Seeker

by Veronica Rossi

  “All right, next question,” Jode says quickly, moving us along. “Have we planned an exit strategy? How long do we think we’ll stay inside?”

  Daryn slides out of the booth and lifts her backpack off the floor. She removes the orb, holding it in her palms. “In the chaos of things, Cordero hasn’t asked for it back yet. Not that I’d have given it to her even if she had.”

  We move in for a closer look.

  “This might influence our decision,” she says. “It’s deteriorating so much. Every time I’ve gone through, it’s gotten worse.”

  The orb looks like tectonic plates, its surface broken and cracking into pieces. It looks like it’s about to fall apart. It actually has fallen apart. One of the plates is missing. There’s an entire piece that’s not there at all—the sliver that was misplaced somewhere in Wyoming.

  “I’m not sure we’ll be able to get in again after this,” Daryn says. “Tonight might be our last chance.”

  “Will we able to get back out?” Jode asks.

  “I hope so,” Daryn says.

  I look around me. We all hope so.

  * * *

  At two in the morning, we head for the stable. The moisture in the air is thick. Heavy clouds are rolling in like a dark wave, and thunder rumbles constantly.

  By contrast, camp is quiet. No one’s patrolling and the usual guard posts are vacant. As we approach the stable, I see a few people huddled beyond the glow of the floodlights.

  I lift my hand, knowing it’s Maia and whoever else she recruited to help us pull this off.

  Inside, Daryn tacks up Shadow. The guys and I summon armor and tack. Then we ride into the desert under flashing thunderheads that are about to unleash a tidal wave of rain.

  The storm breaks as we reach the spot where we entered last time. Under the strobing lightning, I see the dried blood, hoofmarks, and tire treads from yesterday. I’m glad that soon it’ll all be washed away.

  In spite of the weather, everything flows better this time. Daryn has the orb. The horses are calmer without the Arabians, especially Shadow. And so are we, even knowing the dangers inside. And knowing this might be our last shot at getting Bas.

  Daryn was right. This is how it should’ve been all along.

  I get that now. I feel it, and so does Riot.

  This is much better, Gideon. Soon we’ll be whole again. Together. I hate rain.

  Daryn’s faster with the orb. More confident. She flips it up like she’s tossing a ball. It catches in the air, brightens and unspools, swallowing us up into a completely different kind of storm.

  Going through is the same agony as before, ripping pain. Like being pulled apart. It’s only slightly easier to bear, knowing there’ll be an end. When it comes, I’m spit into the woods, barely staying in the saddle. Disoriented, nauseous, and with a pounding headache.

  Like before, there’s no geographical or weather correlation between where we were and where we are. We left the stormy desert behind us; now we’re in quiet woods at night.

  For a split second I don’t see Daryn and my heart stops beating. Then the glint of her blond hair catches my eye. Mounted on Shadow, and dressed in black, she practically disappears.

  Jode pulls Lucent to my right, Marcus brings Ruin to my left.

  Daryn cues Shadow forward and recovers the orb from where it’s spinning in the air. “Let’s go,” she says quietly.

  We go.

  I’m not crazy about the darkness for a few reasons. We’ll have a harder time spotting Bas or the Harrows. I ride a burning horse. Lucent glows like a paper lantern. And though Ruin isn’t as bright, she still glints like copper. We’re extremely conspicuous. The odds of achieving our goal are significantly hampered, but we don’t have any alternative.

  Barely five minutes in, we spot the white begonias.

  Daryn keeps Shadow going, but Jode and Marcus exchange a look, and the weight of my sword becomes noticeable at my back.

  Time drifts past. Slow time. Fast time. Measurable in breaths. In hoofbeats and trees. I don’t hear the Harrows. I don’t smell their burnt reek or hear the wind rising.

  Just as the woods are becoming numbingly, painfully the same, I see something different up ahead.

  A fallen tree, dried and leafless, resting on its side.

  Marcus hops off Ruin and probes it with the scythe. It’s strange. The bark is broken, and parts are shredded like corn silk. I don’t see heartwood or sapwood—it’s hollowed out. And the inside of the bark is blackened and burnt.

