Echo (The Soul Seekers 2)

Allowing them to push me to my knees. Shove my face into the dirt. My nose jammed with bits of scorched earth as they bite me, punch me, savagely assault me—while I tell myself I deserve it.

That it’s what I get for the long list of failures that resulted in so much misery and destruction.

That fist in my gut is for all those who needlessly died in the mine.

Those claws piercing my scalp is for those who suffered because of my inability to sacrifice Paloma’s soul.

While the foot that repeatedly slams into my back is for my failure to stop loving Dace.

My skin splits, allowing rivers of blood to seep from my wounds, as my insides rattle and crunch, and my eyes stream with tears—though the tears aren’t for me. They’re for everyone I failed by allowing love to rule me.

Problem is—the pain and punishment I seek never comes.

The relief I expected to feel with each blow eludes me as well.

Despite the barrage of fists raining on me, I don’t feel much of anything.

You can never be sick enough, poor enough, or beaten enough to help those less fortunate than you. The only way to empower others is by empowering yourself. Never apologize for the gifts that were bestowed upon you. Never punish yourself for your ability to love. Love is never a mistake—it is the epitome of grace—the highest power of all. It is the only thing that will lead us out of the darkness and into the light …

The voice belongs to Valentina. And though I’d planned to let them beat me just a little bit longer before I got back to the business of removing their heads and ripping them to shreds, I realize she’s right.

Redemption can never be won in this way.

The best way to atone for my failures is by ridding the world of these foul-smelling, hate-filled, malevolent Richters.

I’m up like a shot.

My athame swaying before me as though conducting a glorious symphony heard only by me. Removing one head after another, knuckles repeatedly pounding into dead rancid flesh, as bodies fall all around me. So caught up in the melody, I hardly notice when the music has stopped and there’s not a single dance partner left.

I just keep pounding bodies, snapping skeletons into small useless bits. Rendering them incapable of ever resurrecting again—ensuring the remains return to a place they never should’ve left.

When it’s over, I still my athame, wipe a hand across my brow, and lift my gaze skyward. Dazzled by the constellation of brightly shining souls glittering overhead. Twinkling, circling, blinking, and spinning in a flurry of movement—unbounded and free. They float briefly, allowing me to see them, appreciate them, before winking out of sight, and soaring toward home.

Then I lower my gaze to the heap of remains at my feet, marveling at how it looks exactly as I envisioned it. And as I continue to pick my way through, I’m amazed to find I’ve wrought more change than I ever would’ve thought.

With each Richter felled, with each soul released, the Lowerworld has taken one giant leap toward healing itself. Patches of once-dead grass now sprawl into a lush and velvety lawn. While the hollowed-out trees, once bent like old crones, begin to straighten and stretch, as though encouraging their branches to shake off a long arthritic winter.

And it’s not long after when the animals begin to venture out of hiding. Raccoon, Red Fox, White Wolf, Wildcat, Monkey, Squirrel, Jaguar, Bear, Lion, Bat, Opossum, Hummingbird, Eagle—even Horse and Raven come out to greet me.

Their bright and happy eyes providing all the proof I need to know that with the Richters finally evicted, the curse has been lifted.

The Lowerworld thrives once again.

I head for the mine, ensure that it’s cleared, then make a quick assessment of the wounded, and discover that while it’s not nearly as bad as I feared, that’s not to say that it’s good.

With no way to attend to them all, I turn to the animals for help. Pairing those who can’t walk with the bigger, stronger ones like Horse, Bear, and Jaguar, while the rest follow the path set by Eagle and Bat, who fly overhead.

Trusting the elders are doing their part, working their magick, and remaining alert to the signals that will lead them to the crowd soon to be arriving at the vortex of twisted juniper trees, I take leave. Guided by Raven soaring ahead of me and the whisper of wind that swirls featherlike over my skin, I go searching for Cade.

forty-five

Dace

I check all my pockets. Hands obsessively patting my jacket, my pants, assured by the solid weight and heft that I find there.

This time I’m ready.

This time I’m armed.