“Did their families report them missing?”
Leftfoot squints, his weathered face folding in a series of valleys and crags. “You think anyone in the police department is going to care, much less make a report? The whole town’s run by Richters—they’re probably behind it.”
I work my jaw. Drag the bottom of my shoe across the dirt.
“You’re nothing like them,” he says.
I turn to face him, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Unwilling to say anything that might result in his halting my training. There’s so much left to learn, and he’s the only one willing to teach me.
“What’s next?” I study Leftfoot as he takes a moment to reassess. “Feel free to make it more challenging.”
“You think you’re ready for more, huh?” He considers me for a moment, his gaze so probing and deep I fight not to squirm. The old medicine man may not be as legendary as his brother, Jolon, but he definitely holds his own, and I’ve never been able to fool him. “Fine. Though I warn you, this’ll take most of the night; by tomorrow you’ll be ready to return to your job at the Rabbit Hole.”
eighteen
Daire
A hard blast of spray pummels my face well before I’ve actually reached it.
That’s the sort of power the waterfall wields.
From where I float, it looks scary, foreboding, and huge—an ominous deluge thick as a highway. Leaving no doubt of its ability to crush me or transform me.
It could go either way.
I glimpse the place where Paloma and Chay track me from the shore. Despite the fairly short distance between us, they seem worlds away. Like two miniature figures looking on from the sidelines, waiting to see if I’ll live or die. Though it’s not long before the current accelerates. The swiftly churning waters warning I’m soon to be delivered.
The constant drumming of water crashing onto itself vibrates my insides, while outside, the river’s icy embrace leaves my flesh deadened and numb. Making for a predicament so miserable, so unbearable, it requires every ounce of my resolve to ignore the instinctive urge to scramble for shore. To trust in the magick Paloma’s taught me, the ancient Seeker traditions, and the elements to see me safely through.
There’s really no choice. No point in fighting my destiny.
Refusing to do this, refusing to complete my training, would end my life as surely as it did Django’s. And somehow I feel like I’m doing this for both of us. Desperate to succeed where he failed. And while I may not survive this particular test, while it may plunk me into a horrible premature death, there’s still a small chance I’ll get through. And it’s that thought I cling to.
I close my eyes tightly, focus hard on my goal, and tuck my chin to my chest.
Driven closer—
The spray blasts my cheeks like pounding fists.
Almost there—
Django—Paloma—please forgive me! I’m not cut out for this—I can’t do this!
I’m under.
The water hammering so hard, it drives at my shoulders, pushing me down—and then down farther still. Plunging me into depths that surpass all reasonable limits, causing my lungs to swell so large, I’m sure they’ll soon burst. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it. The water’s rendered me powerless, helpless—dissolving my strength until all that remains is my will.
My will to live.
My will to see this thing through.
My will to kill Cade—claim my birthright as a Seeker—and not die like my father.
Though, as it turns out, will alone isn’t enough.
It’s evanescent.
Fleeting.