Echo Soul Seekers

three

Paloma moves about her warm cozy kitchen, pulling her tattered, sky-blue cardigan snugly around one of the crisply ironed housedresses she favors, not the least bit surprised by my sudden return.

With her large brown eyes shining and bright, and her long dark braid with its smattering of silver curving down her back, she seems as normal as ever. Though a closer look reveals movements that are slower—less nimble, more labored. Especially compared to the unmistakable aura of determination and strength she projected the night I first appeared on her doorstep just a few months earlier. Not long after my breakdown in that Moroccan square.

Back when I was haunted by terrifying hallucinations of glowing people and crows—staring down a future in a padded white room.

Paloma saved me. Rescued me from that horrible fate. Only to startle me with a truth so strange I did my best to escape it.

Though, as it turns out, she knew what the doctors didn’t.

I wasn’t crazy.

Wasn’t haunted by delusions.

The crows—the glowing ones—they’re all real. I was hardly the first to undergo the experience. Every Seeker gets the calling—it was simply my turn.

It’s the Santos family legacy. The birthright passed from parent to firstborn child for too many generations to count. For the first sixteen years it lies dormant—but once it emerges, the whole world is flipped upside down. And while it’s tempting to run, it’s better to accept that destiny is not always a choice. For those who try to deny it—it never ends well.

My father, Django, is the perfect example.

His tragic, premature death made Paloma even more determined to save me.

As the last in line, I’m the only one who stands a chance at stopping the Richters. But with my training cut short due to Paloma’s recent illness, I’m hardly up for the task.

I watch as she rises onto her toes, her arm straining to retrieve two mugs from the cupboard overhead. Her limbs appearing stilted, stiff. As though the joints need to be oiled and greased in order to move easily again. The sight serving as a bitter reminder of her recent soul loss that claimed all of her magick and nearly her life—one of the many reasons I need to find Cade and his undead ancestors before things continue to deteriorate.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Filling my head with competing scents of spiced herbal tea, the sugar-free ginger cookies left to cool on the stovetop, and the smoky allure of the vertically stacked mesquite logs burning in the corner kiva fireplace. Their melodic crackle and pop providing an ironically soothing soundtrack for the bad news to come.

“Nieta.” She places a steaming mug of tea before me and claims the opposite seat.

I warm my hands on either side of the mug and blow a few times before venturing a first sip. Then I look at my grandmother and say, “Still no sign of them.”

She nods, doing her best to keep her expression stoic, unchanged.

“Actually, that’s not entirely true…” My voice drifts along with my gaze. Assuring myself I can do this. I have to do this. At the very least, I owe her the truth. I clear my throat and start again. “What I mean is, while we haven’t been able to find them, there are definitely signs of their presence…” I describe the deluge of dead fish we found in the Enchanted Spring (strategically omitting the bit about why we were there in the first place), but other than fussing with the sleeves of her sweater, she continues to sit quietly, giving nothing away. “And there’s absolutely no sign of Cade. He’s been absent from school—the Rabbit Hole too. No one’s seen him, and I’m no longer sure what to do, where to look.”

My eyes search Paloma’s, seeking guidance, answers, something. But she merely nods in reply, urging me to finish my tea and enjoy one of her delicious ginger cookies before she pushes away from the table and leads me to my room, where she perches at the edge of my bed and instructs me to open the beautiful, hand-painted trunk she left for me the night she fell ill.

I unlatch the lock and peer at the contents. My heart racing in anticipation of whatever bit of magick she’s willing to share. It’s been weeks since she taught me to crawl with the lizards and soar with the birds—merging my energy with theirs until I’d claimed their experience for my own. And the truth is, I’ve missed our lessons. Missed our talks and the time we spent together.

Other than cooking my meals and looking after me (despite my protests that there’s really no need, that thanks to my mom and my nomadic existence, I’ve been looking after myself since I was a kid), the last few weeks she’s spent mostly resting. And despite Leftfoot’s assurances that she’d soon recover, up until now, I had no good reason to believe him.

Paloma’s willingness to resume my training as a Seeker is the first solid sign that she might really be on the mend. And while there’s no doubt things will never return to the way they once were, there’s no reason we can’t move forward from where we are now.

“The blanket.” She gestures toward the intricate handwoven blanket folded tightly at the bottom. “Spread it out before you, and place each object upon it.”

