Seeker

by Veronica Rossi

  “It wasn’t her,” I tell her. “It wasn’t real.”

  Empty words. They do nothing to ease the devastation on her face.

  There’s not a single thing in the world that actually seems worth saying.

  I feel like I failed her. Like I should just walk away. At the same time, I feel like pulling her into my soul.

  But neither can happen right now.

  The trees are rustling with a breeze that smells like smoke.

  We know what that smell brings.

  The last thing I want to see right now is the Harrows.

  We mount up and ride.

  * * *

  My mood is off by a few thousand degrees, and Riot feels it.

  He keeps us covered in flames, and won’t pull back on them.

  He burns so hot he leaves a trail of charred hoofprints, which is a problem. If the Harrows are out there trying to hunt us down, we don’t need to become any easier to find.

  I rest my hand on his withers, trying to convince him that I’m all right, but until I know Daryn’s all right, I won’t really be. It’s a chain reaction.

  An hour later, the burnt smell is gone. The wind has died down, and leaves hang still on the branches. Feeling relatively safe from the Harrows, we ride abreast so we can talk about what happened.

  Marcus wants to know. Jode really wants to know. And they deserve to. They’re at the mercy of this place, too.

  I describe falling through the ground, then falling through darkness for ten minutes or maybe more, and finally ending up in Dad’s truck with Daryn beside me.

  “You saw your dad’s death?” Marcus asks. He looks worried. He knows how that day still haunts me.

  I shake my head. “He wasn’t there. It was only the place. The house where it happened.”

  “You were in the truck. Then what?” Jode asks.

  “It went dark. We were mauled by roots, and then we came back up.” Something keeps me from telling them about Daryn’s mom being the one on the roof of the yellow bungalow.

  I glance at her and find her watching me, her eyes narrowed in anger. “You don’t have to protect me, Gideon,” she says. Then she gets Shadow moving and pulls ahead.

  I want to go after her. But I need to figure out where I went wrong first.

  Marcus looks at me. He cues Ruin, catching up to Daryn.

  “Traitor,” I mutter.

  “Yes,” Jode says in a deadpan. “He’s ever so eager to betray you.”

  * * *

  The day grows bright, even under the thick canopy.

  Sunlight catches dust motes swirling in the air and peppers the forest floor with white spots, illuminating our tour through psychological land mines. Judging by what Daryn and I just experienced, the tour is now interactive.

  We’re ready for it. Every one of us feels a constant mild headache. It’s so constant, we start to not notice it.

  Game on, Rift. Bring it.

  We come across a red canoe resting on the forest floor. It’s made of real wood and looks authentic, handcrafted and old, like something passed down through generations.

  I hear Daryn explain to Marcus that it’s from her family cabin in Maine. “My sister and I spent a lot of summers in that canoe,” she tells him. “My mom painted it.”

  She says nothing more, but I know she’s thinking about what we went through this morning. I don’t know how we rolled right into not talking about it. Ignoring it. Maybe it was me.

  Did I make it this way?

  We see my catcher’s mitt in the dirt, just lying there. This thing that was a huge part of my life two years ago. Baseball was everything to me. I wanted to play in college. I was working my ass off trying to get scholarship looks, and things were heading in the right direction. Now I have no dad. I have one hand and a burning horse. A few hours ago, I thought I had a girlfriend—first one I’ve ever really wanted. Not sure about that anymore.

  Marcus claims a thick flannel blanket draped over a branch, but he offers no story. Then we see a flute resting against the trunk of a tree. Jode lifts his land and says, “Mine. No further comments, please.”

  We start calling them relics, these physical objects. Relics from our pasts. But we don’t fall through the ground or come face-to-face with death, so. That’s a plus. This place is redefining my standards.

  Hours pass. We’ve been so focused on staying alive and absorbed in the relics that finding Bas hasn’t been our top priority—which is a major problem. And we’re running out of food and water—also a major problem.

  I’m starting to think we’ve lost another day when Daryn says, “Guys, look.”

  She points up ahead, where the woods thin.