  I have the discomfiting thought that it looks like a cocoon. Like something clawed its way out.

  Marcus shakes his head. “Don’t like it.” He mounts back up.

  We ride again.

  My mind starts to want to wander. I catch myself and bring my focus back to Bas, to the Harrows, to listening and looking. But the sameness of the woods feels like staring at a blank wall, and doing that for hours is impossible.

  Random stuff starts popping into my head, like the time Bas and I were having a discussion at the train station in Denmark over whether it was okay to order a Danish or not.

  Gideon, it is rude. You’d never order an American, would you? Or an Australian?

  If someone asked me for an American I’d say, “You got one right in front of you.”

  You’re missing the point. They’re asking because they’re looking for food.

  I’m pretty sure I taste amazing.

  Okay. I dare you. Walk up to those girls over there and ask if they’re hungry for an American.

  I would’ve done it to make him laugh. But at that point I was already thinking about Daryn all the time. She was the only girl I would’ve allowed to cannibalize me.

  I also find myself thinking about Airborne School. Remembering the double parachute malfunction that killed me, for a little while, after which I became War.

  It would suck if I died for good here in the Rift.

  Why? Why am I thinking about this?

  I rub the back of my head. My headache hasn’t faded; it’s getting worse.

  “G?” Marcus says.

  I look at him. Then suddenly Riot jolts back—all the horses reel back as the ground starts to shake.

  A loud noise like a boom of thunder comes from the thick woods up ahead. Trees shudder, and all I hear is the splinter and snap of branches.

  We rush toward it. I have no idea what to expect.

  Harrows? Samrael? Sebastian?

  But the massive object that we approach is one I’d know anywhere. I recognize it instantly.

  The C-130 is a workhorse of a military plane. Big and cumbersome. It’s the plane I jumped out of about a year ago, and then fell to my death.

  As we ride up, it’s still rising out of the earth like a sprouting plant, the nose pressing through the treetops and disappearing beyond.

  The shaking stops as suddenly as it started, and there it is. In front of us. All but the tail sticking out of the ground.

  Silence rings in my ears. For a few seconds I have to just process.

  Daryn told us about the flowers washing over her mom, but this is the first time I’ve seen something unbelievable with my own eyes.

  “So.” I lick my dry lips. “Wonder where that flew in from.”

  Marcus looks at me. Not laughing.

  Everybody knows this is from my past. There’s no point in even saying it.

  I hop off Riot to check it out. Jode comes with me, nocking an arrow in his bow.

  I touch the plane. The metal feels solid and real. Every detail is just as I remember it. All it’s missing is people.

  Jode finally lowers his bow and lets out a hissing breath. “Why?”

  “Don’t know. But I was thinking about it before.”

  “You were?”

  “Yeah. It wasn’t the only thing on my mind, though.” I was thinking about Bas, too. About my mother and my sister. My dad.

  “But it’s the only thing that appeared.”

  “So far.”

/>   “Yes. So far.” He shakes his head. “It’s like we’re meeting our own psyches.”

  As I catch Daryn’s eye on my way back to Riot, it hits me how hard it must’ve been for her to see her mother here.

  This stuff isn’t real—not the plane or her mom—but it feels completely real.

  If I came across my mom in the Rift, I’d lose it. But if my dad were here?

  Just imagining it makes my stomach queasy.

  “Good seeing ya, plane from my past,” I say as I mount up.

  Well done, Gideon. If you want to feel positive, be positive.

  “Thanks, horse,” I mutter, patting Riot.

  Just as I’m shaking off the plane, we come across our next surprise; they’re coming in quick succession now.

  This time there’s no shaking ground or snapping branches. Like Marcus’s Mustang, we ride up and there it is.

  Another car.

  A Range Rover that’s smashed into a tree. Smashed into it. Almost wrapped completely around the trunk.

  “Mine,” Jode says. “This belongs to me.”

  He jumps off Lucent and moves to investigate, peering into the mangled cabin. It’s empty, but I’m sure he’s imagining himself inside it, since I am.

