Echo (12 page)

Her voice carries the quiet resignation of a survivor—one who’s faced the worst life has to offer—the incomprehensible acts of cruelty humans choose to inflict upon each other.

“That day, I lost my innocence, I lost my faith, and I lost my beloved father.”

I remove my hand from hers, clenching my fists tightly under the table, vowing revenge on Leandro, Cade, every last one of them. While she hasn’t told me anything I didn’t already know, there’s no stopping the fresh wave of anger cresting inside me.

I’m derived from darkness. The spawn of an act so heinous it’s hard to fathom.

How can she bear to look at me?

How can she stand to be near me?

As if sensing my thoughts, Chepi swivels in her seat until she’s directly facing me. Pinching my chin between her index finger and thumb, she forces me to meet her gaze when she says, “Nine months later, when I had you, when I saw the light in your beautiful blue eyes, I knew that a small part of me had prevailed. While your brother has proved himself to be Leandro’s creation—you, my beloved son, are mine and mine alone. It is
my
blood that courses through you. You are pure Whitefeather, and you must take great care to never forget that. Your grandfather Jolon was both powerful and gifted—he was linked to the divine—and I have no doubt you are as well.”

“Yes, I’m the good half—the pure half,” I say. The words bitter, rife with sarcasm as I wrench my chin from her grip, unwilling to meet her gaze, unworthy of her unconditional love.

“You’ve brought untold joy into my life.” Her breath hitches, the words so full of emotion she needs a moment to continue. “You’re the very reason I sit here today. Your arrival into this world gave me something to celebrate—something to live for. Dace, my darling boy, don’t you know that now that you’re here, I wouldn’t have it any other way?”

It can’t be true.

After all that she’s been through, there’s no way she means it.

But when my gaze finally, reluctantly, meets hers, there’s no doubt she’s speaking the truth.

I close my eyes, struggling to get a grip on myself. And when I open them again, I’m overcome with the need to apologize for making her relive such a horrible day. “I’m sorry for all of this—for everything. I’m sorry the past won’t stay put.”

Chepi shrugs. Her shoulders rising and falling, she says, “We’ve had sixteen peaceful years together—for that I am grateful.” She reaches for my cheek with a palm that’s soft and dry. And when she fusses at my hair, I don’t try to stop it. Her touch brings great comfort. “Despite where we find ourselves now, I’m determined that more peace will follow. Leandro has claimed my past, but he will not claim my future—nor will he claim yours.” Her voice is determined in a way I rarely hear, her irises deepening, reminding me of freshly turned earth. “I’ve already started the prep work.”

I slant my gaze toward Leftfoot, seeing he’s just as out of the loop on this one as I am.

“I haven’t observed the Day of the Dead for many years. But after leaving you that morning with Daire, just after Paloma’s soul was returned, I held a small ritual of my own.”

I lean closer, trying to guess what that means.

“I called upon Jolon.” She lifts her chin high. “I’ve sensed his presence through the years—his spirit is everywhere, just as I’ve taught you…” Her voice drifts as she absently rubs her thumb over the carved turquoise hummingbird she wears on her index finger. “I appealed for his protection, and ever since, I’ve felt the power of his lion looking after us. But, Dace, make no mistake—they exist merely in spirit. You and Daire are our last real defense against him and the rest of the Richters. There’s no use denying it.”

She falls quiet, leaving me to sort through her words. And though it wasn’t at all what I expected to hear, I’m mostly caught on the part about Jolon’s lion guiding us. Under the circumstances, that can’t be good.

“The Lowerworld is corrupted,” I say. “Daire and I were there yesterday. We’ve been going nearly every day—or, at least, Daire has.” I pick at the crude bandage I wear on my arm, its edges already fraying, the middle stained red with my blood. All too aware of the way I used her name twice.

It’s a sign of being in love. Acting as though the mere mention of a person can conjure their presence. When, in this case, the only thing it conjures is a breathtaking image of her lying beneath me—cheeks flushed, lips pink and inviting, eyes green and glittering, skin soft and welcoming under the press of my fingers …

I shake free of the thought. Vow to use her name as little as possible. There’s no telling how much that little reverie cost me.

