Seeker

  I have nothing to say in response. I can’t tell if he’s being honest, or putting on a show as he calculates how to fool me. I’ve burned all of the mental power I had left for the day.

  Samrael rises and wades to the horse, gently leading it back to the bank. He removes a linen napkin with bread, apples, and cheese folded inside. He looks at me like he’s considering offering to share.

  “Don’t bother.”

  He sits alone and eats.

  My body is so spent, physically and emotionally, that I find myself sagging against the rough bark, my chin resting on a knot. I curl my legs and arms into the nook between the big roots. Beneath me, white flowers spring up, pillowing my limbs with their velvet softness.

  I pray for Gideon. Then Riot.

  Then Bas, Jode, and Marcus, that they’re on the outside and safe.

  I keep going down the list. Mom, Dad, Josie. Isabel. Maia. Ben. Low. Low’s son.

  The far side of the creek fills with white flowers.

  Samrael’s attention swings to me; he’s waiting for my reaction. He doesn’t know this is normal. A gift that the Rift gives me.

  I close my eyes to better feel Mom’s presence, and only realize I’ve fallen asleep when I feel a gentle jostling of my foot.

  I rocket to my feet, mind racing to catch up.

  Samrael stands before me—tall and straight. Watching me with marble-green eyes. The mare is saddled again, and the light slants through the trees in soft afternoon beams.

  “It’s time,” he says.

  CHAPTER 32

  GIDEON

  “Water for you. To drink.” The Harrow’s voice sounds like rocks scraping together. “Drink it into your body.” It brings a wood bowl to my mouth with its bony hands.

  I turn my head. “Wait. Where’s the girl?” I rasp, sounding worse than the Harrow. Pain flares deep into my throat. I feel like I was hit by a baseball bat on the Adam’s apple. “The two people on the gray horse? Where are they?”

  Tell me they got away. Tell me they’re long gone.

  “No talking. Water for you. To drink. Drink it into your body?”

  I’m dehydrated and I need the water, so. I drink it into my body. My head throbs with every gulp but I finish every drop. Then I lean back against the tree I’m chained to.

  I didn’t think it was possible to hate these trees any more than I did, but I do.

  I hate these trees.

  “What about my horse?” I try to turn to see what’s behind me. Explosions of pain detonate along my left leg and inside my foot.

  The woods spin. The water comes back up.

  Every drop I just drank.

  The Harrow looks at the puddle beside me with the vacant holes where its eyes should be. How does it see? “Worry not, I bring more. Worry not?”

  “Okay. I won’t worry.”

  The thing smiles at me. Its mouth looks like the inside of a cave, teeth like stalagmites. “I return with water to drink and you worry not. You drink the water I bring.”

  “Good plan.”

  The smile goes bigger. Then it walks off, stooping, black cloak flowing behind it on invisible tides.

  I make the weirdest friends.

  I settle against the rock, moving centimeter by centimeter to keep my leg still. In addition to my pulverized bones and bruised windpipe, my shoulder sockets are screaming from having my hands tied behind my back for hours.

  All day, I’ve been fading in and out.

  Mostly out.

  There are dozens of Harrows around me. Gathered around trunks in heaps. Pitched all over the branches, like the trees decided to wear black sweaters. They’re completely still. My Harrow buddy is the only one awake. The rest are deep asleep, many of them making a sinister purring sound. Their scent is so thick I can taste it, a taste like watered-down ashtray.

  Smack in the middle of the Harrow slumber party, I see Daryn’s backpack. Sitting there, on the dirt, like it’s nothing of value. Like it doesn’t have our only hope of ever leaving here tucked inside.

  I don’t see Riot anywhere. I don’t feel him nearby.

  I can’t think of him without seeing him drowning or covered in chains and pinned to the ground.

  I hope he’s still alive. And that I stay alive.

  I have no idea what the Harrows have planned for me.

  Why didn’t they just kill me?

  My situation assessment is getting too depressing, so I think of the positive things that have happened.

  Bas got out. And Jode and Marcus got out.

  That’s pretty good. Not bad.

  My buddy comes back with more water.

