Fated (The Soul Seekers 1)

Along with the wind, the earth, and my spirit animal?

Maybe there really was more to the dream than I think—a reason we found each other before we’d even met?

Maybe we really are bound in some way?

I look to his right, seeing Raven perched high in a tree, while Horse stands off to the side. The two of them keeping a protective eye on us and a wary eye on the undead Richter, unsure what to make of him.

“Is this the freak that stole Paloma’s soul?” Dace asks.

I swallow hard and nod in reply. Unwilling to tell him that the freak merely ate it—that it’s his brother who stole it and served it to him.

He turns. Casts all about. Focusing on a vine hanging from a nearby tree, his breath slows, his lids narrow, and the next thing I know it’s found its way to his hand, and he’s using it to bind the freak’s arms and feet.

Then he looks at me. I smile at him, and without a single mention of it, he says, “Wolf is stabilized for now.” His brow slants with worry. “Still, we don’t have much time.”

“What do we do?” I loosen my grip on the freak now that Dace has subdued him.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “Soul extraction requires years of training. Though I do know you can’t just reach in and grab it, you have to know how to handle it. One false move and you can lose it for good. Back when I was a kid, the elders used to talk about a particular…” He pauses, searching for the best word. “A particular denizen of the Lowerworld who they sometimes turned to for help. She’s considered quite dangerous, and in our case, she has no reason to cooperate. Though if the barter is right, she might consider it…” His voice fades, unwilling to say any more, fearing he’s gone too far.

“Do you know where to find her?” I ask, determined to speak to her one way or another.

He shakes his head. “All I know is that she resides in the nethermost level. And while our spirit animals may not want to join us, they can probably at least get us started.”

I rise to my feet, facing Raven and Horse as I say, “Show us the way.”

* * *

We head for a shallow trickle of river, Raven and Horse leading, as Dace and I drag the undead Richter behind us. Stopping at the place where the water meets the sand, Raven and Horse refuse to go any farther, as the three of us continue to trudge along the path.

The water soaking my jeans, the rocks ripping the hems to shreds, and when Dace looks down, asks what happened to my shoes, I just shake my head, tighten my hold on the freak, and keep going. The three of us making good progress until the river grows deeper and the current changes so swiftly, we’re swept downstream and abandoned to a series of falls that send us hurtling deeper and deeper into the earth. Reminding me of what Paloma said about the Lowerworld consisting of many dimensions, and sensing we’re getting pulled into yet another one, and then

another, the lower we go. Finding our way to the nethermost.

The torrent growing in intensity, becoming so fierce, we lose our grip on the undead Richter, who breaks free of his restraints and tumbles ahead of us. Until the falls suddenly end in a swiftly moving stream that washes us onto a narrow bed of sharp rocks, where Dace and I pick ourselves up and race toward him.

Dace charging forward, gaining in speed, fingers falling just shy of the target when a figure looms large before us, catches the freak in one hand, and says, “I’ll take it from here.”

My eyes widen. Dace stops in midstride. The two of us panting and drenched, standing before a beautiful woman with eyes as black as onyx—a lush and generous mouth—hair that undulates down her back, in waves of amber so glimmering it perfectly mimics the tinge of flaming New Mexico sunsets—and skin so pale and translucent, its hue is unearthly.

“This one is mine. They’re all mine.” Her arm sweeps wide, revealing what we’d failed to notice before—a full roundup of undead Richters strung up by their feet, left to dangle from a grove of tall trees. Their hideous black-and-white skull masks seeming to mock the predicament they find themselves in. Her gaze flicking between Dace and me when she adds, “And now, it seems you are mine too.”

I take in her swishy black skirt, her black lace-up boots, her snakeskin corset of a top, then I look past her—look all around her. Suddenly understanding what I missed at first glance.

The stream didn’t feed into a bed of rocks like I’d thought.

It fed into a bed of bone chips.

There are bones everywhere I look. We’re completely surrounded by them.

There’s even a house made of bones—a large, rambling, dull white palace with knobs and joints on the corners, teeth decorating the windows and doors. And the fence that surrounds it is made of bones too, mostly femurs and spines, with the occasional elbow thrown in.

And that’s when I see that what I first took for trees aren’t trees at all—or at least not living trees. No longer sprouting leaves, no longer providing oxygen or shade, no longer functioning in the usual way. They died long ago, their scorched and bony carcasses are all that remain.

The woman spreads her arms wide and gazes up at the sky. The move causing the sky to darken into a glittering canopy of black velvet, as her face transforms into a skull, her skirt becomes a whirl of snapping, writhing snakes that circle her legs and waist, and her eyes turn into horrible empty sockets that level on me. Her jaw yawning wide, emitting a horrible bone-on-bone scraping sound, as she throws her head back and feeds on a long line of stars that funnel into her mouth.

The sight leaving no doubt in my mind that Dace has brought me to the Bone Keeper’s house.

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