Fated (35 page)

“You don’t know that!” I scowl, my voice snappy, edgy, though he barely reacts.

He moves closer, places a tentative hand on my shoulder. His gaze as sad as his voice when he says, “I agree that it’s strange—spirit animals aren’t supposed to die. From everything I’ve learned, this shouldn’t be happening. And yet there’s no doubt he’s fading. If he does die, I’m pretty sure his human attachment will die too—and if that happens, I fear for what will become of that human’s soul.”

I swallow hard, rising to my feet as I gaze all around, saying, “We can’t leave him here. If you’ll help me lift him, then we can…”

I bend forward, inch my fingers under the poor dying wolf that’s too weak to move, ignoring Dace’s warning when he says, “Daire, you can’t do that. It’ll only cause him to suffer even more than he is.”

I mutter under my breath, doing my best to heave the wolf into my arms. Struggling to keep my movements gentle and slow—I don’t want to hurt him or make him feel worse—still, the wolf is so much heavier than I expected.

“I have to get him back to Enchantment,” I say, my voice frantic, betraying the full depth of my anxiety. “Chay’s a vet—he can fix him. I’m sure of it. So please, either help me or move out of my way.”

Dace stands behind me torn between doing what he thinks is right and upsetting me further, he slips his arms under Wolf until they’re pressed close to mine. His face inches away, his breath warming my cheek, he glances between the poor dying animal and me, saying, “Daire, do you know whose spirit animal this is?”

Remembering how Paloma once stressed the importance of keeping one’s spirit animal a secret, I look to Raven for guidance. Shocked to find him lingering nearby, along with Dace’s Horse, Django’s Bear, my grandfather’s Jaguar, and a golden-eyed Eagle that reminds me so much of Chay’s ring, I figure it must belong to him—the sight of them gathered together making my eyes brim with tears.

It looks like the end, like a memorial of some kind—but it can’t be—not while Wolf is still alive.

“Do you know them?” Dace follows my gaze to the strange menagerie of animals. Watching the way they circle and pace, Jaguar and Bear growling and anxious.

“Yes.” I turn to him, trying not to give too much away. “They care about Wolf and his human attachment as much as I do.”

Dace looks at me, his eyes reflecting my sadness too many times.“Well that person is very lucky to have so many caring beings on their side,” he says, voice edged with regret when he adds, “but you still can’t move him.” He glances at Wolf, frowning when he sees his eyes are now shut as his head hangs limp on my chest. “If you try to bring him back, he’ll die. He’s too weak to survive the journey. Daire, I’m sorry, but if you insist on doing that, you’ll only succeed at putting them both at greater risk.”

“So, what am I supposed to do?” I ask, the words laced with anger, though it’s more at the situation than the messenger.

“Accept the natural progression,” he says, his voice soft and low.

“Not happening.” I shake my head. “There’s no way. Besides, you’re the one who said it was strange—that there’s nothing
natural
about this.”

He sighs, more out of sadness than frustration, saying, “Daire—is this about Paloma? Is she in some kind of trouble?”

I swallow hard, bury my face in the wolf’s coarse white fur, my tears turning it clumpy and damp.

Taking my silence as a yes, he says, “Okay, here’s what you do: You head back and find Leftfoot so you can tell him you found Paloma’s Wolf. You describe the location, Wolf’s condition, and tell him that I, along with Bear, Jaguar, Eagle, and Raven, are watching over him—and he
might
be able to help. But, Daire, you need to know, there’s no guarantee.”

“How do you know about Leftfoot?” I ask, wondering what else he might know about this strange new world I’m only just learning to navigate for myself.

“He’s my great-uncle. My grandpa Jolon’s brother. He’s the only one Chay would trust to look after Paloma, besides my mom. But Chepi doesn’t do healings anymore. Not since she got pregnant with Cade and me.”

I’m about to tell him that from what I saw earlier, Chepi’s come out of retirement, or at least temporarily. But before I can get to it, he says, “Paloma’s been good to my family. She’s been a huge support to my mom. We’ll get through this, okay? I promise to help in every way that I can.”

My throat is too tight to reply, so I nod my consent. Allowing him to lift me onto Horse, his hands strong and sure, as he says, “There are quicker ways to get where you need to go, but it’s best if you exit this place the same way you came. Horse will know where to take you, so no worries there.”

