Seeker

  Gideon’s hand tightens on my hip. I don’t like the sound of that, either.

  “What about the Harrows?” Jode asks. “The cloaked spectral creatures?”

  “Oh, those. I really hate those. We call them the Lost, but I like ‘Harrows.’” Bas nods to himself. “Yeah. It fits them better. There are more of them near Gray Fort. Rael thinks it’s the life in us. They’re drawn to it. We’ll need to be extra careful as we get closer. But don’t worry. I’ll get us there.”

  We’re all worried. Every one of us.

  * * *

  The Rift treats us to more of our personal relics as the day goes on.

  “They’re like mini-hauntings,” Bas says when we ride past an upside-down bicycle with spinning wheels. “Not as large-scale but they’ll still mess with your head.”

  We continue our routine of claiming the item and providing some background. A bizarre sort of show-and-tell.

  The bicycle is Bastian’s. A favorite bike he left behind in Nicaragua when he moved to the States as a kid.

  Marcus claims a plain bookshelf with a few binders, tattered books, and trophies, and a football encased in thick acrylic given to him by a coach that he describes as “all right.”

  The old Jeep with peeling paint is Gideon’s, which we all know. It’s the Jeep he was going to fix up with his father.

  “That one’s mine,” I say, as we come to a big velvet couch with deep cushions and a dozen pillows piled all over it. The color of the couch is “goldenrod.” I know because I helped my mom pick it out. “That’s my mom’s favorite spot in our house. It’s right in front of a big bay window in our family room. The afternoon sun pours right onto it and makes the fabric feel so warm. It’s impossible to stay awake on that couch in the afternoon.”

  This sets off a chain reaction of yawns and wistful glances at the couch. We’re all in need of a good night’s sleep.

  As we file past it, a pang of nostalgia hits me. Josie and I did our movie marathons plunked on that couch on the rare occasions she actually slowed down, and wasn’t driven by her responsibilities at school, cross-country, or home. We’d bake chocolate-chip cookies and binge-watch The Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter, or Star Wars. Every film and television adaptation of Jane Austen’s novels ever—which is a lot.

  I loved those weekends.

  The desire to go home pulls at me again. I want to see the look on my sister’s face when I show up after a year and a half away. Mom’s face. Dad’s. I want to see Isabel and Maia. I want to see Ben and Sophia and Soraya. I want to see Jared Suarez. I want to run track again. Sit in classes like Statistics and Geology, learning things I’ll probably never need to know again. The pull of a structured life is like a hook caught in my chest.

  For the first time, I feel like having lost the Sight is a blessing. I’m not a Seeker—and I’ve been seeing that as a lack. A failure. But what if it’s not? What if it’s a gift?

  If I’m not a Seeker, I can reclaim my life.

  I’m ready for that.

  I want it.

  * * *

  To everyone’s surprise except Sebastian’s, the terrain actually starts to vary from the uniform and endless woods we’ve traveled.

  We ride past glades and streams, shimmering with life. Rock clusters and shrubs, nestled together. We cross another burnt field with the dead trees, this one vast.

  As we rise in elevation, riding uphill, we gain views of the endlessness of the forest ahead and behind us. In the distance, we see a pale ridge against a hazy white sky, like mountains cut from tracing paper.

  Bas informs us this is our destination. Gray Fort is in those mountains.

  Mom’s white flowers are nearly ever-present. Sometimes they’re already there as we ride past. Other times they bloom from the ground and open like anemones.

  Nothing is surprising anymore.

  I choose to take it as a good sign. I imagine that when I see the flowers, it means Mom is thinking of me at that very second, just as I’m thinking of her.

  At sunset, we camp again and the mood is subdued. Tomorrow we’ll be entering an area rife with Harrows. We’ll see Samrael. And the underlying tension between Gideon and Bas is something we all feel. It only makes our group more somber.

  A strained relationship between them is the last thing I’d have expected.

  Gideon’s relationship with Jode is a battle of dry humor. A sarcasm cage match. And they’re both unapologetically competitive with each other. But there’s respect between them, too. I think Gideon admires Jode’s intellect, while Jode admires Gideon’s decisiveness.