“The place is polluted,” I continue. “And the spirit animals are infected as well. Horse is useless. He no longer guides me. They’re all useless—skittish, freaked-out, inept.”

That’s all Chepi needs to remove the hummingbird ring she’s worn for as long as I’ve known her. Plunking it down on the table, as Leftfoot makes a sign over the buckskin pouch he wears at his neck, the sight prompting me to think of Daire once again.

She’s still wearing her pouch. Maybe I should tell her—warn her that it puts her at risk.

I shake my head. Scrub my hands over my face. I’ve got to stop this. Got to stop making excuses to think of her, see her. Paloma’s looking after her. Chay too from what I saw earlier. She’s in good hands.

I need to focus on protecting her in other ways.

Bigger ways.

Ways that truly matter.

I stare at Chepi’s ring—a relic from my childhood I’d grown used to seeing, only now it looks different. As though it contains a whole cache of secrets I couldn’t even begin to comprehend. My head so full, my thoughts so conflicted, I’m only half listening to myself when I say, “The animals are so corrupted they’re no longer reliable.”

My attention claimed by Leftfoot pushing away from the table. “Then we’ll have to rely on ourselves,” he says, heading toward the door and motioning for me to follow.

sixteen

Daire

When the drive goes on for too long, when Chay continues to meander down a series of unfamiliar dirt roads, taking increasingly confusing turns, I face him and say, “I thought you said Paloma was waiting?”

He shoots me a patient look. “She is.”

“So—where exactly is it she’s waiting? Clearly you’re not taking me home.”

“We’re headed for the falls,” he says, as though that makes perfect sense, when in truth it makes none.

“Can you give me a little more to go on?” I try to quell my growing alarm, along with the nervous chill running through me. This is reminding me an awful lot of how my vision quest went down. And despite getting through it and emerging renewed, that’s not to say I enjoyed it.

Chay reaches toward me, his eagle ring glinting when he pats me on the knee. “I texted Paloma when I saw you in Gifford’s. She told me to take you to the falls—said she’d meet us there.”

“You guys text?” I swing toward him. I know it’s not supposed to be the part I focus on—still, I never would’ve guessed.

Chay laughs. “Yeah, we text. We Facebook too. Though we draw the line at Twitter.”

I shake my head. Force myself to focus, get back on track. “So, what will we do there, once we reach these
falls
?”

He looks at me. “Paloma will explain when we get there. I’m just the chauffeur.”

I sigh. Slink toward the edge of my seat. All too aware there’s no use pushing for more. Chay and Paloma are far too tight to fall for a game of Divide & Conquer.

A ribbon of scenery unfurls past my window—a smear of stark barren shapes in dark beiges and browns, set against a sky bleached white as bones. Despite the cold and dreary weather, Xotichl’s claim that it’ll snow by Christmas seems more improbable by the day.

We travel for miles. Travel over unfamiliar terrain that only seems to grow increasingly rugged the farther we go. And when we finally stop just a few feet from the water, I spot Paloma’s Jeep parked near the shore.

I ease out of Chay’s truck, watching as the two of them confer, with their heads bent together like fellow conspirators. Any chance of eavesdropping nixed by the rush of water raging so loudly it drowns everything out.

“Are you ready?” Paloma looks at me, her expression carefully guarded.

My eyes dart all around. Seeing a raging river and two people who may or may not have my best interests at heart.

“Ready for what?” I ask, though I’m afraid I already know. I begged Paloma to complete my Seeker initiation, to teach me as much as she could, as quickly as she could, and this is her way of making good on her word. “You seriously expect me to go in there?
Now?
” I point toward the river and shake my head. “You’ve got to be joking!” I fold my arms across my chest. “No way, Paloma. In case you haven’t noticed, it’s freezing. Not to mention, I’m not exactly dressed for it.”

It seems like a good excuse to me, but the words are lost on her. Without so much as a pause, she says, “I brought you a change of clothes. As soon as you’re ready, you will enter at this point here—” Her arm arcs before her, fingers pointing toward the place where the water meets the dirt. “And you will head downstream and find your way to the waterfall where you will endure its deluge until you manage to merge with its power and it reveals its song to you.”

I blink. Shake my head. Blink again. Though it’s not like it does any good. Every time I open my eyes I see them standing before me, waiting for me to quit wasting time and get started already.

