Blood and Salt

by Kim Liggett

  Rhys must’ve noticed it, too, because his knees went weak. Beth helped me hold him upright.

  “What’s happening?” I asked Brennon as I looked past him, toward the crowd gathering in front of the meeting house.

  “I’m not sure, but Spencer will know. Come.” He motioned for us to join the others.

  The people of Quivira were huddled in sections, seemingly sticking close to their respective families. Children clung to their mothers’ skirts, while the elders stared out over the corn with blank, glassy expressions. One man was down on his knees, tears streaming down his face as he looked up at the sky. But they were all eerily quiet, like they were holding their breath. It made me hold mine, too.

  “Friends,” Spencer Mendoza announced as he stepped into the center of the crowd. “Rest assured, the vessels are safe. Katia and Aiyana will protect them until the summer solstice.”

  The crowd let out a collective sigh of relief.

  I looked around in confusion. One of their own just died, and this was their highest concern?

  “It’s Coronado, isn’t it?” a woman blurted, her cheeks mottled and damp with tears.

  Spencer nodded dramatically. “We know, all too well, what the appearance of the crow means. Because of the sudden and violent nature of Betsy’s death, we must assume Coronado had a hand in this. Through black magic, he may have found a way to worm his way into our minds . . . our hearts.”

  The gathering erupted in panicked murmurs.

  “Betsy wasn’t a Larkin. Why her?” A man with thick sideburns pulled his children close.

  “Is it because Katia’s away?” Lou asked with her palm pressed against her chest. “Has the corn weakened in her absence?”

  Spencer held up his hands, quieting the din of agitated whispers. “The corn will hold,” he said sternly. “We are being tested.” He tugged down his vest. “Unfortunately, because of the nature of Betsy’s death, we must set her soul free with fire.”

  A woman next to me gasped, her slender fingers trembling as she attempted to cover her mouth.

  “That’s a terrible insult to the Grimsby family,” Beth whispered as she hugged herself. “Only the Mixed are burned.”

  The woman then began to sob openly. A man placed his arm around her, holding her tight.

  Spencer glared at her. “We cannot risk Coronado’s influence taking root in Quiviran soil. But take comfort. Everything we’ve hoped for, everything we’ve dreamed of is within our grasp. Nina and Thomas will be joining us soon, friends.”

  I wished he would stop saying friends like some kind of creepy roadside preacher. And what did he mean, everything we’ve hoped for? Why did they care about Katia getting her dead boyfriend back?

  “Tomorrow, we’ll meet on the fields for the annual social,” Spencer announced. “A little levity will do us good.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked around the circle. “But for now, we must return to our lodges. If Coronado’s black magic is at play, only the weak of spirit shall succumb. So hold fast and pray. And be ever watchful, for the night near the summer solstice is full of wicked things.”

  A palpable hush swept over the people of Quivira as they stared straight ahead at the corn . . . like zombies . . . like a cult.

  Spencer stretched out his arms, as if to embrace the crowd. “And so it shall be . . .” He bowed his head.

  My skin erupted in goose bumps. And so it shall be. The same thing my mother said when she dug the bone needle into my flesh. The same thing Katia said when she formed the sacred circle.

  The community answered his call in unison. “And so it shall be . . . at the harvest of the end of the world. The reaper will come forth and sever the wicked from among the just; and she will make us immortal.”

  It hit me like a tidal wave.

  For five hundred years . . . this is what the families have been waiting for. All their hopes and dreams were pinned on this event. They believed they were the just among the wicked of the outside world.

  My heart felt heavy, my fingers, numb as I reached for my brother.

  “Immortality,” I whispered.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Rhys said through his teeth.

  “They think Katia will make them immortal after the ritual. That’s what this is all about.”

  A group of men pushed through the crowd, carrying a wood stretcher bearing what looked like a mummy, wrapped in a white sheet.

  The mob silently followed the stretcher toward the boats lining the dam.

  Rhys held me back. “We can make a run for it,” he said as he stared off into the corn. “They won’t come looking for us in there . . . they’re too scared.”

  “Rhys . . .” I swallowed hard. I wanted to tell him about the corn, but I couldn’t make the words come out. “We’ll be safe here until Mom gets back.”