  I know this story. Jode died in this car. It’s his version of the C-130.

  I picture his last seconds before he crashed, died, and came back as Conquest. How much like my last seconds they must’ve been. Feeling all that regret over things you wanted to do and say and be, but never got around to. Nothing like those pre-death moments to give you perspective on life.

  As Jode returns, his face is white but he tries a grin. “Quite a grand tour of our transportational tragedies.”

  “Not all of them. My mother was different,” Daryn reminds us. “Her flowers, too. They’re not all related to tragic accidents.”

  “Were you thinking about her beforehand?”

  “I can’t remember.” Daryn frowns. “Were you thinking about this?”

  “Yes. Gideon, too.”

  “I think I was too,” Marcus adds. “I just remember a headache before the Mustang.”

  “I felt that as well before this,” Jode says, tipping his chin at the Range Rover.

  “Same for me before the plane.”

  “I’ve felt pressure the entire time I’ve been here,” Daryn says.

  Jode looks at each of us. “Well, let’s be smart about this. We could be manifesting these anomalies through our thoughts. We can’t dismiss the possibility. And the headaches could be giving us warning, so keep sharp, everyone.”

  “Yeah, but…” I shake my head. “Never mind.”

  “Say it, Gideon. We need everything right now. As much intelligence as we can use, let’s use it.”

  “Daryn, you said earlier that you thought Samrael poisoned this place when you first opened the portal. He contaminated it. Those were your words.”

  “Yes,” she says. “That was how it felt.”

  “Well, Samrael didn’t just have the ability to get into my head to see what was there. He had a lot more guns than that. He could go hunting for my memories. And fears. He could put thoughts in my head, too. So if this place took some of him and has his ability, it’s not just our thoughts that can manifest. We’re wide open. It’s open season on our worst fears.”

  No one says anything for a few seconds.

  Then Jode shoves both hands into his hair. “Oh, hell. Bloody fabulous.”

  CHAPTER 19

  DARYN

  I don’t know if what Jode and Gideon suggested is true.

  Are these anomalies coming from our minds? Is the Rift peering into our heads and lobbing our fears at us?

  It seems utterly unbelievable. Impossible.

  But then again, we’ve seen the impossible too many times to doubt it can happen.

  What I don’t understand is why. What’s the point of the Rift mind-torturing us? To get us to leave? That’s not going to happen.

  As we ride past a never-ending parade of woodsy sameness, I become semi-paranoid about my own thoughts, because now they may have physical power.

  Random images shoot through my mind. They swoop in like sparrows. I can’t stop them.

  I see Shadow’s inky black tail, swishing.

  Isabel’s warm hands wrapped around a teacup.

  Josie’s chocolate-chip cookies.

  Dad, wiping his red face with a towel after his Tuesday-night tennis match.

  Mom with her gardening gloves and sun hat, kneeling at her flower beds.

  I keep scanning the woods, waiting for one of them to materialize. But hours pass until we see another—and it’s nothing I’ve been thinking about.

  It’s a dog.

  A tiny white dog, tied to the root of a tree with a thin purple leash. It has a snowy white coat and beady black eyes. A purple ribbon is tied around its neck.

  I love dogs, and I’ve always wanted one. It’s why I keep thinking about Chief—the puppy that would’ve been mine if only I were home in Connecticut.

  In my entire life, I can’t remember ever meeting a dog I haven’t liked on sight. But this little ball of white fur starts to yap furiously and lunge at the leash as soon as we come near. Something about it instantly puts me off. A mean-spiritedness at odds with its adorable appearance.

  Jode says, “Ah, lucky me. That’s mine again. Well, he’s my mum’s. His name is Baudelaire. Bodie, for short.”

  “He seems … sweet,” I say.

  “Yes,” Jode says. “Charming, as you can see.”

  By his strained expression, I can tell there’s a story here. Maybe Baudelaire isn’t part of a tragedy, like some of the other anomalies we’ve come across. But he’s not part of many happy memories, either.

  “Riot wants to eat Bodie,” Gideon says. “Can I let him?”

  Jode laughs humorlessly. “No.”