  Riding up, we find a field of fallen trees. Burnt trees like the one we saw yesterday. Broken open. Charred on the inside. Crumbling trunks and cracked bark lie scattered across the field like dead on a battlefield.

  A burnt smell seeps into my nose. Of course, considering we’re surrounded by fire damage. But my heart starts to thunder and I scan the edges of the field for any sign of rustling leaves or swaying branches.

  “Guys, over here!” Daryn’s halfway across the field already. She tucks in as Shadow breaks into a gallop.

  Riot lifts off as soon as I cue him. We shoot after her, kicking up dead branches and vaulting over logs.

  Daryn dismounts at the edge of the field. “Look.” She strides up to a sheet of rough-edged paper nailed to one of the tree carcasses.

  Tearing it free, she reads.

  CHAPTER 21

  DARYN

  I read it twice.

  As I’m finishing the second time, I can’t stop myself from laughing, with this rising sun inside my heart.

  “What is it?” Jode asks.

  “It’s … It’s better if I just read it aloud.” I lift the sheet and project my voice.

  Jode, Gideon, Daryn, Marcus,

  I knew you’d come get me, but I still can’t believe you’re really here!

  It’s too dangerous for me to tell you how to find me. Stay near the lake and I’ll find you.

  Do you know where the lake is? I marked the way, just to play with safety.

  Thanks, you guys. I can’t wait to see you and Shadow. I can’t wait to go HOME!

  —Bas

  Gideon is the first to react. He jumps off Riot and reaches me in quick strides, peering at the paper. “It could be fake.”

  “It’s not fake! It’s from him.”

  He takes the paper and reads it. The grim expression on his face never changes.

  He hands it to Jode, who reads it.

  Jode hands it to Marcus, who reads it, too.

  “Could be another relic,” Jode says. “It could be just another false object.”

  “No! It’s from him,” I say. “That’s from Sebastian. Look—he even wrote ‘play with safety.’ That’s him. Only Bas would mangle that. He did it to prove to us it’s him. I’m positive. This is how we find him. We go to this lake and we wait there. You guys … this is it.”

  Marcus and Gideon communicate in their silent language, but I know what they’re worried about. I feel their skepticism. Jode’s, too. They’re on the verge of discussing ambushes and setups and a hundred other “what if” scenarios. But I’m not standing on the sidelines anymore. I’m not waiting for certainty to come through visions, or strategizing, or any other way. What kind of plan could ever feel solid here, in this utterly unreliable place?

  Instinct. Faith. That’s what I can count on. I don’t know what will come of believing this letter. But I do know that I want to be the type of person who can believe in positive turns. Not everything has to be out to destroy us.

  Like Isabel said, I’m trusting.

  I take the paper from Marcus. “You guys don’t have to go wait for him, but I am.”

  “Daryn, hold on.”

  “No, thanks.” I keep walking. “I’m going. You can join me or not. Your choice.”

  As I walk to Shadow, I pray my momentum is enoug
h to get them moving, to bring them with me.

  It is.

  Half an hour later, guided by the trail of broken branches Bas left to point the way, we find the lake.

  We check the area, following the shoreline one way and then back the other, Jode never lowering his bow for more than seconds at a time. Apart from the begonias, which we’re all becoming used to seeing, there’s no sign of danger, or of Bas. We brush down the forest floor with branches to erase our tracks. Then we set up a campsite away from the banks.

  By the time we finish it’s growing dark, so Marcus and Jode gather wood to get a fire going. Gideon and I head to the lake for water.

  We’re quiet on the walk, but the silence isn’t comfortable. We haven’t really talked since we went through our ordeal—our joint nightmare. We should probably discuss it, but it’s the last thing I want to do.

  Gideon stakes his sword as we reach the gravelly shore. The lake is vast, the trees on the opposite shoreline miniature. The water shines dully under the starlight, like pewter, and whirls of fog curl across its surface. After so much time beneath the stifling green canopy, the view of the open water and of the stars blinking to life in the dusky sky fills my lungs with fresh hope.

