The Soul Seeker: Echo Part 25

I hope more will follow.

I stay crouched and low, knees slightly bent, hands flexed and ready. Stealing a moment to adjust to the rhythm of the ground rumbling precariously beneath me-a long string of aftershocks coming in quick succession. Though, thankfully, their intensity lessens a little each time.

Good omen number two?

I'll take what I can get.

A crescendo of shouts drifts from the mine. The captives, apparently no longer enthralled by the Richters, are crowding the mouth of the shaft in an attempt to break free. Their bodies surging against the army of undead guards who push hard against them and shove them back in.

My gaze darts among them, searching for Cade but not seeing him anywhere. I slip my athame into my fist and advance.

Despite the odds stacked against me-despite there being only one of me and loads of them-I find I'm bathed in a strange sense of calm with not a trace of fear to be found.

This is the moment when theory and practice finally consummate after months of chastely dating.

This is my chance to use all the skills Paloma has taught me.

This is when I fulfill my destiny-do what I was born to do or die trying.

I creep toward the Richters, keeping my movements so silent, so stealthy, they remain completely unaware of my presence. Remembering what Paloma told me, that the only way to rid the world of them, send them back to their afterlives, is to either remove their heads or cut them cleanly in half.

Sounds simple in theory, but judging by the sheer number of them, my only hope of seeing it through is to focus less on the act and more on the end. Envision them lying in headless heaps all around me. See it as though it's already done.

With the image fixed in my head, I rub my lips together, tighten my grip on the knife, and spring toward the first one. Amazed at how easily I catch him.

Then again, he didn't see me coming. Failed to sense me sneaking up from behind him, blade at the ready.

Doesn't even realize what's happening, until the razor-sharp tip jams all the way to the hilt. And though he puts up a bit of a protest, it's too little, too late. My knuckles are already dragging clear across his neck as I go about the business of severing his head.

He crumples to my feet, his pathetic gurgle lost among the noise and the chaos, leaving no one the wiser.

As far as gore goes, there's surprisingly little. One of the older ones I would guess-judging by the pile of bones and dust he leaves in his wake. Though the small chunk of soul that once served to revive him, hovers briefly, as though testing the limits of its freedom, before zooming through the sky.

It's a sight to behold. Though I don't watch for long. I'm quick to move on to the next one. Once again, imagining the deed as if it's already done, I shove my blade deep into his spine and saw a deep and steady line. While it proves to be an effective method of slaying, what Paloma failed to mention is it also gives them a chance to shout and scream and warn all the others.

It's a mistake I won't make again.

Clearly, decapitation is the better way.

With the eyes of countless undead Richters upon me, I take a moment to smile and wave.

While I would've preferred to have slain a few more before it got to this point, I've still managed to get them exactly where I want them: focused on me, instead of the mine. Which in turn allows some of those poor trapped workers to start sneaking out.

The Richters' first reaction is to erupt into an angry chorus of menacing shouts and growls. Though despite the show of bravado, it takes them a while to organize and adjust to the sudden change of plans. They're so used to following orders from Cade, acting on their own is pretty much a foreign concept to them.

No matter. I just cool my heels and wait where I am. Willing to hang for however long it takes for them to regroup, knowing that every second of delay allows more people to escape. Besides, there's no need to charge them when, soon enough, they'll be coming to me.

With one hand holding the athame, I rub the blade across the front of my jeans, staring impa.s.sively at the thick layer of sludge that falls away, while my other hand grabs hold of my pouch. Calling upon the elements, my ancestors, and whatever intrinsic bit of goodness is left inside our spirit animals and paying homage to the ancestral knowledge that lives deep inside me, that courses straight through my veins.

The blood of Valentina, Esperanto, Piann, Mayra, Diego, Gabriella, Paloma, Alejandro, and Django-all of the Seekers who've made great sacrifices so I could be here. Having braved the face of evil so that others could live their lives in relative peace.

With so many counting on me, I can't let them down.

When the largest among them comes at me, it's clear he's fueled on nothing more than anger and rage-reminding me of the way I used to operate until Chay drew my attention to the absolute foolishness of it. Warning me that raw emotion without the strength to back it is a sure way to find yourself dead.

Luckily for me, I listened. I'm no longer that girl.

Unluckily for the undead Richter, he never had a chance to know Chay.

He comes at me with gleaming eyes and a warrior's cry-his hands curled to fists that swing about wildly. And though it's an impressive display at first glance, it's only a second later when I grab hold of his arm and twist until it snaps. Barely allowing a second to pa.s.s, before I rend my athame clean across his neck, watching as his body falls separate from his head.

I gaze down at my feet, waiting for him to deteriorate. But when he bleeds out in a thick, black, viscous crud that seeps from his stump of a neck, I figure he must've been dead a much shorter time than the last one.

I kick him aside, wait for the next wave to come. Sure there will be one. Surrender is the last thing on their minds.

This group is smarter, taking a moment to gather axes and picks to use against me. Not getting very far before I relieve them of their weapons. Using my talent for telekinesis, with a little help from my element Wind, to disarm them-I take them down one by one. Indulging the occasional glimpse at the mine, relieved to see it still untended. The captives continuing to escape, as I continue slaying Richters.

As soon as that group is eliminated, the remaining Richters fall on me in a swarm of undead stench, fetid breath, gnas.h.i.+ng teeth, and kicking feet. And, to their surprise, I refuse to fight back.

I refuse to deflect.

I stand loosely before them, head raised, arms held out to either side, accepting whatever they give me.