  “Then what’s the plan? Are we taking him?”

  Jode shakes his head. “We can’t. He’s too loud.”

  “Are we leaving him?”

  “I can’t. He’s my mum’s dog.”

  “Okay, so what are we doing?”

  Jode looks from Bodie to Gideon. “This dog died five years ago.”

  “Oh.”

  Silence descends.

  Baudelaire has stopped yapping. He pants as he looks at Jode, his tiny pink tongue lolling. Then he turns and runs right into the tree.

  Into a hollow knot in the tree.

  Into it.

  Disappearing inside.

  The leash snaps loose and trails after the little white dog like a kite streamer; then the knot closes, sealing shut. In seconds, an instant, there’s no dog, no leash. No sound in the air.

  Then Marcus says, “The tree just ate the dead dog.”

  “Yes,” says Jode. “So it seems.”

  “Jode,” I ask, “were you thinking about him? Before we found him?”

  “He crossed my mind briefly. An hour ago, though. Not recently.”

  We look at each other, hoping theories will emerge. None do. All we have is questions, and we’ve already asked those.

  The Rift, score a million.

  Us, zero.

  There’s no further discussion necessary. What is there to say? We sit in our saddles and quietly try to file this away, accepting the anything-is-possible-ness of this place.

  The hours string together, one after another. We don’t see any planes or cars or dogs. We don’t see my mother, only occasional patches of flowers winding through the trees.

  Dawn breaks. The sun reaches its zenith. Dusk falls.

  Nothing new has appeared, and neither has Bas. Tiredness seeps into my muscles, but my imagination shows no sign of slowing down. I imagine the trees growing eyes and mouths and taunting us with deep rumbling voices. I imagine them hiding small dogs inside them. I imagine Sebastian inside them. And Harrows. Harrows like rotten black maggots, packed and squirming inside.

  I don’t notice the chill in the air until Gideon
speaks.

  “It’ll be dark soon. We need to lay camp,” he says.

  He looks unhappy with his own idea.

  We’ve been riding for fifteen hours and haven’t slept in twice as long. The horses don’t tire, but we do. I’m sure I’m not alone in being exhausted.

  As I dismount, my legs wobble and my stomach sinks with disappointment. We’ve accomplished nothing. And we’re going to sleep here.

  Necessary, sure. But somehow it seems foolish.

  After weighing the pros and cons of making a fire to warm up, we decide to do it. We’re already visually exposed, thanks to Riot and Lucent. A fire won’t make that much difference. And we’re not just trying to go undetected by the Harrows and Samrael. We want Bas to see us.

  Jode and Marcus go in search of wood. Gideon takes a slow stroll around the clearing, like he might see something different from what we’ve seen all day.

  I stay with Shadow, since the orb is in her pack and I’m not making that mistake again. I remove her tack and comb her mane out with my fingers, feeling her relax under my attention. “You’ll tell us, won’t you, girl? When Bas is close?”

  She doesn’t move. She doesn’t twitch a muscle. But I know what she’s thinking.

  Of course. Of course I will.

  “Hey,” Gideon says.

  I turn and he’s there, tall and so different in armor from the Gideon who came to my RV last night in a long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans. As War, he’s a little intimidating. He would be if I didn’t know him.

  “You doing okay?” His eyebrows are drawn. He looks serious, but his mouth is tugging up like he’s thinking about smiling.

  I feel it, too. Happiness. The flight of butterflies in my gut. The desire to laugh. Desire. So much of it. “I’m good, considering! My legs are still working.” I sound a little too enthusiastic.

  He looks at my legs. “Right. A lot of riding.”

  “It’s crazy. How about you? Are your legs tired?” My gosh. Calm down, Daryn. What’s wrong with me?

  He eases his head to the side, smiling. “My legs are okay.”

  I nod. I don’t look at his legs or comment on them. I just stare into his blue eyes and take a pass on talking, which seems like the smartest thing to do.

  “All right over there?” Jode asks.

  A moment ago, he and Marcus were stacking the wood for the fire. Now they’re both watching us, big smiles on their faces.