It hit me like a tidal wave.
For five hundred years . . . this is what the families have been waiting for. All their hopes and dreams were pinned on this event. They believed they were the just among the wicked of the outside world.
My heart felt heavy, my fingers, numb as I reached for my brother.
“Immortality,” I whispered.
“What the hell’s going on?” Rhys said through his teeth.
“They think Katia will make them immortal after the ritual. That’s what this is all about.”
A group of men pushed through the crowd, carrying a wood stretcher bearing what looked like a mummy, wrapped in a white sheet.
The mob silently followed the stretcher toward the boats lining the dam.
Rhys held me back. “We can make a run for it,” he said as he stared off into the corn. “They won’t come looking for us in there . . . they’re too scared.”
“Rhys . . .” I swallowed hard. I wanted to tell him about the corn, but I couldn’t make the words come out. “We’ll be safe here until Mom gets back.”
“Safe?” He grasped me tighter, his eyes welling up with fear. “Look around, Ash. This is a cult. That girl just died and no one batted an eye, and now they’re building her a freaking funeral pyre.”
Beth pried my brother’s hand off my arm. “It’s best if you come with me,” she said.
Rhys and I looked up to find the entire community staring at us.
“Your belongings are already on the boat.” She looked at me and I knew what she was trying to tell me. This wasn’t the time to cause a scene. They were watching us. If we had any chance of seeing our mother again, we were going to have to lie low a while longer.
My brother must’ve felt it, too, because he let Beth lead him toward the dam.
“Where are you taking us?” he asked as he walked stiffly through the crowd.
“Home,” Beth whispered.
Brennon was waiting for me by the dam. He scrunched what was left of the wreath onto my head and kissed my hand. “Till tomorrow.”
He got into a canoe with his family, and his mom waved at us, flashing a tight smile. I wiped the back of my hand against my dress. I don’t know what made me do it. The words . . . the ceremony . . . the dance . . . for some reason it all felt a little too real.
Rhys and I stood perfectly still as they carried the stretcher past us to the lake and placed it in the water. It was some kind of raft.
The other families climbed into the boats lining the dam. Beth helped us into a battered canoe painted with bright yellow daisies. In one fluid movement, she settled herself into the hull, pulling the paddle from the bottom of the boat to row us “home.”
As the fifty or so boats traveled together across the lake, a young girl’s voice rose above the rhythmic strokes of the oars pushing through the water. She sang a hymn I didn’t recognize—a song of lost love, sacrifice, and redemption. I was glad the others didn’t join in. Her lone angelic voice was perfect in that moment—hauntingly beautiful.
At the darkest point, in the center of the lake, they set Betsy’s body adrift. Spencer threw a lit torch onto the raft; her body was swiftly engulfed in flames.
We sat there for what seemed like an eternity, watching her body burn. The orange flames stood out with perverse clarity against the midnight sky.
17
SPIRIT
AS THE CHARRED REMAINS sank beneath the surface, the boats began to split off—some to the east, toward the Mendoza lodge; some to the west, toward the Hanratty and Grimsby lodges—ours was the only boat that headed due south, toward a tiny speck of light at the tip of the lake. The Larkin lodge.
“Believe me . . . I’m not complaining”—Rhys let out a shaky breath as he scanned the lake—“but why are we the only canoe headed this way? Where are the other Larkins?”
“You’re all that’s left,” Beth said, her warm brown eyes gleaming as she continued to row, slow and steady.
My brother’s spine stiffened. “What happened to them?”
“Coronado,” she replied as she looked skyward. “He took them.”
“Killed them?” My brother rubbed his arms, like he was trying to warm himself up.
“No one knows,” she said serenely. “But it feels like I should know . . . like the answer’s right on the tip of my tongue.” She stopped rowing, closed her eyes, and stuck her tongue out.
Rhys shot me a look—
“Nope. Nothing.” She shrugged and continued rowing.
Something stirred in the water, sending dark ripples across the glassy surface.
“What was that?” my brother whispered.
“It’s the week of the summer solstice,” Beth replied.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his eyes darting over the water.
“Some say the land is haunted by the spirits who died here. They say the lake was made from the tears of the Great Spirit.”
“Perfect.” Rhys clutched the sides of the boat.
“Is this where Katia and Coronado met Aiyana?” I asked.