  “You have a name?” I ask.

  “Name?”

  “Yeah. How do your friends get your attention?”

  “Friends?”

  “Shit. Never mind.”

  “You must sh—”

  “No.” I almost laugh. “I don’t have to go. You’re like a parrot. You ever seen Pirates of the Caribbean? The movie? There’s a parrot in it called Cotton, I think. Talks just like you.”

  “Cotton?”

  “Fluffy white stuff. Super soft. Perfect name for you, actually.”

  It says nothing. I think I’ve confused it.

  “More water?” it says after a moment. “Drink. More for you.”

  As I drink, I notice its attention on my prosthetic. “You curious?” I shift a little so it can see my hand. “Go ahead.”

  The Harrow waits like it’s expecting a trick. Good instincts, but it’s too soon for that. I need to plan a little more. Let my leg heal. Finally it bends over my prosthetic and sniffs. “Touch?”

  “Have at it.”

  Long fingernails the yellow color of wood glue tap the metal. Tink, tink, tink. “It moves?”

  “Not here. It doesn’t work here.” It seems disappointed, but still interested. Still hovering around my prosthetic with fascination, like it’s an alien baby. It gives me an idea. “If you take me to my horse, you can have it. All you have to do is show me where he is, Cotton.”

  Pause. “Give Cotton?”

  “That’s right. Gideon will give to Cotton.”

  He straightens. He’s surprisingly tall—I’m used to seeing them on all fours. He looks around at the branches draped in black. At the piles of bony rags across the clearing. None of the other Harrows stir. Their wicked purr continues, filling the woods.

  Cotton frees the chains binding me to the tree, grabs me under the elbows, and pitches me over his shoulder like a sack of flour.

  Pain slices up and down my broken leg, almost putting me out. Blood rushes to my head and a piercing noise floods my ears. Every step is agony. We only go about fifty paces before I’m off-loaded onto the dirt, thankfully on my right side so I can spare my busted leg most of the impact. Once again, though, the pain is all-consuming. I’m sweating cold and my body won’t stop shaking.

  “Horse,” says the Harrow, pointing to a pond around thirty yards away. It’s small. Surrounded by trees. Nothing more than a pool of rancid standing water. I can smell it from where I am.

  With the patchy sunlight and scrim of branches hampering my view, I almost don’t see Riot. He’s submerged to the shoulders in the muck. Chains are looped around his neck and fastened to trees around the pond, keeping him immobilized. His mane is soaked. There’s not a single ember or flame or glimmer of heat on him. What little I can see of his body is dark red, like wet brick. Even his eyes are lifeless. Lumps of cold coal. Without his fiery appearance, he’s camouflaged, perfectly blending into the scenery.

  When he sees me, he tries to move and makes only the smallest ripple across the scummy surface of the water.

  Help me, Gideon. Help me.

  He’s too weak or too restrained—and I want to bawl, seeing him like that. My throat goes raw with desperation and anger.

  I need a plan. I search for a rock or a stick. Anything. “Cotton, we need to have a real conversation. That kind of treatment isn’t going to work for me.”
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  “Hand,” the Harrow says.

  “What?”

  “Hand.” Cotton looks from me to my prosthetic, waiting for me to make good on my promise.

  “Free my horse. Then untie me and I’ll give it to you.”

  “Untie?”

  “Yes. It’s attached to me with a harness. I have to unstrap it before I give it to you.”

  Cotton creeps closer. His hands hover over the chains around my wrists for an instant. Then, quick as lighting, he’s behind me, slamming his palm over my mouth.

  He hauls me up a tree so fast I leave my stomach behind. Then he pushes me onto a thick branch, pinning me. “Watch,” he says, still keeping his hand over my mouth. “Watch with Cotton?”

  I can’t see anything. Part of his weight is resting on my crushed leg. Tears are pouring out of my eyes and, once again, I’m on the verge of passing out. I blink hard and finally spot two figures moving through the woods. They’re on foot, and moving stealthily.

  My breath stops as I recognize Daryn. Seeing her unharmed is an intense relief. She’s come for me. Another swell of emotion sweeps through me. It’s amazing—and I’m not surprised.