  With Marcus, Gideon has a friendship with roots down to the earth’s core. You can feel the bond between them. I’ve seen them look at each other and laugh for no apparent reason, like they’re picking up on a frequency the rest of the world misses.

  But with Bas, there was always noise. Buoyant, good-humored noise in the shape of stories, jokes, pranks, laughter. In the fall, Bas and Gideon entertained each other constantly and that entertained the rest of us. The absence of this feels conspicuous. The lack of their noise is loud.

  Adding to my sour mood is the fact that I spent the day watching Bas ride Shadow. It was amazing to see—I’ve wanted to see it for so long—but the loss is beginning to hit me. For the time Bas was in here, she was mine. And I love her.

  As soon as I have the thought, Shadow turns from where she stands with the other horses and looks at me.

  I think she knows how I feel. I think she feels it, too.

  With a fire started and food consumed, sleep is the next step. I know this routine. We’ve done days of this.

  I’m about to lay my head on my backpack when Jode says, “Daryn? You’re not sleeping yet, surely?”

  I push myself back up. A quarter of my brain is already shutting down. “What? Why?”

  “The list! Don’t deprive me. I’ve been waiting all day for it. Give us the List of Life.”

  “Yes,” Bas says, breaking into his first smile of the day. “We have to keep going. We’re on seventy-three, right?”

  We are. I bring out the notebook and toss it to Marcus, looking forward to more of his beautiful penmanship in my journal.

  Marcus sits up and flips it open.

  “Your turn, Gideon,” Bas says. “We all added to it last night. You’re next.”

  Gideon frowns, and I know why. It feels like Bas just offered him an olive branch.

  “Okay.” Gideon shrugs. He looks at me. At first he seems annoyed. Then I see the slightest glimmer of mischief light up his eyes. “Daryn and I have an announcement to make. It’s really early for this, but we’re excited about it, and … what the heck. Let’s just tell them, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, definitely,” I say, though I have no idea what he’s up to.

  “Great.” His big hand swallows mine in a warm grasp and he turns back to the guys. “Sometime later this year … well, in a few months I should say, since we’re not sure about the timing. But in a few months something really special is going to happen and we want you to be the first to know about it. The three of you. So, in a few months, like I said, we’re going to have a…” He bows his head, resting his forehead on the back of my hand. “Sorry. I’m really emotional about this.”

  “The acting,” Jode says. “Macbeth never felt this torment.”

  “So bad,” Marcus says, shaking his head.

  “Shh, you guys. I like this,” Bas says. “Keep going. What happens in a few months?”

  Gideon looks up and there are actual tears glimmering in his eyes—I think they’re from trying not to laugh, though. “We’re going to have a reunion in Connecticut. At Daryn’s family’s house. And you’re all invited. That’s what I want to add. Our reunion.”

  I look at him. “That’s actually a great idea.”

  “Ahhh,” Bas says, nodding appreciatively. “A reunion, nice. I’ll be there.” His eyes narrow, like he’s seeing potential. “You have raw talent, Gideon. I could shape you into a
great actor.”

  “I don’t need any shaping, thanks.”

  I jab him in the ribs. He smiles and puts his arm around me.

  “You’re good, though,” Bas continues, undeterred. “I’ve seen it before this, too. Remember the chocolate samples in Copenhagen?”

  Gideon laughs. “Yeah. I remember.”

  Something passes between them, thawing the cool distance they’ve kept all day.

  Jode circles his hand in an out with it motion. “Do share, for those of us who missed it.”

  Bas smiles. His shoulders relax as he settles into storyteller mode. “It was on our train journey from Rome to Norway. I think it happened the day after I got the birthday cake. Remember that?”

  Four voices. “Yes.”

  “Okay, yeah. So, we had like a fifteen-minute stop at a station. I forget which one, but Gideon and I went looking for food—we did that a lot.”

  “You did, Bas. I just went with you.”

