Fated (The Soul Seekers #1)(31)
Decapitation was the official cause.
The words swirl in my head, causing me to toss my crutches to the ground and crumple beside them. My arms wrapped tightly around my waist, as I duck my chin to my chest and fight to steady myself.
It’s only a moment’s delay before Paloma’s beside me. Her hands smoothing over my hair in a way that sends a wave of calm coursing through me, her breath cooing in my ear when she says, “Nieta, what is it? Please tell me.”
Two weeks ago I never would’ve obliged her.
Two weeks ago I fled from her, convinced she was far more enemy than ally.
But a lot’s happened since then.
I’m starting to accept that I’m living in a world most people couldn’t even begin to imagine.
That old saying—ignorance is bliss—finally makes sense.
The ignorant are definitely the lucky ones here.
Though unfortunately for me, I’m no longer part of that group. I’ve split from their ranks.
Now that I’ve seen what I’ve seen, know what I know, I can no longer turn my back on the truth, no matter how much I’d like to.
According to Paloma, I have to find a way to embrace it—otherwise, I won’t just be sitting at my father’s grave, I’ll be lying right there beside him, six feet under.
“In Morocco … in the square, the Djemaa el Fna…” My stomach churns, my head screams, warning me not to say it, afraid of having it confirmed, but I force myself to push past it. It’s time I finally tell her. “I saw him.” I lift my gaze to meet hers, needing to see how she reacts to my words, but Paloma just nods in her usual calm, sage way, encouraging me to continue. “The square was filled with horrible, bloody heads hanging from spikes—and the one front and center, the one that called out my name—well, I recognized it from the old black-and-white photo I keep in my wallet. It was Django. I knew it the second I saw him.”
My voice cracks, my eyes start to sting, and Paloma wastes no time in comforting me. Her slim, cool fingers brushing over my forehead, over my cheeks, murmuring a stream of words I can’t understand, as I fight to gain control of myself.
“Jennika mentioned it,” she says, switching back to English, her voice steady, matter of fact. “She relayed the stories you told her. After we spoke, I did a little research and discovered that the area you mention—the name translates to meeting place at the end of the world, and in its earlier history, it was used as a place for the public to view the severed heads of criminals that hung on stakes around the square.”
I pull away. Gaze hard into her eyes. Torn between the relief of confirming I’m not crazy—that what I saw was real—and wondering how that could possibly be considered a good thing in this particular case.
“I’ve no doubt what you saw was as real as the glowing people and the crows you’ve already told me about. Your father had similar visions. I did as well. They’re terrifying, I know. And as you’ve already discovered, you cannot outrun them. They’ll go to great lengths to get your attention—they’ve no choice; there is too much at stake. They can’t afford to lose one, and luckily it’s not often they do. It puts great stress upon the one who is meant to pass down the gift, and leaves everything in a perilous state.”
I’m not entirely sure what that means. She’s always so cryptic, and while she’s willing to answer some of my questions, for the most part she usually just shakes her head and says, “In time, nieta. In time.”
Still, it’s not like that stops me from trying. “You said the official cause of death was decapitation—but what was it really? Was it the crows? Did they cause the accident—or maybe something like them?” I peer into her eyes, desperate to understand.
“It was neither the crows, the glowing people, nor any of the other heralds that might’ve shown themselves to him. It was Django’s refusal to listen—to acknowledge them—to heed their call once and for all. That alone is what triggered his untimely end. Believe it or not, the visions are our allies. Their arrival signals that it’s time for us to wake up, acknowledge our calling, and heed the destiny we are meant for. The signs are sporadic at first, then, sometime around the sixteenth year, they intensify. There is only a short window to act. The training must begin without too much delay. If not…” She pauses, struggling with just how much to divulge, before she adds, “Let’s just say there are other forces at work—those whose sole purpose is to defeat the Seekers so they can rise up and rule. It’s a battle as old as our time here on earth, and I’m sorry to say, but there is no end in sight.”
I squint, unsure I heard right. My voice gone high-pitched and screechy when I ask, “Did you say, the Seekers?” I lean toward her, wait for her reply.
But she just nods, as though it’s not nearly as strange as it sounds to my ears. “Make no mistake, Daire, your calling is an important one. Many people will come to depend on you—the majority of whom won’t even realize it, much less think to thank you. Still, you must learn to persist, just like all of your ancestors before you. There are other forces among us, forces so dark and powerful that at first they’re hard to fathom. But not to worry, I will prepare you to face them. The training consists of several well defined steps. We all endure the same initiation—I did it, my mother did it, as did countless generations before her. Though I will warn you that there is nothing easy about it. It will test every part of your being, and at times it will feel like torture, and during those times you will hate me, blame me, and consider running again. But you won’t.” Her gaze levels on mine. “Now that you know where that leads, you will never run again, will you, nieta?” Her eyes soften, but her words leave me chilled.