  But she brought Samrael.

  Seeing them working together is like watching a nightmare.

  I’ve feared something too close to this.

  Being pushed aside. Losing her to him.

  They stop when they’re about twenty paces away. Close enough for me to see the dark circles under her eyes and the look of determination on her face.

  I try to yell, but Cotton digs his weight into my leg.

  Shards of broken bone spear into my muscles and I grunt, but Cotton plugs my nose and stops any sound coming from me.

  “Make noise and stop breathing. Girl stop breathing. Gideon stop breathing,” Cotton says into my ear. “Make noise?”

  I can’t get any air. I shake my head. He releases my nose.

  “They’re just there,” Samrael says, pointing to the main cluster of Harrows, where I was tied up less than ten minutes ago. He’s so close. He’s speaking in a hushed voice, but his every word is crystal clear. “Remember, if we wake one of them, we wake them all.”

  Not true, I think. One of them is awake.

  “And we have to move quickly. Strange noises and scents—either will wake them. Are you ready?”

  Daryn nods, never taking her eyes off the cluster of Harrows. “Yes.”

  Off they go.

  Away.

  In moments, I can’t see them. The way Cotton has me pinned, the trunk is blocking the view to my right, where Daryn and Samrael are headed.

  Fortunately, my new buddy gives me highlights.

  “Walk, walk, walk. The bag close to girl. Close. Close. Ah, she find it. She wear it. The boy, Gideon, not close to girl. Boy with Cotton. She find boy?” Laugh. Hiss. Laugh.

  Daryn and Samrael must search for fifteen minutes before they reappear. This time, almost directly below me. The day is fading. Dusk is approaching.

  Daryn pulls her backpack off her shoulders, crouches on the ground, and removes the orb. It’s a damaged thing now. Disintegrating, almost like she’s holding dust in her hands.

  I’m glad she found it. It could still get her back out. At the very least, it’ll give her leverage with Samrael.

  “Okay,” she says. “It’s here.” She stuffs it back in her bag. “But I didn’t see Gideon anywhere.”

  Her voice cracks.

  My heart cracks.

  “Neither did I,” Samrael says. He actually looks like he feels bad for her. “Wait here. I have an idea.”

  He disappears again. In my ear, quiet as a moth’s wings, Cotton says, “Girl pretty,” and I want to make myself into a grenade and pull the pin.

  Ten feet below me, Daryn is saying something over and over under her breath.

  I think it’s “Where are you?”

  If she looked up, she’d have her answer.

  If she turned the other way and walked thirty paces, she’d see the pond and Riot.

  She doesn’t do either.

  Her Where are yous stop. She goes quiet, like she’s thinking.

  Quickly, she removes the orb from the backpack again and darts to the trunk of the tree, pushing the orb into the hollow of a knot. Then she jogs away and ties a scarf she finds inside her backpack around the branch of a nearby tree, marking it, looking between the two.

  All of this without ever seeing me.

  Then she zips up her pack and waits.

  Samrael comes back a couple of minutes later towing a Harrow. The creature is in a similar state as me. Knife to throat. Mouth covered. Forcibly restrained.

  Cotton begins to purr almost imperceptibly by my ear.

  “Yell or make a sound and you will cease to exist.” Samrael removes his hand from the Harrow’s mouth. “Tell her about the rider with the red horse.”

  The Harrow turns empty eyes on Daryn. “Rider and fire horse escape.”

  Daryn stifles a gut-wrenching sound. “Where?” she says. “When?”

  “In woods,” the Harrow says. “In trees.”

  Daryn asks again and again, but the reply never changes.

  I want to yell that I’m in the tree. Right now, right up here.

  “I’m sorry, Daryn,” Samrael says, “but we can’t stay here. Go. I’ll deal with this. I’ll be right behind you.” The Harrow in his grasp will need to be silenced; otherwise it’ll wake the others. Silenced, in this case, probably means killed.

  Daryn whirls and runs. Bolts, like she’s trying to escape feeling.

  Samrael releases the Harrow and sheathes his blade. “Back to the others,” he says. “Go.”

