“I’m going to attempt a lineage transmission where I pass on to you all of the teachings that were passed on to me from my mother who acted as the Seeker before me. Only for me, the teachings were passed down verbally. The same way I would’ve taught Django had he survived. The same way I’d hoped to teach you, but I’m afraid we’re running out of time.”
I study her closely, desperate to know what’s really going on. Why everything she says results in an ominous chill that runs down my spine. “Paloma, is there something you want to tell me? Are you not feeling well? You worry about me looking pale and thin, but I could say the same thing for you.”
“I spent the last few days fasting and praying for your return, that is all, nieta. I will regain my strength now that you’re back so do not waste your energy worrying for me. I only meant that now, with everything occurring so quickly, there’s no time to instruct you with the same methods in which I was taught. That is all.” She nods firmly, as though that’s the end of it, but the words leave me unsettled. “I’ve never conducted a lineage transmission this way. Nor have I taken part in one that was done in this manner. Still, I intend for it to work, and it’s the intention that matters the most.”
“So what’s my part?” I’m eager to be a good student and do whatever I can to help this along. “What do you need me to do?”
“First I need you to sit with your eyes closed and the back of your hands resting against your knees with your palms open so that they’re facing the ceiling.” Once I’m appropriately settled she goes on to say, “Now open your mind and clear it of thought as best you can.”
“That’s not nearly as easy as it sounds.” I sneak an eye open. “A stylist on one of the movies Jennika once worked on tried to teach me how to meditate, but it was a failure. I couldn’t get my mind to shut up.”
“Not to worry. Thoughts are natural. They’re going to pop up out of habit, if nothing else. But the majority of thoughts are meaningless, repetitive, and of no real value or benefit to you. So, when a thought like that appears, all you need to do is acknowledge its presence then be quick to let it go on its way. If you refuse to pay it any real notice, it will vanish on its own. You can begin any time.”
“That’s it? I just sit here and dispose of random thoughts?”
“No, nieta.” She leans toward me and presses a cool, dry palm to my forehead. “You just sit there and receive. I do the rest.”
While I’m not exactly sure what she means, we’re not long into it before a stream of images flows into my head. At first, I’m a little overvigilant. Eager to excel as a receiver, I’m quick to push the images away. Until I realize they’re actually Paloma’s images that she’s sending to me—a series of ancient Seeker teachings that have been passed down through the centuries.
I watch in fascination as incredible stories from previous Seekers, including Paloma’s own training rituals when she was my age, unfold in my head. And I can’t help but marvel at how youthful she was, how determined, strong, and eager to accept her destiny—a far cry from the way I initially tried to ditch mine.
But, as it turns out, regretful thoughts are of no real value or benefit. So I’m quick to acknowledge them and send them away. Needing to clear as much room as possible for the endless reel of ancient rituals, healing practices, and mystical arts that stream through my head. I even get a glimpse into Paloma’s own vision quest. Watching as Wolf devoured her only to rebuild her again, much like Raven did with me.
I observe her battles with Leandro, and while he’s not nearly as evil or ambitious as his favored son Cade, he’s a force to be reckoned with all the same. But what really strikes me is the way Paloma accepted her role without complaint. Dedicating herself to a life of great personal sacrifice in order to keep others safe, to keep the damage wreaked by Leandro contained. Her life story is a testament to her strength, assurance, and humility, and her reverence for her birthright is something I immediately vow to imitate.
Her life continues to unspool, including the moment she learns her husband, my grandfather, the Brazilian Jaguar shaman, Alejandro, died in a plane crash. A tragedy she accepts with her usual blend of dignity and grace, all too aware that the Richters were responsible. Ultimately succeeding at taking her husband, her son, and, for a while anyway, me. Which only strengthens my vow to stop them. To do whatever it takes to see that it’s done—even if it means slaying every last one.
When the images fade, she removes her hand from my forehead and places the blood-crusted athame onto my lap. “Now that you are imbued with this knowledge, I want you to keep your eyes closed as you silently call upon the Seekers who preceded you. When, and only when, you feel their presence, you will open your eyes and slowly pass this blade through the nearest flame until the blood is cleansed. Then you will extinguish the candles using only intent.”
I rub my lips together, straighten my spine, and do as she says. And when I’m fully imbued with the power of my ancestors’ presence, I grip the hilt tightly and cut through the flame. Watching as the blood bubbles and sizzles until it’s reduced to a single droplet that emits a curl of black smoke that rises before me. Its writhing, undulating form expanding and contracting to represent all of the spirit animals of the long line of Seekers preceding me, while allowing a fleeting glimpse of how they were all felled by Coyote.
All of them.
Every single one ultimately losing the battle.
Despite small moments of triumph, in the end, Coyote always won.
When Raven appears before me, I can barely keep hold of the athame for fear of what I might see.
“Raven is always with you,” Paloma says. “Just because you can’t always see him, does not mean he’s abandoned you.”
Soon after, Coyote appears, and I watch as the two square off.
“The same goes for your ancestors, and, someday, me.” Paloma’s voice provides the only source of comfort in a room reduced to one ominous point.
Raven moves toward Coyote, looking small and defenseless, no match f
or the enemy.
“You must never forget that, nieta. Someday you will need to call on all of us in a way you never have before. But you will do so without fear, assured that we will all be there.”
The battle begins with Raven spreading his wings wide and Coyote crouching. The two launching toward each other, caught in midflight, when the droplet evaporates, the curl of smoke vanishes, and I drop the athame on my knee, feeling shaky and weak.
“Abuela—” I start, only vaguely aware of the heat of the blade scorching my jeans.
But she’s quick to shush me. “Extinguish the candles, nieta. I know you can do it.”
Not only do I snuff out the candles, but I evaporate the ring of salt as well. But despite the success, it’s a far cry from the kind of skills I’ll need in order to defeat the enemy.