Echo Soul Seekers

nineteen

Dace

After a tedious amount of nature hugging, blending, and merging, Leftfoot finally gets to the juice, saying, “Your twin is a skinwalker.”

My first reaction is to freeze. It’s instinctive, something I couldn’t stop if I tried. My eyes darting frantically, on the lookout for anyone close enough to overhear, but of course it’s just us. Though I still don’t breathe any easier.

One of the first things I learned as a kid was that giving your attention to something by talking about it, or obsessively thinking about it, helps make it real by delivering it right to your door whether you wanted it or not. And it works for the bad things just as well as the good.

Because of it, I was steered away from unsavory topics—and the topic of skinwalkers counts among the most unsavory of all.

It’s serious stuff, skinwalkers. Seriously scary stuff. If you’re going to bring it up, you better have a good reason lest you draw the attention of one, which you’ll live to regret.

If you’re lucky enough to live, that is.

But, according to Leftfoot, I’ve already drawn the attention of one, who, as it just so happens, is also my twin.

I focus my attention on the old medicine man before me. In the fading afternoon sun, his hair glints like tinfoil. His hooded gaze deepening, he says, “Or rather I should say he’s more like a hybrid of one. I doubt he completed the ritual. Not only because he lacks the patience for such a thing but also because it involves killing a relative—the usual price of admission for one’s introduction to the black arts. And since Leandro is unwilling to spare even the dimmest Richter, it’s my guess Cade isn’t a full skinwalker yet. With a soul as dark as Cade’s, the mere act of getting riled up, either by becoming very angry or very excited about something, is enough to result in a complete transformation of self.”

I stare into the distance, needing a moment to examine his words. While I’ve no doubt what he’s saying is true, the question remains—can I do it too?

“I’ve seen it.” I switch my gaze to meet his. “Both in dreams and real life.”

“As have I.” Fielding my look of surprise, he says, “I’ve seen a lot of things in the sweat lodge, as will you. But first things first.”

I look at him, feeling jacked up, ready for anything he’s willing to teach.

“I’m going to share something with you that’s long been forbidden. Something my brother, Jolon, taught me, that no one taught him. He just sort of gleaned it, as only Jolon could. He was very powerful that way.” Leftfoot’s eyes cloud with memory before returning to me. “I’m going to teach you to soul jump. How to immerse yourself in another person’s essence by merging with their energy in order to share their experience. You will see what they see, hear what they think. And for the few who master the skill, they find they’re able to wield great influence over those very same things.”

Despite my eagerness to learn, I balk at his words. Standing before him in gaping-mouthed silence until I pull it together enough to say, “You’re joking, right? How’s that even possible?”

“Oh, it’s possible.” Leftfoot’s expression and voice remain level and sure. “Much like you merged your energy a few moments ago with the birds and the snakes to share their experience—you will now learn to do the same thing with a human.”

My eyes slide shut as I try to imagine it. Imagine myself making a soul jump into Cade.

What would it be like to to peer into that dark and hollow core and learn the secrets of his nature—go in search of his weak spots?

This is exactly the kind of thing I was hoping for.

It’s a game changer, for sure.

If I can just get inside, get a peek at whatever darkness lurks there, I’ll know exactly how to exploit it when it’s time. Maybe I’ll even claim a piece of it for my own. If my love for Daire strengthens him—then surely it can work the opposite way? Surely I can armor myself with his malevolence?

I focus on Leftfoot, eager to get started. Sure this’ll prove to be far more useful than soaring over the landscape via that red-tailed hawk, despite how exhilarating that was.

“There is one caveat…” His eyes narrow on mine. “You must never teach another person what you’ve learned—not even Daire.” He pauses long enough for me to agree, before he continues. “And you must never abuse the gift. Ever. I can’t stress this enough. You use this gift if, and only if, you find that you must. You must first exhaust all other options. It is meant to be a last resort. The rest of the time you’re to keep the knowledge locked safely inside. And you must vow to carry it to your grave. Even Chepi and Paloma have no idea that I know how to do this. As I’ve already said, it’s been forbidden for years.”

“I won’t tell anyone.” I’m quick to agree. “I swear.” The vow sounding a bit too eager even too my ears, which is probably why Leftfoot shoots me a look that tells me he remains unconvinced.

“There’s more.” His brow droops low as his gaze travels a very long distance. “Something I hope will illustrate the seriousness of all this…”

I wait for him to spill it, but really I just want to get started.

“Leandro didn’t kill Jolon.”

I stare hard at Leftfoot, shocked by his words.

“That story is a disservice to Jolon. Though I’ve never tried to defend him because the truth is much worse.”

He turns toward the Sangre de Cristo mountain range, grimacing when he takes in the lack of snow at the cap, or maybe he’s grimacing at what he’s about to say next. It’s hard to tell with Leftfoot.

“The truth is, Jolon’s defenses were much too strong for Leandro to penetrate, and Leandro was at least smart enough to know that. When Chepi arrived home that day, battered and bruised, Jolon decided to use the forbidden art we merely toyed with as kids to enter Leandro’s experience. Remaining there long enough to view the contents of his wretched, debauched life—including the horrible acts he performed on Chepi. He thought he could handle it, and, at the time, Jolon was so strong I would’ve bet on it too. But the events Jolon witnessed were so horrific they weakened him in a way he never imagined. He died shortly after making the soul jump. So while the essence of the oft-repeated story is the same—that Jolon died from a broken heart over the things he witnessed—the truth is that Leandro didn’t force Jolon to witness it. He didn’t alter Jolon’s perception like they claim. Jolon chose to make the jump. He chose to witness the dregs of Leandro’s dark soul. And what he saw cost him his life.”

I stand before him, suitably sobered by the tale.

“All magick comes with a price. You must never forget that.”

I work my jaw, curl my fingers to fists, and nod like I mean it. I do mean it.

“Okay,” Leftfoot says, finally convinced. “Here’s how you do it…”