No matter how much I plead—no matter how much I beg, cry, and demand for it to stop—my cries fall on deaf ears. The boy’s disappeared, and those who remain, willfully choose to ignore me.
And it’s not long before I’m gone. My body reduced to small shredded crumbs that litter the floor. My life force fading, dissipating—as a river of blood seeps into the ground, blending with the dirt—becoming one with the mountain.
My energy mixing with the earth’s until whatever’s left of me—my soul, my spirit, my essence—is rewarded with the mountain’s sacred song:
I am constant and strong
Eternal—everlasting
A provider of shelter and solace
Strength and perspective
Look to me when you’re lost—and I’ll give you direction
The words continuing to swirl all about me, though it’s too late to do any good.
I am nothing more than a small wisp of energy.
To the eyes of the world, I am already dead.
twenty-two
A soft, insistent tickle brushes my nose—tapping lightly against the tip, forcing me to chase it down over my lips, well past my chin, until I grasp it at the base of my neck, pop an eye open, and peer into a hard slant of light at the single black feather—a raven’s feather—I hold in my hand.
Knowing instinctively it came from my Raven—the one who ripped me to shreds—I spring to my feet, my gaze darting, heart racing, as memories of my horrible dismemberment blaze in my head.
I went through a war.
Fought a battle I was sure I had lost.
Yet the only thing out of place, the only thing that wasn’t here from the start, is this single black feather—carried by the wind that raged in this cave.
My leg’s fully healed—my cast nowhere to be seen.
While the grainy white border is left untouched, intact, and my small black bag is propped neatly in the corner just as I left it. And the place near the center, where the spirit animals plucked out my heart and tore off my limbs, remains undisturbed.
No blood.
No shredded bits of tissue and flesh.
Not even so much as a bone scrap.
No sign of anything out of the ordinary, and yet there’s no doubt in my mind that it happened. All of it. I’m absolutely certain of it.
I’m reborn.
Renewed.
Having fused my energy with the energy of the earth, I’ve been resurrected with a surge of power the likes of which I’ve never known—never could’ve imagined.
My fellow Seekers—my fellow Santoses—my family—allowed me to be ripped apart so I could be rebuilt. And because of it, I am now bigger, better, and stronger than I ever thought possible.
I have earned their approval, their trust.
I have earned the right to carry their name.
And with the mountain’s song still fresh in my mind, I know it has accepted me as well. My time in this cave has come to an end. It is time to move on.
I riffle through my bag, find a stub of chalk, and add the name Santos right beside Daire. And then, in the space above that, I add Django Santos, taking a moment to include a sketch of Bear—the spirit animal he never had a chance to acknowledge as his.
My father may have failed to heed his calling, but his spirit lives on, and he helped me heed mine. I couldn’t have survived it without him.
I run a hand over my hair, surprised to find that my braid is more or less intact, but since I’ve been here for days, I’m pretty sure my scalp’s a greasy mess. And with no immediate way to remedy that, I cover my hair with the red bandanna Paloma packed. Knotting it tightly at the back of my head, wondering if that was its intended purpose when she saw fit to add it.
Then, after tossing my bag over my shoulder and stuffing the raven feather into my pouch, knowing it’s another talisman, a gift from the wind I should never be without—I head for the grainy white border. Having no way of knowing if the boy really did stand just outside of it or if the scene only played in my head—but dropping the thought just as quickly. All that really matters is that I got what I came for—I survived my vision quest. The rest is just details.
I pause for a moment, long enough to take one last look at the cave, knowing I’ll never come here again—then I step out of the dark and into the light, ready to face whatever comes next.
twenty-three
I head down the same way I came, and when I reach the bottom, I’m not the least bit surprised to find Kachina saddled and waiting for me.
Though I am surprised to find I don’t rush to get back like I thought I would.
Instead, I take it slow. Take my time. Wanting to linger, to hold onto the experience, the magick of the mountain, for as long as I can. Stopping every now and then to let Kachina graze for a bit and drink from a cool, rushing stream—while I wander through a grove of cottonwood, juniper, and piñon trees, communing with a variety of birds who introduce themselves as purple martins and red-tailed hawks. Eagerly testing the new powers I’ve gained—increasingly amazed at the magick I hold.
When I come across a mesquite tree swarming with bees, instead of avoiding it like I usually would, I stand directly beneath it. Humming the mountain’s song under my breath as I shake the two lowest branches, causing an army of agitated bees to swarm all about me, though not a single one of them so much as stings.
Then later, when I come across a nest of scorpions, I kick off my shoes and step in the middle. Humming the tune the mountain revealed, and not the least bit surprised when the scorpions choose to ignore me.
And though I have no idea how to get back to Paloma’s, Kachina and I now share a bond like never before. We have an innate understanding of each other. We’ve discovered a new way to communicate—and because of it, I’ve no doubt she’ll lead me wherever it is I most need to be.
We continue the journey—Kachina carefully picking her way through the woods, as I remain in deep communion with all that surrounds me. The plants, the streams, the mountains, the wind—all of it brimming with energy—eagerly revealing their secrets.
