destiny.

He wil not steal my last chance to make things right with the universe.

I wil not wait for a thousand more years.

His eyes light upon me. Seemingly amused by

my struggle. Lifting the fruit high into the air, high enough for us al to see, he pauses, savoring the moment of victory.