Chapter Forty-Eight
Istared in disbelief at the words on the house built into the trunk of a large tree.
prepare. anticipate. protect. Could any motto better describe Owen?
Not likely. The man had lived by those words, embodied their very essence, and ultimately given his life to protect not only me but the entire world.
Lives, I reminded myself. He’s alive. Even if he doesn’t remember me.
I forced my leg to stop shaking. Again.
This morning, I had awoken in a strange, new world. The portal to Craos’s realm had never opened, Earth’s magic was never lost, and the battle on Samhain never happened. At least that’s what the Yew had told me. Somehow, and to my great relief, we were still connected.
“Where are we? Is this Earth?”
The village in which I found myself looked like something from a dream.
Massive trees surrounded me, their trunks thick and ancient, but within each existed a cozy home.
Symbols had been etched into the bark and over the round windows and doors.
Soft chimes made from carved bones and stone swayed in the breeze, their low tones blending with birdsong and falling water.
Sunbeams filtered through the branches, catching the mist from nearby cascades and turning it into pale gold.
No. You are in the Tree Realm. The only place with enough magic to recreate you and your friends. Although it has changed somewhat since I was last here…
“What does that mean? And how many realms are there?”
“Many. But that should not concern you right now. Shouldn’t you be looking for someone?”
I had broken down in tears when it told me that Owen was alive. Apparently, Charles, Jace, Shae, Freya, and Shamus were alive as well.
The only one who remembered everything, however, was me.
“How am I here? How is this possible?” I asked the Yew.
Because a young woman in strange clothing speaking a strange language rescued a little girl.
She then sat under my branches and spoke about things I did not understand.
But the longer she spoke, the more familiar her words sounded, and soon she was telling her story in the language of the trees. It captivated me.
“I spoke the language of the trees?”
Yes. You are one of us. Think of your existence now as a thank-you gift from all the Tree Spirits back on Earth.
“How are my friends here? They can’t be the same people I knew.”
You have the unique ability to carry within you the threads—the spirits—of those who are most important to you.
The Yew chuckled. Turns out you are a Veil Walker—the most powerful one I have ever known.
Not even I could bring back the dead, at least not with physical bodies.
Not without you. But with your power, I was able to recreate those threads in this world.
“Thank you, but…I still don’t understand.”
Sometimes, you do not need to understand. You just need to trust.
“You’re being cryptic.”
And you’re stalling. Go to him.
I had paced the outskirts of the village for an hour, wandering along paths and spending time with the trees, the whole time mustering the courage to face Owen.
The thought of him looking at me like I was as a stranger was unbearable.
Eventually the Yew had snapped at me, sounding much like Charles.
Kira Blackwell, you faced down an otherworldly demon and fought an ancient Druid in a duel to the death. Get your ass in there.
“Grouchy in our old age, aren’t we?”
You’re trying my patience. Recreating you all has exhausted me, and I want to sleep. Now get moving before I turn you into a toad.
“You can do that?”
It’s becoming increasingly possible. Now, hop to it.
“Funny.”
I thought it was, the Yew chortled. I almost rolled my eyes, but the toad threat made me reconsider, and I reluctantly tracked down the home with Owen’s motto.
“How does Owen have a house here?” I asked, taking a seat on a large root outside it.
I have created a role for each of you in this new world. Owen will be the village’s chief warden, you will be a teacher, Shae a healer, and so on.
“What do I even say to him?” I asked, my leg shaking again.
Tell him your story. Stories are powerful. They connect us.
“What if he still doesn’t remember?”
Then you and he will write a new story. Together.
“Where the fuck are we? And what the hell is happening?” The sound of Owen’s voice sent my heart racing. I leapt to my feet, and there he was, striding down a path with Jace, seeming completely unaware that my heart was both healing and breaking at the sight of him.
“Why don’t either of us remember anything? Could it be some sort of toxin?” Jace asked.
“Not sure. We need to find more people. Glad I at least ran into you. Whoever you are. If it’s everyone—”
Both men caught sight of me and hastened their steps. Owen inclined his head in greeting, the brow of his unscarred, handsome face furrowed in worry.