  “You think it’s poisonous?” Gideon asks.

  “The water? No. But just in case, you should probably drink it first.”

  Blue eyes slide over, and he smiles. “I wish you weren’t kidding. Should we go together?”

  “Sure.”

  We fill our canteens, count to three, and drink. It’s delicious, cool water, and neither one of us dies.

  “Well, that’s a relief,” he says.

  “Yeah. But also oddly anticlimactic?”

  “Right? Pretty small-time for this place. Wait … Oh no. Oh no.” He drops to the gravel and bugs his eyes out, coughing and grabbing his throat comically. So I grab my stomach, and then do my poison death, shaking like a fish out of water.

  We laugh for five minutes straight, unable to stop ourselves.

  “Why was that so funny?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. ’Cause death’s super possible here?” My legs ache as I stand to head back. “Daryn—wait. Stay a little longer?”

  I sit back on the gravel shore. “Okay.”

  He regards me with a frank expression. Then he moves over and puts his arm around me. “Good?”

  My body—pushed beyond exhaustion—melts against his chest. “Better than good. You make a great chair.”

  “I make a better bed. I’m serious,” he says, when I start laughing. “My neighbor’s cat sleeps on me all the time at home.”

  “You seem more the dog type.”

  “Well, I’m the horse type now. But I do love dogs. I’m going to get one soon. From an animal shelter or something. I’ve been thinking about it.”

  “That’s awesome—you should. My parents just adopted a dog and they’re definitely not dog people.” He must hear the crack in my voice because his arms tighten around me. I close my eyes and feel his heartbeat drumming against my back. “Your heart’s beating fast. Are you worried about it happening again?”

  “Define ‘it,’” he says.

  “Falling through the ground. Going through another living nightmare.”

  “I don’t want that to happen. But I’m not worried. There’s nothing I can do to stop it. No point stressing.” His lips press against the top of my head. “You really want to know what I’m worried about?”

  “Yes.”

  “That I did something dumb earlier. Toward you.”

  “Which dumb thing are we talking about?”

  “You’ve got a real wicked streak, Martin.”

  I laugh. “Sorry. What was it? Tell me.”

  “You think I censored what I was telling Jode and Marcus to protect you. About what we saw … your mom. I was censoring, because it felt like your thing to share, not mine. I didn’t mean disrespect. I just wanted to give you the choice.”

  Anxiety curls inside my chest. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  I start to stand, until he says, “I had a feeling you’d do this. It’s like you’re always ready to bolt.”

  I am always ready to bolt—I can’t deny it. But now I can’t leave or I’ll only prove him right. I try to relax again. To find the comfort in his arms again. But now my heart is racing, too. “I probably deserve that reputation.”

  “Why do you do it?”

  “Run?” Such a simple and yet terrifying question. “I don’t know.”

  He doesn’t say anything, but I feel his disappointment. Tell him, Daryn. I promised him I would. And as hard as it’ll be to say, I want him to know. I clear my throat. “I told you about my mother, remember? When we were in Rome?”

  “You told me she has depression.”

  “That’s right. Sometimes, growing up—” He answered so readily and with such focus. Like he wants to ace the test on my background. It gets to me for a second, how much he cares. I have to start over. “Sometimes as I was growing up it got really bad. She’d be in her bedroom for weeks crying. It was really hard. Really hard. I hated seeing her that sad and I hated not being able to fix it. Sometimes there was no fixing it. It felt exactly like being in your truck, Gideon. Exactly.

  “Time was the only thing that would get her through and give her back to us. Before we learned that, we tried everything. Dad took her to see every specialist in the country. Mom tried every kind of medication, every kind of therapy. Some things helped but like I said, there were times nothing worked.

  “After a while, Dad just got worn down by it, I guess. Being so helpless. Seeing her in such bad shape. I don’t think he could stand to be around her, so he started to spend more time at work. Days. Nights. Weekends. It got to be that we hardly saw him. With Mom sick, my sister Josie stepped in and ran the house. She made dinner, did the laundry, got straight As. Josie took care of us. Josie became my mom.