Paloma was right. Everything really is thrumming, illuminated, alive. And now that I’ve discovered the truth, now that I’m merged with its power and energy, I can’t imagine how I ever existed without it.
I cluck my tongue against the roof of my mouth and press my heel to Kachina’s side. Urging her to go faster, and then faster still, until she’s galloping down the trail with her mane lifting, ears pinned, tail swooshing behind her, as her hooves beat hard against the ground. I close my eyes, let go of the reins, and fold my hands around my buckskin pouch, allowing my body to rise and fall as I part my lips wide and sing the mountainsong at the top of my lungs.
And, as it turns out, even the wind has a song to reveal:
I am cloudy and clear
Stormy and bright
I am the chaos and silence that lives in your mind
I watch over all with unfailing vision
Look to me when you face indecision
With my horse charging beneath me, my vision quest behind me, the elements singing in harmony—I’ve never felt so free, so empowered, so alive. One song fading into the next as my voice continues to rise—until Kachina veers a sharp right, causing her to tilt in a way I didn’t expect.
I lose my balance. Land on the saddle all wrong. Blinking, fumbling, and flailing for the horn, the reins, her mane—searching for something that’ll help me right myself again.
She skids to a stop, rises on her hind legs, and snorts in protest, as her front legs kick before her. And I’m so preoccupied with fighting to stay on her back, it’s a moment before I see what caused her to spook in the first place:
A shiny, black, fully loaded, four-wheel-drive pickup truck crowded with teens.
The girls laugh—a horrible, howling, snickering sound. While the boys all stare—wide-eyed and uncertain, having no idea what to make of me.
I yank hard on the reins—try to maneuver ar
ound. Having just cleared the bed of the truck, when the driver jumps out, moves right before me, and lifts his dark glasses onto his forehead.
“You okay?” His icy-blue gaze lands on mine, though just like the dreams, it fails to reflect.
I swallow. Try to steer around him. But it’s no use. He just mimics my moves. Everywhere I go, he appears right before me, frustrating me to the point where I shout, “Go away!” Practically spitting the words, seeing no need for fake courtesies.
“I’ll get out of your way when I’m sure you’re okay,” he says, going for Kachina’s bridle, but she’s on my side, which means she rears her head back and slips from his grasp. “Your horse had quite a scare, and I’m afraid it’s my fault. I probably shouldn’t have parked on the trail like I did. You okay?” He arranges his face into a mask of concern.
I huff under my breath and avert my gaze. Refusing to answer, to engage any more than I have.
“Hey, come on, now. Throw me a bone, will ya? A simple yes or no will do. I can’t help being concerned about you.” He grins, not at all daunted by my unwillingness to play. “Every time I see you, you’re in some kind of trouble, and I have to confess—I find the whole damsel-in-distress thing completely irresistible. I blame it on Disney movies and fairy tales, what’s your take?”
I frown, eyes leveled on his when I say, “I’m not looking to be rescued. I do just fine on my own.”
His gaze grows deeper, the flat expanse of his irises becoming a fathomless void that lures everything in—everything but me. “Wow, you really know how to hurt a guy, don’t you?” He shoots me a wounded look I don’t buy for a second. “Isn’t there some way we can move past this? Convince you to give me a chance?”
I roll my eyes, tug on the reins, ready to leave this behind, when he reaches for Kachina’s bridle again, and I jab my heel so hard into her side she ends up charging right at him.
It’s only after he’s lunged out of her way that I realize how close I came to killing him, if not seriously maiming him. And the realization fills me with doubt.
Doubting my ability to distinguish between reality and dreams.
Doubting my ability to seek the truth behind the mirage.
Every time I’ve seen him he’s been smarmy but kind. The only time he’s ever proved himself to be evil is in my darkest moments—and during my sleep.
Our gaze meets—mine horrified—his flat and unreadable.
And that’s how I leave him.
Kachina and I storming the trail as fast as we can, unable to rid myself of the overwhelming burden of doubt that chases me all the way home.
the raven’s song
twenty-four
Chay pulls up to the curb, stopping outside a large two-story building that, despite its efforts to mimic the ever-popular adobe style, is really no more than a concrete slab with a sandstone façade, surrounded by a big iron gate, with a scowling man standing guard at the entrance and a large painted sign on the side stating: MILAGRO HIGH—HOME OF THE MAGUS—with a cartoon wizard just underneath it.
Milagro High.
Miracle High.
From the looks of it, it’s as poorly named as the town it resides in.
My face goes grim as I try to take a fortifying breath, which comes out shaky. Reminding myself how I came away completely unscathed and empowered from full-body dismemberment in the cave—so surely I can survive this: my first day of eleventh grade at this prison-like school.
Though try as I might, the pep talk’s a fail. Today marks a major letdown in more ways than one.
After leaving the cave in triumph, I was eager to face whatever came next, excited about this whole new world that was open to me—sure that being a Seeker would be way more Superhero than Student. But despite my praising the wonders of Internet school—explaining how it improved my vocabulary and made me a math whiz—Paloma still wouldn’t budge. According to her, now that I’ve completed my vision quest, it’s imperative I get out into the community, and, unfortunately for me, that involves going to school.