  The creature shrinks away like a punished dog.

  Samrael looks up, right at me. “No luck finding the rider and his burning horse. Such a shame.”

  Even if I could speak, there would be nothing to say.

  We’re past words. Now there are only two outcomes. Life and death.

  One for each of us.

  “Tree, look inside,” says Cotton. “Look in hole of tree?”

  Samrael sees the knot. He reaches inside and removes the orb.

  “Clever girl, isn’t she?” He slips it into the pocket of his coat. “Bring him,” he says to the Harrow pinning me. “I want him there tonight.”

  CHAPTER 33

  DARYN

  “Daryn?” Samrael says, pulling me out of my daze. “We’ll walk from here.”

  We’ve been riding for hours. They blur together. I can’t remember any of them clearly. It was dusk for an instant as we left the Harrows. Then it was night and the fog rolled in—through the woods and inside my mind.

  It makes me wonder if I’ve totally peeled away from reality.

  I think I might have.

  Gideon is still out there. I have to find him.

  The need feels like an urgent siren wailing inside me, but I have to be smart about this. Samrael said he has resources at Gray Fort. People who can help in the search and increase the odds of finding him. I have to accept the help. Anything to find Gideon.

  How is it that I’m still searching for people I love?

  “It’ll be easier if you dismount first,” Samrael adds, since I’m still not moving.

  I jump down and land with a jarring thud, my teeth slamming together.

  Every part of me feels leaden. Cold. Hard.

  Samrael, on the other hand, dismounts with fluid ease. He pats the mare’s rump. “Home,” he says. She trots away, her gray coat disappearing into the fog.

  Samrael paces away slowly, staring at the ground. He stops. He comes down on his heels and brushes dirt and leaves aside, revealing an iron handle. A wooden door is set flush to the forest floor.

  Out here.

  I’d never have found it in these woods. Not in a million years. I’d never have even expected to find it.

  I walk over, fear seeping through my faded mind as I remember falling through the ground in the haunting with Gideon.


  The iron hardware groans as Samrael lifts the trapdoor, leaves and dirt tumbling off. The earth exhales a cool breath that brushes across my cheeks. It smells musty, like wet stone, and faintly of decay.

  “There are Harrows all over this area,” he explains. A torch flickers below. Its light pours up uneven stone steps. “We use secret entrances, a different one every time. Otherwise they’d wait in ambush and we’d never be able to leave—or return.”

  He offers his hand to help me down. I don’t take it.

  I pull in a breath and step down.

  It feels like descending into literal doom. The air wilts in my lungs. Sounds flatten. The steps are so narrow I have to turn my feet sideways.

  At the bottom, a long corridor stretches before me. Stone walls. Stone floors and ceiling. Lamps at regular distances create small pools of light, breaking the overwhelming darkness. The flames wave wildly as Samrael shuts the door, then stretch tall again.

  “Straight ahead.”

  Is he kidding? There’s nowhere to go except straight ahead.

  As we walk I become conscious of Samrael’s nearness behind me—which is odd. I’ve shared a saddle with him for hours. But here there’s nowhere for me to run, and a scream would go nowhere.

  Who would I call for help, anyway? Harrows?

  I think of the knife in my backpack. In my mind, I practice how I’ll use it if my fears come true.

  Why am I afraid? He needs me to leave the Rift. Hurting me wouldn’t help him get what he wants.

  The silence bears down on me, a weight pressing on my ears. It’s more oppressive than the damp air or the darkness. “Why do you want to leave here? I thought this was what you wanted. To come into this place.”

  “It was,” he replies behind me. “This is what Ra’om forced me to want. But I’ve changed. There is no finding peace or fulfillment here. Being here is a continuous trial. Perhaps you’ve noticed that yourself.”

  I have noticed, but I don’t want to talk about me. “Why did you spare Bas when the two of you first came into the Rift?”

  “We don’t need to discuss this now. There’s plenty of time for it later.”

  “I want to discuss it now.”

  “The easiest answer to communicate is curiosity. I’ve known many humans. Few are as guileless and good.”