Rowan Celtic Tree Novels & Stories

A wielder of a twisted kind of beauty—magic that ensnared, enchanted, devoured. And long ago, Selene had cast her into the Witherdeep. Bound her in bramble chains. Sealed her beneath the earth. But no curse lasts forever. Especially not one born of envy. --- Rowan returned from the southern perimeter with blood on his blade and fury in his eyes. “The trees are bleeding,” he said. “And the roots are moving.” Naeria paled. “That’s old fae magic. Wild. Unruly.” Selene’s chest tightened. “She wants me to come to her.”

And, I thought to myself, gripping the blunt wooden blade in my hand, he was outnumbered. I stepped into the line of trees, working my way quietly into the sparse woodland at the edge of the field. Cythraul was gloating, his smug voice carrying through the night, but Aradia and the Clan had him surrounded. “Birch trees are sacred, Ellis,” Rowan whispered. I still couldn’t see her, but I nodded, keeping my eyes fixed on the demon. “It used to be celebrated at Samhain.” “Samhain?” I whispered back, my voice barely a murmur.

It slammed into the man’s chest, sliding all the way to the hilt. Bile rose in my stomach. “Come. There are more fundamental lessons for you to learn about our ways.” Morrigan wandered off through the trees, leaving the men pinned to the trees. Her black dress fluttered on a fantom breeze as she disappeared around a tree. I rushed to catch up only to find her entering a clearing. “Look around and tell me what you see, Eileen.” Trees spiraled out from this clearing. As I looked, I realized the spirals were each a unique species of tree! Elm, Oak, Ash, Hawthorn, Elderberry, and tall cedars. “Sacred trees.”

He carried a folded parchment roll, smudged with dirt and ash. “This is for you,” Rowan said quietly, handing it over. His tone held none of its usual roughness; this was something careful, intentional. I unrolled it and found a field sketch, rough lines marking the trees, the slope of earth, the stone circle’s location scrawled in the margins. Rowan had risked himself to draw this. “Where did you…” “Doesn’t matter,” he cut in. His gaze flicked to Sera. “Put it in hands you trust, or burn it. But don’t keep it open where anyone can see.”

I tuck it in my pocket and sheath my knife as the sun begins to set. But it’s not my way Sloane comes. And she is not alone. I smell Celeste, Lark, and Gauge by her side. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I follow where they lead. I do not like the idea of spying on my mate as I duck behind a cedar tree. I know my cousin and Celeste must know I’m here lurking, but they do not give me away as they are gathered around a maple tree. Red maples are known for being resilient and beautiful all year long. I can tell this tree is newer to the Earth as it stands only about ten feet or so tall. It's leaves are a vibrant red and catch the fading light beautifully.

The original Tree holds him like a promise it intends to keep. Rowan’s bark tablets come back from the first run with new notes and new problems. The twelve main Trees are fine. They are old souls now, even the young ones. They are feeding each other through the deep fungal net, sugar from D.C. where there is sun, water from Oregon where it rained last night. The small ones are struggling. A hundred lights on the map, but twenty of them are dim. “Utah,” Rowan says, pointing to three lights near Big Bend that pulse weakly. “Salt is too high. The sprouts clean what they can, but they are babies. They need a mother Tree close.”

Juliette’s POV The forest was breathing. I could feel it in the trembling roots beneath my boots and the hot gusts of smoke rising through the trees as if the earth itself had a heartbeat. Every shadow seemed alive. Every branch crackled with fire. My pulse raced in time with the forest’s frantic rhythm. Rowan Mercer stood a few paces in front of me, his silver eyes glowing like twin moons. My brother. The secret I had locked away in my heart since childhood. The ghost I had pretended I no longer remembered.

Several minutes passed and Rowena was the first to speak, “This is not helpful or comforting, but I sense it was a violent death.” “You don’t feel that?” Cordelia frowned, growing still. “So faint, I almost missed it.” She stood in front of the tree Carson had been sitting against. Dried blood turned the roots black, making the tree look infected. Her fingers grazed the bark ever so gently. “What are you feeling?” Rowena asked curiously, her mossy eyes locked on the older witch. “All I’m getting is fear and confusion.” “Is it magic?” I couldn’t help but ask, hoping desperately for some clue that would point us in the right direction.

I demand, my voice sharp as I pull back against his grip once we reach the passenger door. Celt stops. He turns his massive body around, trapping me between his heavy frame and the cold metal of the vehicle door. He leans down, his scarred face inches from mine, his deep cedar scent completely wrapping around my senses. “You’re in my territory now, Joxie,” Celt rumbles, his gray-blue eyes burning with an intense, possessive fire as he reaches into his pocket and slides a thick, dark iron ring onto my index finger. “And nobody in Silverpine City touches what belongs to Hawkridge Row.”

And Caelan is off by himself again, watching the trees with a frown that never seems to leave him. I drift toward a cluster of trees on the far side of the clearing. My skin is prickling again. Not like my instincts sense danger. More like a sense of recognition. Like something old and vast just whispered my name in a language I used to speak. The trees are wide and smooth-barked here. Their trunks twist slightly, as if they’ve been leaning toward each other for centuries, trying to share secrets they don’t want the wind to hear. And carved into one, so faint I almost miss it, is a name.