“Remember what I told you: Everything is alive,
nieta
. The elements are our allies, a friend to all Seekers. They each have something to teach us, something to reveal to us. You’ve already met the power of Wind and Earth, and now you must learn the power of Water. There’s an ancient saying that states:
The softest things in the world overcome the hardest things in the world
—and Water is a good example of that. It’s silky, fluid, yet it’s also responsible for carving those rocks at your feet. You must strive to listen to the Water, discover what it offers, and determine its song. If not, I’m afraid you’ll succumb, and all will be lost.”

I swallow hard. Try to determine what’s worse—getting decapitated on an LA freeway like my dad or drowning in a murky New Mexico river, like I’m pretty sure I’m about to.

“One of the most important things you’ll ever do as a Seeker, aside from keeping the balance between the worlds, is managing the weather by manipulating the elements. But before you can handle the elements, you must first learn to bond with them. And now it’s time for you to bond with the water element. Many Seekers before you have undergone these trials, it’s simply your turn.”

She hands me the clothes she brought and tells me to change in her Jeep. When I emerge, she opens her arms as though to embrace me. And though I’m not feeling especially huggy toward her at the moment, I do so anyway.

It may be my last.

It may give me the strength I need to get through this.

When my eyes meet Chay’s and he nods his encouragement, I square my shoulders, face the river, and wade in. Walking straight into the freezing cold water that soaks me in an instant, chilling my body to the verge of hypothermia in just a handful of seconds. Telling myself that if this is what it takes to kill Cade Richter, I’ll do it.

At first, I fight the current, insisting on going at my own pace, my own way. Though it’s not long before the effort exhausts me, forcing me to loosen my limbs and literally go with the flow. Clutching the buckskin pouch with one hand, I do what I can to keep my head above water as I’m carried downstream.

Fingers seeking the hard edge of the raven stone lurking inside, along with the spine of the feather, and the curve of Django’s bear. Teeth chattering, lips quivering, I press the pouch between my palms, fold my fingers in supplication, and say, “If there’s any good left in you, then please guide me through this. Please help me endure. Do not let me die. Not here. Not like this. Not before I get a chance to do what I was born to do.”

seventeen

Dace

I grind my jaw hard. Cringing as Leftfoot pours more of that foul-smelling liquid onto my wound. Stuff burns like I can hardly believe.

“I think you’ve covered it.” I push the words between gritted teeth. “Any more and I’ll think you’re just bent on torturing me.”

“How’d you get this?” He squints, focusing on threading the needle he’ll use to sew the gash closed.

“Had an unfortunate encounter with a crazy coyote.”

He pauses, studying me for a long moment, then he jabs the needle into my flesh. “Relax. The more you resist, the worse it gets. That goes for everything in life, by the way, not just stitches.”

I shake my head. Mutter a stream of curses under my breath. While it’s hardly the first time Leftfoot’s sewn me closed, this wound goes way deeper than most.

“I’m afraid it’s even worse than you think.” He weaves the needle and thread in and out of my skin.

I glare at the wound.
If that coyote was rabid, I’ll kill it too!

“No, not that.” Leftfoot yanks on the thread before tying a knot. “The Middleworld is also suffering the effects of Cade’s actions.”

Oh. That.

“Yesterday a flock of ravens dropped from the sky. By the time they hit the ground, they were dead. That’s the second time that’s happened.”

Ravens. Of course. How poetic.

Ravens equal Daire.

And dead Ravens equal Cade’s plan to steal Daire’s soul and leave her for dead—just like the prophetic dream that I had.

“And while it hasn’t snowed in Enchantment for many years, now it’s no longer snowing in the surrounding areas either. It’s cold enough to snow. It feels like snow. But for whatever reason, it’s not happening. Bad news for Angel Fire, Taos, and all the other ski resorts—but even worse news for us because we know what’s behind it.” He locks eyes with me. “And the one who’s in charge of saving us isn’t prepared for the job. Daire’s training was cut short when Paloma lost her soul. They’re just now picking up where they left off. But with Paloma’s magick gone, Daire will have to face this thing on her own. And I hate to say it, but she’s far from ready.” He reaches for a roll of gauze, winds it snugly around my arm.