Echo (The Soul Seekers 2)
No match against nature.
It just doesn’t cut it.
Doesn’t keep me from sinking. Arms flailing, legs kicking, unable to save myself from crashing hard against the bed of rocks far below, as slick, slippery, unknown things slither and skate all around me.
My limbs turned useless and weak, my lungs inflated far beyond capacity—I struggle to gather whatever strength I have left, and strive once again to swim for the surface.
But, in the end, it’s no more than a death dance: Frantic, pathetic, not nearly enough to save me.
Django was lucky—by the time he saw it coming, it was already too late.
But this—this is horrible, made even more excruciating by the crystal clear awareness of the finality that awaits me.
The rocks turning first soft, and then spongy, until they completely give way and I descend even farther. Delivered to a place that’s no longer dark—where I’m no longer alone. Free of all the pain and suffering that plagued me mere seconds ago. Left to gaze upon a beautiful, luminescent figure that floats just before me. Emanating an energy so warm, so brilliant, so loving and healing, I no longer mourn what I lost.
I’m just grateful to orbit its presence.
Grateful this descent wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared.
I linger. Floating slow circles around this wonderful, radiant being. An entity so glorious it’s hard to comprehend.
My body strengthened, healed by the sheer purity of its innate power and goodness, I struggle to hold onto the feeling, never wanting it to end. But with no more than a slight shake of its head, and an upward tilt of its finger, I’m off and soaring again.
Rising. Churning. Thrusting through the waters so quickly, there’s no time to protest before I burst free.
Free of the water.
Free of the current.
Left gasping and squinting through water-clogged eyes. Surprised to find myself in a calm, cool place on the waterfall’s other side.
No longer menacing. No longer threatening. This inside view allows for a whole new perspective.
It’s still shiny, slick, and gleaming, for sure—but from where I now float, it appears far more glorious than ominous. A brilliant cascade of crystalline waters glinting silver under the belly of a late-morning moon. The sound somehow muted—no longer the crashing crescendo I once found so deafening.
I reach for my pouch, relieved to find it survived the journey as well. Pressing the wet buckskin to my lips, I say, “Now what?”
Though I wasn’t really expecting an answer, the silence that greets me encourages me to go silent too.
I silence my body. My mind. Forcing myself to grow quiet and still and see what the water reveals.
I have no idea how long I remain like that—with my body no longer cold, my skin no longer numb, time seems inconsequential at best. All I know is that at some point my pulse begins to quicken, my heart begins to thrum, until I can actually feel the raw power of the waterfall’s energy becoming one with my own.
It surges inside me.
Merges with the very life force that drives me.
Its message coming faintly at first, though it’s not long before it begins to ring clear. Rising into a beautiful harmony that wells up from the depths, until the sound of the watersong swells in my head.
I am comfort
I am death
I both take life and sustain it
I’m the lull and sway on a hot summer’s day
&n