I reach for Horse’s mane, my gaze meeting Dace’s when he says, “Daire…”

I blink back the tears, swallow past the lump in my throat, seeing the full range of sentiment displayed in his gaze, all the things he longs to tell me—but instead he just says, “Good luck.”

Then he slaps Horse on the rear, and I ride like the wind.

forty-five

When I reach the reservation, I burst through the door of the small adobe, confronting Chay with a torrent of words so jumbled, he’s forced to put a hand on my shoulder and coax me into the nearest chair until I can calm down enough to start again.

“I found Paloma’s Wolf,” I tell him, my breath slowing as his eyes grow wide. “He’s in bad shape, but he’s being looked after by Dace, along with a couple other spirit animals, including your Eagle.”

At the sound of her son’s name, Chepi peeks around the corner, her gaze meeting mine, holding the look, until Chay summons Leftfoot into the room and tells me to repeat the same thing to him. After describing the location as well as I can, Leftfoot takes off, leaving specific instructions for his apprentice, Chay, and Chepi to look after Paloma, as I stand in her doorway, my heart plummeting when I see her looking so much smaller than before. Even in the dim, flickering glow of the candles placed all around her, she looks paler, weaker. Her breath coming too shallow, too slow, reduced to a horrible rattling sound that emanates from deep in her chest.

I drop beside her, enclose her hand in mine. My throat gone so lumpy and tight I can’t get to the words. My vision so frantic and blurry, the room swims before me.

“She was doing better. We were sure she’d made the turn, but then…” Chay looks at me, his eyes filled with sorrow. “I’m afraid she’s not long for this world.”

I shake my head. Refuse to believe it. Glaring at him when I say, “No. No! I won’t let her go. She can’t—not now—not when I’m just getting to know her! Leftfoot will fix her Wolf, and Paloma will be healed—you’ll see!”

He squeezes my shoulder, his voice saddened but even. “I’m sorry, Daire. But from what you said about Wolf’s condition, I’m afraid it won’t be much longer.”

His eyes meet mine, revealing the full depth of his loss, the truth behind his words, but I cannot—will not—accept it. “Why can’t they heal her? Why can’t she heal herself? Why can’t someone make some mystical medicine or something?” My eyes search the room, accusing everyone in it. The medicine man’s apprentice running a wildly spinning pendulum up and down Paloma’s body, pausing on each of her chakras, his brow creased as he turns on occasion and makes odd, little spitting sounds. Even Chepi, who sits in a corner, her eyes clamped shut, hands waving before her, as her lips move in silent communion. Each of them employing the same ritual I’ve seen Paloma work to help others—so why is it not helping her? Returning to Chay when I add, “She’s a healer. A Seeker. How could this happen? How’d she get sick in the first place?”

He takes a deep breath, nodding in a way that encourages me to slow down, calm down, and take a breath too. When my energy settles, he says, “Healers do all that they can to keep themselves strong, grounded, and well. Good health allows them to do what they do. But, once they fall ill, they’re forced to seek help just like anyone else. Leftfoot will tend to Wolf as best he can, but some things are not for us to decide. The toll of losing Django—of having to keep her powers going for much longer than normal—have come at a price. She’s suffered significant soul loss. I’m afraid there’s nothing more to do but let her transition into the next world as comfortably and easily as possible.”

I turn, my face scrunched in confusion.

“In the end, that’s what all illness amounts to,” he says. “A loss of power. A loss of the soul.”

Soul loss.

A loss of the soul.

The words ringing in my ears so loudly they’re almost deafening—as visions of long-dead Richters devouring glowing, white orbs blaze in my head.

“So—get her soul back!” I say, aware that I’m not making the slightest bit of sense.
Could one even do such a thing?

“I’m afraid it’s too late for a soul retrieval.” Chay looks at me, having already accepted what I’m dead set on refusing. “It is time. The signs are all present. So please say your good-byes so she’ll be free to move on.”

“No.” I glance between Chay and Paloma. Repeating, “No. Not yet. No way. This is no accident—the Richters have done this—Cade in particular.”

Chay looks at me, his narrowed gaze implying his surprise comes not from the sentiment so much as from hearing me voice it.