“Apologies. We may know one another, but—”
I slipped my hand into his, and tears welled in my eyes at the feeling of his skin against my own. He didn’t recognize me. I’d spent an hour thinking about this moment, preparing myself, and I still wasn’t ready for how devastating it would feel.
He frowned at my expression. “Are you okay?”
Owen. He was so close, yet he might as well have been a million miles away.
“Would you like to sit?” He turned to Jace. “Could you bring us some water, please?”
I couldn’t speak. Both relief and grief threatened to overwhelm me. He was still Owen, still thinking of me before himself, even when he must be scared and confused not knowing who or where he was.
My grip on his hand tightened as I sat down. I needed to touch him. I had watched him die, and now he was here. It was too much.
“Do you know something? Do you know who we are?”
“Let me tell you a story,” I blurted out, then cringed. Smooth, Kira. Just perfect.
He arched an eyebrow but sat beside me, taking the cup of water from Jace and offering it to me. Jace looked at our clasped hands and gave Owen an odd look, but Owen kept his gaze on me.
I took a sip and looked down.
“The trees tell stories. Did you know that?” I was so nervous my hand trembled, and I could hardly hold the cup. I set it to the side. “Their branches write them in the sky, their roots hold the memories of the dead. Their leaves whisper—”
You’re rambling like a crazy person. Stop it. Tell him your story, not mine.
My face heated, and I snuck a peek at Owen. He looked even more confused, but his eyes were kind. Curious, even.
“Let me tell you our story. Then maybe you’ll remember,” I finished with a whisper. How foolish I must sound.
“I’m listening,” Owen said with a squeeze of my hand, and I knew that he was. Except…
“I don’t know where to start,” I admitted. “So much has happened.”
“Start at the beginning. How do we know each other? Where did we meet?”
The corner of my mouth lifted as I remembered that day.
“At your grandmother’s celebration of life.
I bumped into you and stained your white shirt—actually, before that, I eavesdropped on your conversation with your dad.
I didn’t mean to, of course, but I was coming out of the bathroom because some kids had spilled punch on my dress and… ”
I trailed off, realizing Owen didn’t understand a word I was speaking.
“You may want to start a little earlier in the story,” he suggested after glancing quickly at Jace. “How about just before the event. What were you doing?”
I cast my mind back and found my first full smile. “Standing in my front hall. Worrying.”
“Why? What were you thinking?”
This was it. The beginning of our story. Although it had ended with my greatest fear—Owen leaving me—I would survive, and now I needed to fight. For us.
Taking a deep breath, I straightened and finally met his eyes.
“I was thinking that attending wouldn’t be the worst decision I’d ever made, but it would undoubtedly be in my top ten…”
At first, Owen only stared at me as I spoke, his eyes unfocused, his brow furrowed. Then his expression started to shift. His breath caught, and I watched the change ripple through him, achingly slow and beautiful.
As I neared the end of our story, his face twisted in pain and he bowed over our clasped hands with a low groan, as if images were crashing into him, hard and fast, creating a storm of sensations and emotions.
He needed an anchor. I may have been born as one for Craos, but right now I would choose to be one for Owen.
“Owen,” I said, pulling his face up, “look at me. There’s only us.
We’ve been through so much together, and I’ve learned so many things about myself like the fact that I’m brave and resilient and stubborn as hell, especially when it comes to loving you.
Even if you never remember, I’m going to stay and fight for you.
I’m not going anywhere, no matter what. Do you hear me, love?
We’re going to build a life in this world and explore it together. ”
I closed the distance between us, pressing my lips firmly against his and wrapping my arms around his neck, drawing him close.
For one terrible moment, nothing happened. He was solid and real but distant, and whatever was left of my heart broke completely, my entire world crumbling in an instant.
Then he inhaled sharply, his body stiffening. His hands grasped my shoulders, and a shudder ran through him before he relaxed and kissed me back.
“Do you remember?” I asked when I finally pulled back. I could barely breathe, hope squeezing my chest like a vise.
His eyes were bright and fierce as he cupped my face, and when he looked at me, I knew he saw me at last. A slow smile spread across his features, and his next words were the answer to all my prayers.
“Yes, love. I remember everything.”