Epilogue
Gemma
You could hear a blade of grass being ripped from the earth with how quiet it is in Pirn.
We’re all standing in the clearing, grouped around the Banyan. Waiting. Hoping. Praying.
I pull air into my lungs, my throat tight, fighting the urge to wring out my hands over and over until they ache. I have them full of magic, ready to heal, soft warmth pulsing beneath my skin.
On my exhale, I look to my right—to the Menders lined up beside me. Then I glance to my left—to the younger witches in my coven, eyes fearfully wide.
They aren’t ready. They tried their best to be, but they aren’t, and truthfully, none of us are.
Looking down at my shoes, I curl my fingers into fists, then open them back up a second later. I repeat the process. Again and again. Opening and closing until my heart rate matches the quickening movement.
Forcing my head up, I try to focus instead on what everyone else is staring towards.
The Banyan is still. Its limbs are motionless, but when the breeze picks up, I can hear its branches creak. One moment, I’m afraid that silence will swallow us whole, and in the next…
The ground trembles.
Sharp inhales ripple through the crowd.
The front line of Menders creeps forward.
I hurriedly remind myself to keep breathing. To stay focused. But sitting in the silence that follows that rumble is torture, and just when I think I can’t take any more of it, a line of shimmering gold traces an arch in the trunk.
A beam of light bursts through the clearing, and our little world holds its breath.
The trees stop swaying, the clouds hold their positions in the sky, and the sun warming my cheeks begins to burn. My heart pounds once. Twice.
There’s a ripple in the portal, movement from behind it, and then—
A woman, tall and thin, steps through the shimmering gold. She holds her hand flat against her brow, sunken eyes squinting out at us.
I can see her ribs, her collarbone, her pelvis protruding over the waistband of her pants, but despite the frail condition of her body, she manages a step. Then another, her thin lips spreading into a soft smile.
“Isabel?” A man pushes his way through the crowd, stumbling into the center of the clearing. As he gets closer, he picks up speed, eyes widening when he’s able to fully take her in. “Isabel!”
The woman’s mouth opens, but no sound comes out. She rushes towards his voice, and when he finally steps into her line of vision, her hollowed face crumples.
“Isabel.” He reaches her in two long strides, and she falls willingly into his arms. “Oh, my love,” he murmurs against her matted hair.
Another Sol emerges through the shimmering gold, rocking back and forth as he tries to find his footing. His condition is worse than the woman's, and his steps are weaker.
A member of my coven rushes to meet him, her hands glowing with healer magic before she’s even reached him.
Another woman comes through, holding the arm of a girl who appears to be my age.
Then a man and an elder Sol—hunched over and gasping for breath.
More Menders rush to meet them.
One after another, the Sol come through, and if they aren’t met by loved ones, they are met by us. There’s so much healing magic in the air that the frenzied clearing glows with it.
The brutal silence we’d been waiting in is shattered by the sound of laughter, relieved cries, praises to our gods mingling with the clamor.
I move as quickly as I’m able from one Sol to the next, reaching for a woman who is being helped through the crowd by two men. They hold her steady as I press my hands into her sides—assessing her organs.
Heat spreads through my open palms, lighting up her injuries, and her head sags in relief as I mend them, stitching torn ligaments and giving nourishment to deteriorating muscles.
Time will heal her fully, but I don’t stop until she can at least stand on her own, and when she’s able to pull her arms off the men holding her up, she wraps them around my shoulders. With a soft squeeze, she thanks me, and then I move on to the next.
There are so many of them, and they’re still coming, stumbling through the Banyan and into the waiting arms of their sons and daughters. Their parents and siblings. Grandchildren they never got to meet.
It’s a true miracle that despite whatever horrors they’ve endured, most of their ailments are curable.
Nearly every Sol I touch hardly requires more than a few seconds of healing, and then I send them on their way to the Hearths for water and food.
The Diviners and Lakelets are waiting in the Tavern with cots and fresh clothes, and the Floras have a tent set up at the edge of the clearing—herbs and additional medicines available for those who might need them.
Suddenly, life in Pirn is brighter than it’s ever been.
People are laughing, crying, embracing loved ones they never thought they’d see again. They’re praying, holding hands, calling out to those across the clearing. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, and it’s only just begun.
I work for what feels like hours, mending and moving through the crowd. Phoenix, Easton, Hunter, and Devon emerge after the last Sol, waiving off the Menders that attempt to check them over and promptly joining the revelry.