I do as she says. Pairing the black-and-white hand-painted rawhide rattle with the drum bearing a picture of a purple-eyed raven. Then I start a new row reserved for the feathers. Each of them bearing a tag identifying their individual uses—the swan feather for transformative powers, a raven feather for magickal powers, and an eagle feather for sending prayers. And just below that, I place the pendulum with the small chunk of amethyst attached to its end. The trunk now emptied of everything but the crisp, white note from Paloma, her careful script promising to one day show me the magick that lives inside all of these tools—a day I was beginning to fear wouldn’t come.

I lift the long black feather and wave it before me. Thinking it looks a lot like the one I wear in my pouch—only bigger—much bigger.

“As your spirit animal, Raven is always prepared to guide you. Have you called on him, nieta?”

“All the time.” I shrug, my voice as glum as my face. “But lately it seems like he does way more following than guiding. He just sits on Horse’s neck, like he’s merely in it for the ride, while Dace and I wander around, pretty much aimlessly.”

“And Horse?” Her spine straightens as her eyes narrow on mine.

“Same thing. If Dace didn’t push him, he’d spend all his time grazing. It’s like, the more we need them, the lazier they get, until they just barely cooperate. It seems to get worse every day.”

Paloma’s face pales, as her eyes flash in alarm. The effect lasting only a moment before she’s back to her usual calm, serene self—determined to hide the worries that plague her.

But now that I’ve seen it, I’ve no intention of letting it pass. If Paloma’s ready to resume my training, then she needs to be honest and stop with the secret keeping. If it’s true what she says, that as a Seeker I’m the only hope left, then sheltering me from the facts will only end up endangering everyone else.

“Paloma,” I say in a voice filled with urgency. “I need you to be straight with me. I need you to tell me the truth no matter how ugly. When you told me that a Seeker must learn to see in the dark, relying on what she knows in her heart—I assumed you were speaking metaphorically. But lately I’m starting to feel like Dace and I really are just floundering around in the dark, and it would help us a lot if you could shed a little light. Truly, abuela, I’m ready. There’s no need to protect me.”

She lifts her chin and takes a deep breath. Her delicate fingers smoothing the creases of her crisp cotton dress. “From what you say, it seems Raven has been corrupted. Horse too. And while they’re not yet working against you, they’re not quite working for you either. All of which means we’ll have to rely on other sources for knowledge and guidance until we can evict those Richters from the Lowerworld and return the balance to normal.” She sighs softly, shaking her head as she adds, “I was afraid this might happen. And trust me, nieta, the dead fish are just the beginning. If we don’t stop them soon, it won’t be long before the effects are felt in the Middle- and Upperworlds too. Each world is dependent upon the other. When one is corrupted, the others fall into chaos, which is precisely what Cade wants. When the spirit animals are no longer able to guide and protect us, it will allow him free rein to rule as he pleases.”

My fingers instinctively reach for the soft buckskin pouch I wear at my neck. Seeking the shape of the small stone raven, and the black raven feather that marked the beginning and end of my vision quest. Objects I once considered sacred, the main source of my power, but now I’m no longer sure. Like my guide, Raven, have they been corrupted too?

“Should I not wear this anymore?” I ask, surprised by the panic that creeps into my voice. I’ve grown so accustomed to wearing the pouch that I can’t bear the thought of being without it.

Paloma motions toward the blanket. “Why don’t we consult the pendulum?” She joins me on the floor. The two of us sitting side by side with our legs crossed, knees nearly touching, as I dangle the pendulum by the tip of my finger until it stills on its own. “The pendulum serves as a very powerful divination tool. But don’t be fooled, nieta. While it’s easy to think of it as magick, the answers it provides come from a place deep inside you.”

I squint, not sure I understood.

“The pendulum simply tunes in to your own higher consciousness and retrieves the answers you already know but that you may not have immediate access to.”

“So, you’re saying it sees through the dark to find what I already know in my heart?”

“Exactly.” She meets my grin with one of her own, the soft laugh that follows instantly brightening the room. “Oftentimes, we get so bogged down in choices and indecision that we can no longer access the truth that lives within us. That’s where the pendulum comes in. It helps you break through the clutter to get to the heart of the matter.”

“So, how do we start?” I stare at the crystal, eager to get going on the long list of questions crowding my head.

“First, I want you to close your eyes and imagine yourself surrounded by light.”

I stay as I am, lips screwed to the side, doubting the validity of that.

“Whenever you engage in any sort of divining activity, even if you are merely divining the answers within you, you need to protect yourself.”

“Protect myself from what exactly?” I frown, unsure where she’s going with this.