“How does one lose a soul?” I set my jaw and focus on him, needing to learn all that I can if I’ve any hope of saving my
abuela.
“And once it’s lost, how does one get it back?”

Chay fingers his ring, the eagle’s golden eyes glimmering as it twists back and forth. “A soul loss can occur in a number of ways. Some trade their power to malevolent beings in exchange for fame, fortune, even love. Sometimes it’s the result of trauma—death of a loved one, a violent event—something that leaves a person in a state so weakened they’ve lost their will to live, which inadvertently allows the soul to become vulnerable to those same malevolent beings who are eager to claim it. And in other cases…”

He looks at me, unsure if he should say it, but I nod for him to continue—sparing me from the truth won’t make it any less real.

“In other cases, the entire soul, or even bits of the soul, are taken outright—the result of being targeted by a very powerful sorcerer with ill intent. And I’m afraid once one is targeted, it’s nearly impossible to undo without the aid of an equally powerful Seeker or shaman—a Worker of Light.”

“Well, I’m a Seeker—so where do I start?”

My tone is frantic, my gaze all over the place. Nothing about me inspiring the least bit of confidence, so Chay can hardly be blamed when he says, “Soul Retrieval is very dangerous work. It requires one to journey to the place where the soul is being kept, then confronting the malevolent being that stole it, which often involves lengthy, extremely costly negotiations to get it back. Only the most gifted shamans and Seekers are able to do this—those with many years of experience.” He looks hard at me. “You’re nowhere near ready. I can’t let you risk it. Paloma would never allow it.”

At the sound of her name, my grandmother stirs. “Daire…” she whispers, prompting Leftfoot’s apprentice to move aside, as my grandmother, my
abuela,
strains to open her eyes.

“Sweet
nieta…”
She struggles to focus. Her voice so labored, so forced, the sound makes me shiver. “Do not worry for me. I’ve lived a good life. Focus on them. You must stop El Coyote, no matter the cost. I haven’t taught you everything, but I’ve taught you well. And now you must let me go,
nieta
—”

“No, Paloma—no, don’t say that! I can’t do it—not without you! I don’t even know where to start!”

My voice breaks, my eyes fill with tears, as I gaze upon my grandmother, her essence fading when she says, “You cannot, must not, save me. Do you understand? Today is the day,
nieta
. Please go—you must hurry…”

Her eyes already closing, shutting me out, as I turn to Chay and say, “What day is it?” Wondering just how long I spent in the Lowerworld with Dace.

“November second,
Día de los Muertos
,” he says, his hand reaching for my shoulder in an effort to comfort, but I’ve already slipped out of his reach, am already racing toward the door.

dark harvest

forty-six

I hop on Kachina and make for the Rabbit Hole. My horse racing down the road at full speed—her mane lifting, ears pinned, as the wind lashes hard at my cheeks.

I may not know what I’m doing—I may not be properly trained—I may have no idea how to stop the Richters from invading the Lowerworld—but Paloma’s counting on me to stop them, and I won’t let her down.

She always said I showed great promise, that someday I’ll surpass all of my ancestors … well, maybe that someday starts now.

I lean forward. Bury my face in Kachina’s neck. Focusing on the reassuring beat of her hooves meeting the dirt—a reminder that every stride brings us closer—when the sky cracks loudly overhead, releasing a blast of thunder so piercing the earth vibrates beneath us, causing me to cringe and squeeze the reins tighter, eager to get there before the rain starts to fall, not wanting to be caught out in the open in a New Mexico rainstorm.

The thunder rolls again, louder than before—the sound spooking Kachina enough for her to throw her head back and snort in distress—as I clench my legs tighter, fight to stay on her back, keep her on track. Murmuring softly into her neck, telling her there’s no need to worry, to hang in there, it will all be okay—when a massive bolt of lightning bursts from the sky, slams into the earth, and scorches a wide swath of dirt not far from her hooves.

The sky darkening, becoming increasingly ominous, as the wind blows surprisingly hot—and when I lift my head from Kachina’s neck and take a good look around, I’m horrified to see a flood of large black ravens plummeting down.

They plunge from the sky.

They drop all around.

Emitting horrible, high-pitched screeching sounds seconds before they smash to the ground. Their numbers so great, the sky appears to be vomiting massive chunks of black hail.