An epilogue for the novel the Sweet Far Thing by Libba Bray

I didn't know which way to turn; just that I had to make it out, I had to survive. All the pain that I had been put through didn't matter anymore, just that I get out in time to save him…because there was a way. In my dream—no, nightmare, as I had long ago begun to think of any dream featuring Circe—she came to me. At first, I was terrified to my core, naturally, but what Circe said to me meant the world; despite what they had told me, despite what he had believed, there was a way for him to be saved, freed from what was supposed to be his prison for all eternity, and that was a glimmer of hope that I would not let go of for anything…that I would die for.

The poppy warriors would be easy to get around now that I had fought them enough times to predict their every move...or so I had thought. Now, here I stand, trapped in the catacombs beneath the forest floor, cornered by a horde of very large, very ugly, and very blood-thirsty poppy warriors. Although I had chosen against calling upon my unpredictable powers for so long I knew that now, more than ever, it was necessary. I closed my eyes and felt the oh-so-familiar tingle throughout my being as the magic filled every centimeter of my body, and then a sudden rush as it left me in a whoosh.

I hesitantly opened my eyes to see all seven poppy warriors lying dazed on the ground. A small smile of triumph on my lips, I stepped over them lightly and continued my way to the tree. To him.

Through the gates of human bones, across the barren tundra, under the ominous hanging trees draped with the bodies of the damned, past the watery abyss, and over the treacherous mountains, I reached the Tree of All Souls without coming in direct contact with any more immediate danger. However, this had been the part I had been dreading above all; coming back, facing the tree.

I forced my reluctant gaze to fall upon it; abnormally thick with its vast expanse of branches reaching in every which direction up into the dusk sky. Then, the memories came, as I knew they would; the memories that I had avoided for so long, but not long enough for them to loose any ounce of vividness…returning to life after being given the hero's choice, only to find Kartik caught up in the midst of the battle between worlds…trying to keep my blood from touching the tree, for then it would claim me and my soul forever…Kartik's sudden blow which caused my grip on my wound to falter, allowing a single drop of blood to reach the tree's roots…Kartik running to me, grabbing my arms, the two of us radiating a brilliant glow…and the sudden realization of what he meant to do. A noble sacrifice, he was sure it was I who was more needed in this world, not him, but he did not understand that the world without him is an empty nothingness for me…the horrible knowing there was no going back, that he had made his decision, that he had made it long ago…his last kiss, a farewell kiss if there ever was one, which he held on to even as the bark of the tree began to ensnare him, up until it wrapped around his entire body and I felt his lips go cold and lifeless…his last whisper echoed numbingly in my head, "Gemma…"

All this took a fraction of a second to flash through my mind, and left me with the same raw feeling of loss I had experienced then. I felt the tears silently rolling and did nothing to halt them till my vision of the tree was blurred beyond recognition and I could pretend it was Kartik who stood before me, smiling his playful smile as if reaching the punch-line of one of his jokes which always left me bent over in laughter whether they were clever or pointless.

I inhaled deeply and wiped away the tears with my sleeve, slipping into my ready-for-the-worst stance a little less effortlessly than usual, and finally took a sure step forward. I had to be prepared for disappointment, for the draining of hope and the empty space to be gaping as hollow as ever. Reaching into my boot, I pulled out the knife Kartik's brother had given him, and him to me, and traced the intricate Indian design adorning the handle. Then, shaking a bit too much for comfortably handling a sharp weapon, I raised my left hand and put the blade to my wrist, gasping as I cut deeply and the blood gushed out, dyeing my arm red. I bit my lip till that, too, bled, blinking frantically as my eyes teared now because of exterior pain, and extracted the shred of scarlet handkerchief that had been his to wipe my arm clean. With one last deep breath, I pressed the bloodied clothe to the tree's bark and called upon all the magic of the Realms as well as all of my own self control and funneled it through my arms, my clasped hands, the handkerchief, into the trunk, and whispered his name. I concentrated harder than I ever had before, to be sure the magic did what I meant it to do, what I needed it to do, willing myself not to fly backwards onto the ground with the exertion.

I began to radiate that same glow, and for a fleeting moment, pure terror struck me. But the bark was not ensnaring my arms. Instead, the Tree of All Souls was trembling violently, the branches dancing madly. Looking at the sky I saw a beam of light shoot through the center of the trunk, straight into the darkening sky, which was now filled with swirling black clouds. My ears were bombarded with the shrieking of the wind till I was nearly sure there were banshees surrounding me and the tree. It seemed as if the world was ending.

And then, it stopped. Just like that, without a hint of a decrescendo, it stopped. I collapsed to the foot of the tree, sobs wracking my chest.

And he was not there.

I closed my eyes in unadulterated agony and bowed my head in mourning for not only him, but me and my lost soul, for surely it could not have survived such a strain. Something light touched my throbbing left wrist. A touch that the back of my mind screamed was familiar. Unwilling to hope, unwilling to believe, my eyes slowly opened to see a hand gingerly handling my wrist, now bloodied as well but a bronzed chestnut to my porcelain tone. I raised my eyes to meet with two dark brown eyes that seemed to be knotted in concern framed by unbelievably long eyelashes. I took in the curls, the one familiar lock that habitually fell oddly lovely over his forehead, the smile…that smile…my heart began, truly, to sing.