“They need you, nieta,” she’d said, her gaze fixed on mine. “They don’t yet know it, but they do. You alone will keep the community in balance. No one else can do what you do.”
“What about you?” I’d asked, seeing her turn away, her fingers curled around a bloodied tissue in an attempt to hide it from view.
“My powers are diminishing.” Her gaze grew distant, far away. “It was never meant to be this way, it’s supposed to be parent and child working in tandem. But I’ve been on my own for so long, trying to compensate for Django’s loss, I’m afraid it’s taken its toll. And now I must hang on to whatever’s left, so I can pass it to you. Soon you will be stronger than any other Seeker that’s come before. There is nothing to worry about, nieta—you are more than ready for this.” She turned to me then, her expression telling me the discussion was over.
The decision was made despite all my protests, and now I’m clinging to the door of Chay’s truck, staring down my new school on a gloomy Wednesday morning, which still seems ridiculous. Who the heck starts school on a Wednesday?
“It is better this way,” Paloma says, in her uncanny way of tapping into my thoughts. Her hand patting my knee when she adds, “You will take a few days to get adjusted, meet a few people and find your way around, and by Monday, you’ll be ready to face the whole week, and all those that follow.”
Despite her words of encouragement, I can’t help but feel disappointed. I had high hopes for this school. It’s the first one I’ve ever attended, and I was hoping it would be prettier, more inviting. I was hoping it would look more like the fancy schools you see on TV, and less like the bleak house of doom that sits right before me.
“Remember what I told you, nieta.”
I lick my lips. Flick my gaze toward hers.
“Cade will be here, so you must be on guard. Do not let him intimidate you. Do not let him manipulate you. And never allow yourself to doubt his true nature again. Your impressions of him were right all along. He is a powerful sorcerer—his entire clan, the Richters, also known as El Coyote, are masters at manipulating perception. Controlling the consciousness of others is the very thing that’s allowed them to hang on for so long. It’s a skill the Seekers have yet to accomplish and have fought hard to overcome. Though even if we do find the key, we would never use it in the way they do. They’ve chosen to play in the dark—while you, my nieta, are a Santos, a Seeker, and we always remain firmly entrenched in the light, no matter what. You are ready to face him, I assure you of that. Otherwise, you would not be here, so there is no reason to worry.”
I swallow hard. Press my palm against the window. Despite what she says, I don’t feel ready, not in the least. My stomach’s a jumbled mess of nerves, and yet I’m all too aware that there’s no use fighting it. Paloma is right. It’s time I head inside and face up to my destiny.
I push the truck door open and slide from my seat. Doing my best to quash my fears, but I’m pretty sure no one’s fooled.
“I’ll be back to get you at three,” Chay tells me. “I’ll meet you right here.” But as nice as the offer is, I can’t accept it. He has a life, an important career. He doesn’t need to waste his time playing chauffeur to me.
“No worries. I can get myself back,” I say, my words met with a skeptical look that prompts me to add, “What kind of Seeker would I be if I couldn’t find my way home?”
Before he can reply, before Paloma can say another word, I step away from the truck and head through the gate. Making my way across large squares of gravel and dirt standing in for a lawn, before pushing through the big double doors and stealing a moment to orient myself. But, as it turns out, I pause for too long, and a second later I nearly fall victim to a trio of girls storming the hall.
They’re the kind of girls I instantly recognize as being in charge.
The kind of girls determined to snag the lead role.
Marquee girls.
Pretty much the opposite of
me—the lowly kid of a crew member, used to keeping quiet, out of sight, doing whatever it takes to avoid the spotlight.
This may be my first day at school, any school, but I’ve spent enough time on various movie sets to recognize a social caste system when I see one.
Their gazes are piercing and gleaming—darting like crazy—calculating the number of students checking them out, which is just about everyone within a ten-foot radius. The majority of students content to stand on the sidelines—smiling, waving, and striving to be noticed—knowing never to approach unless summoned. Never to breach the invisible red-velvet rope that separates the popular crowd from everyone else.
I duck my head low and maneuver around them, about to make my way down the hall in search of the office, when the girls stop. Their jaws dropping, eyes popping, as the one in the middle, the one with the long dark hair and brassy blond highlights, approaches and says, “Hey.”
I nod, force a half-smile, and meet her Hey with one of my own.
“You’re the girl I saw on the horse.” Her eyes are dark, kohl rimmed, and narrowed on mine.
I stand before them, refusing to confirm or deny—having dreaded a moment like this ever since Paloma broke the news about my enrolling in school. With only one high school to choose from, it was only a matter of time before I ran into the kids I saw that day on the trail. Though I was hoping I’d at least make it a little farther into the building before I was outted.
“You are her, aren’t you?” She checks with her friends, her gaze turning first to the girl on her right wearing the gloppy pink lip gloss, and then to the one on her left with the overplucked eyebrows and iridescent purple eyeshadow, turning back to me when she says, “Even without the bandanna and the horse, I know it’s you. You were singing too—weren’t you? How’d that song go again—something about strength, perception, and giving direction? Maybe you should sing it for us?” Her dark eyes flash on mine as her friends fall all over themselves, laughing hysterically into their hands.