  “Yeah. That’s probably true. Anyway, we found a bakery and ordered two croissants. The lady behind the counter went to warm them up, so we waited at the counter. Then we saw that right in front of us there was a plate of samples. Chocolates. Little pieces cut up, kind of like fudge. We tried them and they were good, so we kept going. By the time the lady came back with our croissants, we’d taken most of them down. I think Gideon felt bad because he said, ‘These samples were awesome. Thank you.’

  “She replied in Danish. We didn’t understand what she said but the message on her face was crystal clear: They weren’t samples. We’d just polished off the scraps on someone’s used plate that was just sitting there. We’d been eating someone’s leftovers.

  “The bakery lady was mortified for us. I think I was still chewing. I didn’t know what to do. But like a true master of improvisation, Gideon looked at me and said, ‘I didn’t get a word of what she said, did you?’ And I of course agreed. No clue what she’d said.”

  I can’t stop laughing. None of us can. Marcus is laughing so hard my notebook slips off his lap.

  “Then what happened?” I ask.

  “Nothing,” Bas says. “We took our croissants and walked out of there.”

  “And almost missed the train because we couldn’t pull it together,” Gideon says, grinning. “Those were good chocolates.”

  “I can’t believe you didn’t tell us that,” I say.

  “You don’t want to know every story.”

  “If they’re that funny, I do.”

  “Same,” says Marcus.

  Bas and Gideon look at each other like they’re both running through mental catalogues. “Tell the one about your armor and the German guy,” Bas says.

  Gideon lets out a big, surprised laugh. “Oh, yeah. That’s a good one.”

  It’s the first of several stories, and each is funnier than the one before it. We laugh until we ache. We add to “Reasons” if something fitting comes up along the way.

  My eyes start to burn for sleep, but I don’t want to miss out. Burrowing under Gideon’s arm, I shut them and listen.

  Their voices are so different, capturing exactly who they are as individuals, but they make a chorus that’s as comforting as Gideon’s solid presence and the campfire’s warmth. I’m almost totally relaxed when I hear the horses—all four—let out short, sharp snorts.

  Everything stops as we scan the woods for what alarmed them.

  “Harrows.” Bas shoots to his feet, setting off an explosion of motion. The guys reach for their weapons. I grab my backpack, thinking of the orb.

  “Do you hear them?” Jode asks.

  The horses have all wheeled to face in the same direction. I look where they’re looking, concentrating. I listen for the wind that precedes them. For their bloodthirsty howling. I look for their quick movements and ragged cloaks. The flash of teeth and claws. I can’t hear or see anything.

  There. I see movement in the darkness.

  But it’s not the Harrows approaching.

  It’s Samrael.

  Stepping from the darkness with a graceful stride. His hands raised to show that he’s defenseless.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he says. “I’m unarmed.” He looks at Bas, then at me, and then finally at Gideon. “I have urgent news.”

  CHAPTER 28

  GIDEON

  I don’t make a conscious decision to attack him. I just do it.

  I lunge for Samrael, my sword grasped in my hand, my shoulders torqued for maximum power.

  When I’m at the end of my backswing, something clamps onto the blade.

  My shoulder jolts; my sword nearly rips out of my fingers.

  Confusion hits me, until I see Bas. He holds the disk on one end of the scales. The other is wrapped around the blade—the blade that should be shearing through Samrael right now.

  “No, Gideon!” he yells.

  Every fiber in my body demands revenge. I feel insane with it, my vision blurring at the edges. Bas’s voice sounds separate from reality, echoing inside my head.

  Samrael has come to a stop, waiting to see what’ll happen next.

  Marcus stares at him with murder in his eyes. Jode has an arrow trained on him, glowing and poised to launch.

  “I’m going to let go,” Bas says to me. “Don’t do anything … just don’t do anything, okay?”

  With a practiced flick of the wrist, like he didn’t skip a beat with the scales in the eight months he’s been here, he unhooks the disk from the chain and releases my sword.

  I instantly want to try again. Take another swing. Or throw the sword.

  I could hit Samrael.

  But Bas is waiting for me to try something. He’s ready to stop me again.

  “Jode, Marcus,” I say. “Do it. Finish him.”