They might have received the most hugs out of anyone, and even Devon seemed to be enjoying himself, rushing to meet his mother with a bright smile on his face. I didn’t even think he was capable of such a thing.
I keep moving through the crowd, leaving no Sol untouched, and it isn’t until much later, when the sun is starting to set, that the portal opens one final time.
I’m kneeling beside an older woman, and a roar of cheers ripples through the crowd, wild and joyous. Between the bodies of those in front of me, I catch a glimpse of Callan. He hesitates at the base of the tree, reaching back to help someone else through—
My heart stops.
The applause intensifies, and I rise to my feet as Grey Vitale steps through the Banyan.
For a moment, I can hardly breathe, the roar of the crowd ringing in my ears. Grey smiles back, beaming in their praise, and I crane my neck to get a good look at Callan.
I expect to see him grinning ear to ear, reunited with his father at last, but when I get a full view of the scene, Grey is standing alone, and Callan is nowhere to be found.
My brows furrow, a tear that had welled in my eye slipping onto my cheek.
There’s a flash of movement to my left, behind the Banyan, and I turn in time to see Callan storm through the clearing, his back to me and the crowd. He furiously unclips his vest, grappling with the armor as if he can’t get it off fast enough.
Devon catches sight of him and instantly moves to follow, but Pax grabs his arm, pulling him back with a firm shake of his head.
His voice isn’t loud enough over the clamor of the crowd, but whatever he whispers back to Devon has him stilling, the line of his shoulders tensing beneath his uniform.
Something about the whole scene sets off a high-pitched ringing in my ears—alarm bells.
Where’s Cin?
I take an unsteady step towards Pax, eyes trained on where Callan has disappeared behind the trees. “Hey, what happen—”
“Gemmalyn?”
It takes a second for the name to register.
It’s been so long that my brain rejects it at first, but when it finally cracks through my consciousness, I freeze. The ringing in my ears is replaced by the slow thud of my heart.
“Gemmalyn?” Her voice had been quiet the first time, but now it’s stronger. More confident.
It’s that confidence, spoken through a voice so familiar it hurts, that gives me the courage to turn.
She’s small, shorter than I am, and just as thin as the others. Her face is gaunt, her expression haunted, but her eyes are hopeful, and the blue in them brightens as she takes me in, the corners of her lips quivering.
My stunned gaze rises to the man behind her, who, despite the exhaustion on his face, is grinning so wide that it almost looks painful.
“Dad?” It comes out like a question, but there’s a large section of my heart that aches as I look at them. It’s a slow and steady throb that I haven’t felt in a very long time.
It builds and builds as I take in their faces, until my brain finally registers who exactly I’m looking at. “Mom.”
A statement.
My mother reaches me first, frail arms wrapping so tight around my shoulders that I nearly crash into her. I squeeze her back, fresh tears sliding down my cheeks at the poke of her ribs and the protrusion of her spine.
Longer arms engulf us both, warm and strong, and my father presses his cheek to the top of my head, sending my heart straight over the edge of what it can take. The poor organ bursts, a dam breaking within me, and I let go of everything I hadn’t known I’d been holding.
I’d fall asleep crying so many times as a girl, dreaming of their faces, and every morning I woke up with tears still in my eyes. I’ve grieved, grappled with my faith, and lost hope countless times over the years. It was a vicious cycle that I could never see the end of.
But this is it—the ending. Abrupt and beautiful.
It’s my mother’s voice in my ear, soft and familiar, whispering that she loves me and that everything is okay now.
It’s my father, his steady hand rubbing circles in my back, the glue that always held us together. It’s the cheers of a joyous crowd fading into the background behind us, but this…with them…it’s the only revelry I need.
Reaching inward, I gather what I have left in my reserves, a small portion I had saved just for them. Just in case.
Warmth blooms beneath my skin, and the soft glow of Mender magic pulses through my fingertips.
It pours from the hand I have pressed into my mother’s side, the skin beneath her clothes glowing gold.
It bleeds through the trembling hold I have on my father’s arm, lighting up bright between us as I search for anything…
ailments, torn muscles, irregular heartbeats.
I search for diseases, fever, broken bones…But I find nothing. Not a single thing.
Perhaps this was all we needed—to be found, to be held, and to be whole again.