“From dark entities. Lower spirit forms.” She locks eyes with me. “You may not see them, but they’re always lurking, ever-present. They can be found in every dimension of the Middleworld, and they thrive off the energy of others. Which is why you must always take great care to guard against them, and never allow them the chance to latch onto you. They are tricksters. They are capable of causing great harm and will use any opening you give them. So let’s not give them one, okay?”

That’s all I need to snap my eyes shut and envision myself surrounded by a brilliant white nimbus of light.

“Good.” Her voice is soft, pleased. “Now we need to determine which direction indicates a no answer, and which way indicates a yes. So, we’ll start by posing a few simple questions, ones in which we already know the answer, and see how it responds.”

I lower my gaze, staring intently at the small amethyst stone that’s carved into a point at its tip. Trying to keep my voice serious, I say, “Is my name Daire Lyons-Santos?” Watching in amazement as the pendulum begins to sway on its own. At first moving in a slow back-and-forth motion, though it’s not long before it begins to form a clockwise circle, despite the fact that my fingers haven’t moved.

“I think it’s safe to assume that clockwise means yes.” I glance at Paloma who nods in agreement.

“The pendulum should slow on its own, and once it does, you may bring it to a complete stop before venturing a question that you know will result in a no response.”

I focus on the pendulum. So caught up in the excitement of training with Paloma again—of accessing the magick that lies at my fingertips—I decide to ask it a question that will not only result in a resounding no but that already has me laughing when I say, “Pendulum, tell me—am I in love with Cade Richter?”

I press my lips together, trying to keep from grinning, but it’s no use. It’s too ridiculous to contemplate. Besides, Paloma told me to ask a question that will result in an unequivocal no, and the question of me loving Cade definitely fits.

I stare at the pendulum, my mirth quickly turning to confusion when it starts to swing clockwise again. First looping slowly, then swiftly picking up the pace, until that amethyst stone is whirling at a dizzying speed.

Desperate to stop it, I grasp it hard in my palm. Squeezing so hard, its sharp, pointy tip slices the pad of my finger, eliciting a thin stream of blood. “Clearly it’s not working,” I say, my voice lacking the confidence of my words. “Either that, or it has no sense of humor and it’s out to teach me a lesson—”

My rant interrupted by Paloma saying, “The pendulum has only one purpose—to reveal the truth that lives inside you. That is all, nieta.”

I frown, not one bit amused.

“You must never forget that Dace and Cade are a split soul, which makes them two halves of a whole.” Her voice is as gentle as the hand she’s placed on my knee.

“Yeah, two very different halves,” I snap, the words as sharp and bitter as I currently feel. “Dace is good—Cade is evil. Dace I…” I pause, not quite ready to admit to the L word just yet, even though Paloma’s the one who told me we were destined for each other. Starting again when I say, “Dace I care deeply about—Cade I hate.”

I drop the pendulum onto the blanket, and wipe my finger down the leg of my jeans, leaving a light trail of red. Then I reach for the row of feathers, choosing the eagle, the one for sending prayers, eager to move on with the lesson.

“So, how does this work?” I wave it before me. Wanting to move past the pendulum debacle and staring in dismay when Paloma takes it from me and forces the pendulum back in my hand.

“You must try again, nieta. Ask another question this time—one that will definitely result in a no.

“I already did! What’s the point?” I cry, instantly regretting the harsh tone—but, seriously, what is she getting at? “Trust me when I say that me loving Cade is about as ridiculous as it gets. It’s revolting. Grotesque. Completely unfathomable. It’s what nightmares are made of. It’s my own personal version of hell. It’s the definition of no!”

I shake my head and scowl. Muttering a stream of angry words under my breath as Paloma sits patiently beside me, waiting for me to get back to the task. But there’s no way. I’m too tightly wound. Too inflamed by her reaction—choosing to believe some stupid pendulum over what I know to be true.

We sit like that for a while—Paloma in silence, me an angry, fuming wreck. And then it hits me—she’s holding something back.

“What are you not telling me?” I eye her with suspicion. “What’s going on here—what’s this really about?”

I rise to my feet, knees shaking so badly I fight to regain my balance. “Tell me!” I insist, the words hissed between clenched teeth. “Just say it, whatever it is. Because I promise you, whatever I’m thinking is way worse than the truth could ever reveal itself to be.”

She reaches for my hand, grasping it tightly in hers and pulling me back down beside her. “No, nieta,” she says, her voice so troubled it only makes me feel worse. “If I’ve learned nothing else, it’s that here in Enchantment, the truth is often far worse than anything the mind is able to conjure.”