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 a.s.sault 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 s.h.i.+ning 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 gra.s.s 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. Racc.o.o.n, 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 a.s.sessment 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, a.s.sured by the solid weight and heft that I find there.

This time I'm ready.

This time I'm armed.

With my blowgun loaded with darts dipped in poison no beast can survive, I make my way across a dry and scorched land, which, although it seems crazy, appears to be improving with each pa.s.sing step.

Leaves are forming on trees. Buds are sprouting from the tips of once-barren flower stems.

Even the spirit animals, having spent the last month in hiding, are now out and about. Though, strangely, once they spy me they beat a fast retreat, eager to keep their distance and steer clear of my path.

Probably still suffering their version of post-traumatic stress disorder after all the h.e.l.l Cade put them through.

Or at least that's what I tell myself, until I pa.s.s the reflective surface of a pond and see an image of Cade staring back.

I run a hand through my hair, ensure it's still long, unlike his. Then I press a hand to my cheek, relieved to see the image reflects the same thing.

Still, there's no doubt that it's Cade's eyes staring back. The very reason the animals fled-they've mistaken me for him.

I'd be lying if I said it didn't bother me. Still, there's no time for regret, so I return my focus to finding him.

Needing to settle this before Daire can arrive.

I can't bear for her to see me this way.

forty-six.

Daire When Raven and Wind lead me to the Enchanted Spring-and it truly is enchanted again, no bloated fish, no rat-infested vines-I can't say I'm surprised. Allowing the Richters to pummel me has left me in a pretty sore state. A quick dip in its healing waters can only help to revive me.

Still, I take a moment to glance all around, needing to make sure I'm alone, that Cade isn't lurking in the shadows, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce. Finding the a.s.surance I seek when Raven lands on my shoulder and nudges his beak to my shoulder, and Wind curls around me, prodding me toward the glistening pool.

"It's good to have you back," I say, watching as Raven flits toward a nearby rock. "I missed your company. It wasn't the same without you."

His purple eyes glimmer and dart, keeping careful watch as I strip off my clothes, kick off my boots, and place my knife within reach should I find that I need it. Then I slip into the warm bubbling spring, sinking under the water until it covers my head and goes about healing my wounds and restoring my energy, allowing me to emerge as though I'm reborn.

"We should bottle that." I laugh, picking my way out of the water and over the bed of rocks lining the edge. My grin fading when I notice the way Wind begins to kick, ruffling Raven's feathers as he fidgets, s.h.i.+fting from foot to foot as his eyes roll in their sockets.

"Shhh! He's coming-he's coming!" Raven croaks, imitating an unfamiliar female voice I can only a.s.sume belonged to one of Cade's unfortunate captives. Cringing at the number of times Raven must've listened to their cries of pain and fear in order to nail the fearful tone so perfectly.

The sudden shaking of the earth accompanied by a spine-chilling shriek that echoes through the land, prompting me to duck into my filthy, torn clothes, grasp the athame, and follow Raven and Wind to the place where it originates. Cade's personal epicenter just outside the spring.

"What the h.e.l.l have you done?" Cade shrieks, greeting me with a gaping, fanged, snake-mouthed glare, though thankfully he's retained his normal size.

I glance at his feet, noting how the immediate area surrounding him remains corrupted while the rest continues to heal.

"If you wanted to see me, you could've called or sent a text," I tell him, my voice strong and sure. "You didn't have to create all this drama for me."

He lowers his clawed hands with a flourish, summoning the earth to still as the surrounding ring of fire smolders and dims, and I can only hope the Middleworld bears the same effect.

"Your sense of reasoning is beyond me." I sneer, allowing my gaze to drag over him as my lip curls with distaste. "You're like one of those crazy looters you see on the news. You live in Enchantment, your family practically owns Enchantment, and yet you choose to destroy it by virtually firebombing it with that fiery rain that you made. Do you have any idea how crazy that makes you?"

He swipes a hand at me, his long, razor-sharp talons veering uncomfortably close. "It's the prophecy, Daire. I figured you'd know that. It just needed a little push to get started. Now answer my question. Where are my ancestors-my employees? What the h.e.l.l have you done, Seeker?" His voice booms loudly as the snakes thrash all about. Making the transformation from his demon self to his more normal self, he whistles for his creepy coyote, who obediently trots up beside him and heels at his feet with a bloodied, mangled rabbit hanging halfway out of his snout.

"That's someone's spirit animal!" I gasp, reaching toward Coyote, intent on wrenching it free.

But Cade steps between us, face enraged as he shouts, "Answer my question, Seeker!" His voice pitched so high it prompts Coyote to lift his snout and howl, allowing the dead bunny to topple to the ground.

I stare at the mess of a carca.s.s, consoling myself that it was dead on arrival; there was nothing I could've done to save it. Returning my attention to Cade, I say, "Those weren't workers; those were slaves. And in case you didn't know, slavery is illegal, so I took matters into my own hands and freed them. Oh, and as for your ancestors-I killed them. Every last one." I pause, tapping a finger against my chin, needing to emend that last bit. "Or perhaps killed isn't quite the right word, considering they were already dead. Fact is, you're on your own, Cade. Your undead playmates have gone bye-bye. Forever this time. Which means that at this very moment, all those souls you stole are returning to their rightful homes. And the people you enslaved are now back in the Middleworld, where they'll not only be healed but also protected with the kind of magick you'll never be able to penetrate. You'll never be able to harm them or mess with their perception again. Which, in turn, means your business is dead. You've no slaves, no guards, no one willing to partake in your madness."

"You'll pay for this." He storms toward me, hands clenched by his sides.