Echo Soul Seekers

fifteen

Dace

The last person I expect to see when I enter my mom’s house is Leftfoot. Yet, there he is, sitting at her kitchen table, hunched over a steaming mug of freshly brewed piñon coffee. Caught in midconversation when he says, “… simply vanished. But we know that’s not true.”

He shoots Chepi a meaningful look, as her face goes grim in a way I don’t often see. The two of them so lost in thought, it’s a moment before they notice me.

“Dace!” My mother leaps to her feet, her expression arranging to one I can’t read. Is it guilt—surprise—reproach? Before I can decide, she’s rushing toward me, folding me into her arms and brushing a hand over my hair.

I return the hug. Clutch her tightly to me, then gently pry myself free. My gaze darting between them, I say, “I need answers.”

“Why aren’t you at school?” Chepi’s large brown eyes narrow on mine. Attempting to deflect a conversation she’d prefer not to have. “Winter Break starts next week.”

“Mother, please.” My voice is as strained as the expression I wear on my face as I claim the empty chair between them, unwilling to play this particular game. “It’s time you leveled with me and told me the truth.”

Leftfoot mumbles something about needing to leave. But before he can get very far, I say, “As it happens, I need you here too.”

He locks eyes with me and returns to his seat. Directing his words to my mother, he says, “Chepi, it’s time. You can’t avoid this day forever.”

Chepi kneads the table with hands calloused from years of jewelry making—the turquoise and silver pieces once coveted by galleries and tourists alike. But over the last decade, the galleries have all closed, and Enchantment has fallen way off the tourist path. Forcing her to make frequent trips to Santa Fe, where she hawks her wares in the plaza, trying to keep us afloat.

“I know what happened to you on the Day of the Dead,” I begin, hoping to spare her from reliving that hell. “I know what Leandro did. I know what I am, what Cade is, and how we were made. I know you were not at all responsible for what happened to you. I know how hard it must’ve been for you to look at me for the last sixteen years—”

“No!” Her hand finds mine, squeezing with surprising force when she says, “Don’t you believe it—it’s not at all true!”

I free myself from her grip, rock my chair back until it’s balanced on two legs. An act that always resulted in a disapproving look followed by a verbal reprimand when I was a child but goes unnoticed today.

“You are my son. I have never once regretted bearing you. You were destined to come to me.” Her fingers twist nervously.

Destined. Yes. I study my hands, deciding what to say next.

My thoughts interrupted by Leftfoot saying, “Dace, I’m sorry. There were many times I wanted to tell you, but—”

“But I wouldn’t permit it,” Chepi breaks in. “I thought that by ignoring it, I could avoid it. Stupid, I know.” She shakes her head. “But when I saw you with the girl—”

“Daire. The girl’s name is Daire.” My gut twists in anguish when a vision of her blooms in my head.

“Yes.” Chepi nods. “When I saw you with her, I knew it wouldn’t be long before the truth was revealed. Still, even then, there never seemed a good time to tell you. Though please know that I never set out to lie to you or deceive you. I only wanted to protect you from the kind of regretful thoughts you’re now having.”

My gaze meets my mother’s, and just like that, all the anger I’d cultivated during the course of a long torturous night dissolves as though it never existed. She’s suffered more than any person rightfully should. There’s no reason to rebuke her for hoarding her secrets. No reason to drag her any deeper into this than I already have.

Though when I try to tell her as much, insisting Leftfoot and I can take it from here, a long dormant strength rises to the surface. “You deserve an explanation,” Chepi says. “You deserve to know the truth.”

I steal a moment to steady myself. Despite barging in and insisting on this, I need time to prepare.

She stares at the opposite wall as though the memory is imprinted upon it. Her shoulders sinking, posture softening, as the corner of her lip lifts ever so slightly—in such contrast to the hardened jaw and clenched fists I would’ve expected.

“I was so very young then.” Her voice lilts with fondness as a rueful smile lifts her cheeks, recalling an irretrievable version of herself. “Jolon—my father, your grandfather—fussed over me, coddled me, and protected me in ways I didn’t even realize until he was gone.”

“He spoiled you rotten,” Leftfoot pipes in, inserting a welcome moment of levity into a story soon to grow dark.

Their eyes meet as though balancing the memory between them. The moment broken when Chepi tugs on her sleeves and returns to me. “I’d just turned sixteen. Though by today’s standards, I was a very young and innocent sixteen. Believe me when I say I didn’t possess even a trace of the worldliness of your generation. While I used to blame my naivete for what happened to me—Leftfoot was finally able to convince me it didn’t matter either way. I was no match for Leandro. He was determined. I was his pawn. It’s as simple as that.”

My gaze drifts to Leftfoot, and I’m once again reminded of his selflessness—how quickly he stepped in to fill the fatherless void in our lives.

“There was a lot of excitement that day,” she continues. “The entire reservation was abuzz with activity. But I was especially excited because Jolon had promised to take me to the Lowerworld so I could meet my spirit animal.” Her eyes glitter with memory. “Although I’d always known I was guided by Hummingbird, I’d never made the journey to meet him face-to-face. I was so excited—I felt so grown-up, like I’d finally arrived as a full-fledged initiate. I’d always been fascinated by the mystical arts—I’d apprenticed with Jolon since I was a very young girl. But once I’d turned sixteen he agreed to step up my training. He was convinced I carried his gift. It was assumed I’d take over one day…”

She falls quiet, the tips of her fingers reading the table’s wood grain, readying herself for whatever comes next. The sight of her prompting me to reach for her hand and cover it with my own, hoping it would provide the needed strength to continue.

“We’d planned to get an early start, but as was often the case with Jolon, we were soon delayed when a neighbor fell ill and needed his attention. Normally, I would’ve gone along to assist, but I was too excited, my energy too scattered to be of any use. So I hopped on my horse, an old mare named Lucky I was fiercely devoted to, and set out for the grove of twisted juniper trees, planning to wait for him there. On the way, I ran into Daniel—a shaggy-haired, brown-eyed boy I’d harbored a secret crush on. Or at least I’d thought it was secret; apparently I hadn’t hidden it well.” Her eyes flash, her face grows resigned, and she heaves a weary sigh. “At any rate, Daniel offered to join me, but first he had something exciting he wanted me to see. It wouldn’t take long, he claimed, promising I’d be back at the vortex before Jolon ever guessed I’d been gone. He was so persuasive and I was so willing, that’s all it took for me to agree. It was only later, when I found myself bound and gagged, that he revealed his true face. Turns out it wasn’t Daniel I’d followed—it was Leandro Richter. He’d tricked me. Manipulated me by altering my perception and showing me what I most wanted to see. He held me captive for hours—aided by bleak and shadowy figures he conjured from the ether. Together they worked terrible black magick rituals that left me battered, beaten, and drifting in and out of consciousness. Until morning’s first light when he tossed my unconscious body over Lucky’s back and sent me home for Jolon to find me. A few hours later, Jolon was dead.”

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.