Echo (The Soul Seekers #2)(88)
Do I look like the sun?
I squint, straining to see that which has so far remained hidden. Gasping in delight when the glow begins to fade just enough to allow the features to sharpen and a face to take shape.
The skin is fair, as though carved from beams of light. The hair so blond and pale, it’s almost as white as the skin. Though the eyes stand in sharp contrast, the irises are an unusual yet beautiful shade of lavender that gaze down at me.
And before I can respond, I feel it.
The long slender fingers of death curling around me.
Heralded by the soft whir and hum of my life force quickly draining.
The corporeal flesh and blood part of me swiftly subsiding. Surrendering. Allowing the soul to take over. To carry me ever higher—soar as high as I dare.
The sensation similar to how I felt when I was drowning at the falls. The glowing person similar as well. The same glowing person I once accused of haunting me back in that Moroccan square.
But now I know better.
So you remember? He tightens his grip when I nod that I do.
Only this time is different.
This is the prophecy come true.
The other side of midnight’s hour strikes a herald thrice rung
Seer, Shadow, Sun—together they come
Sixteen winters hence—the light shall be eclipsed
Leaving darkness to ascend beneath a sky bleeding fire
Only instead of the light being eclipsed, it was me. But at least Dace is safe.
Right?
Right?
You ask too many questions. You must rest. We’ll be there soon.
I close my eyes again, using my last burst of strength for one final request: Can you please make it snow? Will you do that for them?
Don’t have to, he tells me. You’ve already seen to it.
My lips curl at the sides, my cheeks fall wet with tears, as I fumble for the blood-covered key at my chest and fold my fingers around it. At least I’ll leave them with that …
My focus narrowing to a point so tiny—no bigger than a molecule. Surprised to find that the molecule is me—and that I’m connected to everything.
A cry of anguish sounds in the distance, though I’m sure the cry is not meant for me.
Why would it be?
I’m safe.
Loved.
Surrounded by light as warm and glowing as a kiss.
My heart flutters.
My lungs bubble with breath.
And the next thing I know, I’m crashing through a glorious silken spun web—bursting into a world of bright golden light.
season of miracles
epilogue
Axel
The girl lies bleeding in my arms.
Her brown shiny hair spilling over my shoulder—the pink of her cheeks fading as quickly as the life force within her.
Still, she is beautiful.
Far more beautiful up close.
Inquisitive too.
And though I long to reassure her, it serves no purpose to lie to her.
She teeters on the edge of the abyss. Stands a very good chance of tumbling in.
I press a finger to her lips and urge her toward silence. She can’t afford the luxury of speaking and thinking—can’t afford to expend the much-needed energy.
When her eyes flutter closed, I tighten my hold.
Every inhalation a prayer: Save her! Spare her!
Every exhalation indulging a long-dormant rage—cursing the lot of them.
She didn’t deserve this.
Never stood a chance against them. And, as it turns out, neither did I. Having failed in my bid to help her—look after her—guide her.
Though it’s not over yet.
I gaze upward, our destination still so far away. And though her heart continues to beat, it seems only to do so in order to pump more blood from her wound.
She’s fading.
There’s no way she’ll make it.
Yet she still summons the strength to ask if it’s snowing—hoping to leave a gift for her friends.
Ready to surrender to death just as soon as I confirm it. A trace of a smile lifting her cheeks as she rolls toward the edge.
And though I know it’s wrong—though I’ve been warned many times before—it doesn’t stop me from cupping her face in my hands and molding my lips tightly to hers.
My silent plea for forgiveness, chased by a single life-restoring breath.
Paloma
“Come to the window, cari?o. It’s snowing. Looks like Daire has done it after all.”
Chay looks at me, waiting patiently. But when I fail to join him, he crosses the room to the battered old table where I hunch over a book that’s been part of my life for so long, I can no longer remember a time before it.
“What are you looking at?” He rubs a comforting hand over my back.
I nod toward the codex. Robbed of my words along with my breath. Unsure if what I’m seeing is real, or if I’m merely a tired old woman gone suddenly mad. Needing him to confirm either way, and secretly hoping for the latter.
His whispered “My God” providing all the proof that I need to know it’s not me.
His strong arms fold around me, though it’s not enough to buffer me from the truth.
It really is happening.
A long-foretold future has gone into limbo.
The two of us huddle together, gazing upon the ancient tome. Watching as words that have remained there for centuries, slowly lift from the page.