  “I tried to stay out of the way. I thought that was the best thing I could do. I was around just enough so they wouldn’t worry. I ran track and did well in school. But I was dying inside, watching my family fall apart.

  “Then I started having visions. Once that happened, the focus switched to me. A daughter having paranoid delusions? That’s intense. That’ll steal the spotlight. I could see right away how much it scared my dad. Since he’d been through the psychiatric evaluations before with my mom, he knew all the best doctors, the best facilities. So you could say he fast-tracked me and sent me right to that institution I told you about—the one I broke out of.

  “Except I knew all along that I wasn’t schizophrenic. I was seeing the future. The visions were a blessing. But my parents were never going to believe me, considering our family history of mental illness. And by sticking around, I was only drawing from the resources that should’ve been going to my mom.”

  “So you ran.”

  “Yes. Awful, right? I bailed on them. I ran away and started traveling the world as a Seeker. I guess that’s when the running started. I was on the move, physically and emotionally. Since then, it’s been easy to walk away from stuff that feels too close. Safer.

  “Gideon, I didn’t get mad at you back there because you censored your story. I was mad because you hold this part of me now. This scary, secret knowledge that I’ve been terrified my entire life for my mom. Terrified. I’m just not used to … trusting people. Letting them in.”

  “I’d never abuse that knowledge, Daryn. You don’t have to be afraid of trusting me. I’m not your parents.”

  “My parents? What are you saying?”

  “They bailed on you, Daryn. You can see that, can’t you?”

  “My mom is sick, Gideon. Depression is an illness. I left her.”

  “Is hiding behind work an illness?”

  “You mean my dad?”

  He shrugs—a quick, frustrated gesture. “It’s your family. I shouldn’t say anything.”

  “Tell me. I want to know.”

  “What you
r dad did was wrong. You don’t turn your back on your kids because you’re in too much pain to deal. He was the adult in the situation and he abandoned you. Your mom did, too. Maybe she couldn’t help it because she was sick, but they left you before you ever left them. It sucks that that happened to you. If you felt the way you did in my truck your entire childhood, scared like that—and your dad was nowhere to help? I want to punch something when I think about it. It may be your dad if I ever meet him.”

  Emotions rise up and clash inside me like cymbals. Anger, banging against a deep, deep desire to heal, to go home.

  I look up at the stars, my eyes blurring.

  “I knew I should’ve kept my mouth shut,” he says.

  “No. I wanted to hear what you think. And … you’re right.” All this time I’ve been thinking about how I let them down, but Dad let me down, too. He gave up on me. I don’t know why I never realized it before. Why I felt like I should’ve been stronger. I was scared out of my mind. And I had no one. And yet, I miss him. How can I miss him and feel abandoned by him? “I think I need to go home.”

  “You’ll do it. You’ll go home and get it worked out.”

  He makes it sound so simple, but I can’t even wrap my head around the conversations I need to have. Will Dad forgive me for leaving? Will Mom? Can I forgive them? There’s so much to work out. But I want to do it. I need to.

  “So this is why you’ve been afraid of me?” Gideon says, after a moment. “You think I’ll pull a move like your dad. That I’ll head for the hills when you need me to be there for you?”

  “First of all, I’ve never been afraid of you. I’ve been afraid of being with you. Secondly, you have it backward. I knew you wouldn’t run. I was afraid I would. I was afraid I don’t have the ‘stick-around’ gene, and that I’d just check out like my dad. By keeping things superficial, I was sparing us the bigger hurt when I leave.”

  He leans back a little, the tension releasing from his brow. He nods. “Solid read on me, Martin. But you’re wrong about you.”

  “I am?”

  “Hundred percent. You might take the long road from time to time, but you never actually leave. You’re here for Bas, aren’t you? And you’re going home to your family when this is over, right? You’re not a leaver. Especially not when it comes to me. You’re in really deep when it comes to me. I mean, Daryn, you infiltrated a military base to take a picture of my ass. You’re a goner. Believe me. You’re not going anywhere.”