Fated (The Soul Seekers #1)(47)

The promise of the me I can be.

Will be.

But only if I see this thing through.

I press my foot downward, sick of being ruled by hallucinations and dreams. Ready to cross the line, wipe that hopeful look from his eyes, when my pouch begins to thump so hard against my chest I can’t help but flinch.

Can’t help but stumble backward, away from the boy, away from Valentina who lets out a terrible cry, as Django rushes forward and I land in his arms. His dark gaze burning on mine—filling me with all the fatherly love and devotion I’d missed all these years. The moment holding, growing, filling me with the most beautiful, expansive burst of hope—only to be broken by a wicked rush of hot air and a horrible howling wind bearing a hail of black feathers that rain all around—the herald for a giant, purple-eyed raven that swoops down from above.

I fight.

Scream.

Try like hell to free myself.

But it’s no use. Django’s too strong. And when Valentina joins in and grabs hold of my feet, the fight becomes hopeless.

The two of them working together, working against me—allowing Raven’s beak to pierce through my skin and snap all my bones. Plucking out my entrails, my organs, my heart—before systematically ripping me apart.

And it’s not long before the other spirit animals join in as well. Valentina’s raccoon, Esperanto’s bat, Maria’s horse, Diego’s monkey, Mayra’s wildcat, Gabriella’s squirrel, Piann’s red fox, along with a huge, raging jaguar I suspect belongs to my grandfather, Alejandro. Even Paloma’s blue-eyed white wolf is here—and they’ve brought the rest of my ancestors with them. Several generations of Santoses forming a circle around me, watching in dull fascination as I’m torn into pieces.

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.