  Before I’m done speaking, Bas shoots in front of Samrael and spreads his arms, the chains caught up in one fist.

  “No! I’m not letting you do this.” He’s decisive, challenging. Aggressive. He was none of those before. “You’re going to have to kill me to get to him.”

  I believe him. One thing Bas has always been is selfless. He’d give his life to protect someone. That’s what got him here.

  “Gideon, man…” he says. “Just listen to him.”

  I look past him, to Samrael. The look in his eyes is emotionless. Like we’re objects to him. Like he’s never felt in his entire life.

  Bas wants me to listen? No. I don’t want to hear a word out of his mouth. I want nothing except to skewer his black heart.

  “We had a plan, Gideon,” Daryn says. “Remember?”

  I don’t remember. Then I do.

  But I never agreed to peace talks. I never will.

  The wind is rising around us, carrying the Harrows’ soiled fire smell. I can hear their howling now—the hyped-out sound of pack animals on the scent.

  A hot, sick feeling rises in my throat. No way I can deny it. We’re in trouble. I have to change gears.

  “Ten seconds,” I say. “That’s how long you get.”

  “You aren’t safe here,” Samrael says, launching right in. “The Lost are moving toward this location.”

  “Harrows,” Bas supplies. “They call them Harrows.”

  Samrael nods. “Two bands. Thirty strong each. I saw them from the foothills. There’s no time to waste. You have to follow me. If we leave now, we may be able to lose them.”

  “You think I’m going to do that? Follow you?”

  “We have a history I regret, Gideon. I hope Sebastian has begun to explain the situation I was in. I hope he’s told you that I … that I want to make amends.”

  “Are you giving me my hand back?”

  He has no answer for this. The Harrows are coming closer, their cries growing louder. “Ra’om controlled us,” Samrael says. “We were powerless against him. We did what he commanded, or we suffered. You can’t begin to imagine what he was capable of. I understand that you may never trust me. I can’t change what I did. But I know you’ve experienced yo
ur own regrets. You know how it feels to wish you’d behaved differently. Perhaps you can understand that.”

  I look at Marcus. “Is this piece of shit talking about my dad?”

  Marcus’s reply is to swing the scythe through the air, spinning it in front of him, then behind him, and back. The huge sickle blade slicing through the night is impressive. Something you’d see in a performance. But Marcus never does anything for show. He’s loosening up. He’s getting ready.

  Samrael glances toward the woods. “Unfortunately, we don’t have time to have this conversation now.” He looks at Daryn. “Come with me. All of you. We can discuss this once we’ve reached safety.”

  “Gideon,” Bas says. “He helped me. He’s the only reason I’m still alive. You can trust him. If we don’t leave now we’ll be ripped apart. Or Daryn could bring us out of here. But then Samrael comes, too.”

  “No,” Daryn says. “I’m not taking you through until I’m sure.” She looks at me. “I’ll open the portal. You guys go through. Get Bas out of here. I’ll stay behind. I’m the only one who needs to be here to—”

  “No.”

  “Hell no,” Marcus adds.

  “Something needs to be decided quickly,” Jode says.

  “We need to get Bas out of here, Gideon.”

  “We all need to get out of here, Daryn. That includes you.” Why do I even have to say this? What’s she thinking? That I’d be okay with leaving her in here? With Samrael? “And what if the orb breaks?”

  “I’m not sure. I don’t know.”

  The howling grows louder. It’s coming from two directions, like the bands are working together on a flanking maneuver.

  “Either we ride now,” Samrael says, “or we die.”

  As much as it kills me to admit, it’s true. We’re about to be overrun. Evasion is the only real option. “Let’s get moving.”

  Everyone mounts up.

  Samrael brings forward two horses—big dapple-grays. There’s a quick discussion between Bas and Daryn that I can’t hear, and then she’s swinging into one of the saddles.

  “Daryn, what—”

  “If we have to fight, it’ll be easier if we’re not both on Riot.”

  True, but I hate the idea. I want her with me or on Shadow, but we’re mobilizing before I know it.