  “Safe?” He grasped me tighter, his eyes welling up with fear. “Look around, Ash. This is a cult. That girl just died and no one batted an eye, and now they’re building her a freaking funeral pyre.”

  Beth pried my brother’s hand off my arm. “It’s best if you come with me,” she said.

  Rhys and I looked up to find the entire community staring at us.

  “Your belongings are already on the boat.” She looked at me and I knew what she was trying to tell me. This wasn’t the time to cause a scene. They were watching us. If we had any chance of seeing our mother again, we were going to have to lie low a while longer.

  My brother must’ve felt it, too, because he let Beth lead him toward the dam.

  “Where are you taking us?” he asked as he walked stiffly through the crowd.

  “Home,” Beth whispered.

  Brennon was waiting for me by the dam. He scrunched what was left of the wreath onto my head and kissed my hand. “Till tomorrow.”

  He got into a canoe with his family, and his mom waved at us, flashing a tight smile. I wiped the back of my hand against my dress. I don’t know what made me do it. The words . . . the ceremony . . . the dance . . . for some reason it all felt a little too real.

  Rhys and I stood perfectly still as they carried the stretcher past us to the lake and placed it in the water. It was some kind of raft.

  The other families climbed into the boats lining the dam. Beth helped us into a battered canoe painted with bright yellow daisies. In one fluid movement, she settled herself into the hull, pulling the paddle from the bottom of the boat to row us “home.”

  As the fifty or so boats traveled together across the lake, a young girl’s voice rose above the rhythmic strokes of the oars pushing through the water. She sang a hymn I didn’t recognize—a song of lost love, sacrifice, and redemption. I was glad the others didn’t join in. Her lone angelic voice was perfect in that moment—hauntingly beautiful.

  At the darkest point, in the center of the lake, they set Betsy’s body adrift. Spencer threw a lit torch onto the raft; her body was swiftly engulfed in flames.

  We sat there for what seemed like an eternity, watching her body burn. The orange flames stood out with perverse clarity against the midnight sky.

  17

  SPIRIT

  AS THE CHARRED REMAINS sank beneath the surface, the boats began to split off—some to the east, toward the Mendoza lodge; some to the west, toward the Hanratty and Grimsby lodges—ours was the only boat that headed due south, toward a tiny speck of light at the tip of the lake. The Larkin lodge.

  “Believe me . . . I’m not complaining”—Rhys let out a shaky breath as he scanned the lake—“but why are we the only canoe headed this way? Where are the other Larkins?”

  “You’re all that’s left,” Beth said, her warm brown eyes gleaming as she continued to row, slow and steady.

  My brother’s spine stiffened. “What happened to them?”

  “Coronado,” she replied as she looked skyward. “He took t
hem.”

  “Killed them?” My brother rubbed his arms, like he was trying to warm himself up.

  “No one knows,” she said serenely. “But it feels like I should know . . . like the answer’s right on the tip of my tongue.” She stopped rowing, closed her eyes, and stuck her tongue out.

  Rhys shot me a look—

  “Nope. Nothing.” She shrugged and continued rowing.

  Something stirred in the water, sending dark ripples across the glassy surface.

  “What was that?” my brother whispered.

  “It’s the week of the summer solstice,” Beth replied.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, his eyes darting over the water.

  “Some say the land is haunted by the spirits who died here. They say the lake was made from the tears of the Great Spirit.”

  “Perfect.” Rhys clutched the sides of the boat.

  “Is this where Katia and Coronado met Aiyana?” I asked.

  Beth nodded. “Katia led Coronado, his men, and their families to Quivira in 1541.”

  “Katia led them?” I asked. “I thought it was Coronado.”

  “When Coronado saved Katia from the Spanish prison, she agreed to bring him here and make him her immortal mate. They claimed they were looking for the land of gold, but Katia can make all the gold she needs. She was searching for Aiyana.”

  There went my theory that we could buy my mother out of this. I glanced down at the briefcase full of gold ingots at my feet, wondering if Katia gave it to her or if my mother stole it.

  “Aiyana had appeared to Katia in a dream, told her if she came to Quivira she would teach her to commune with the Great Spirit—and how to take an immortal mate.”

  “How would Aiyana know about any of that?” my brother asked.

  “Aiyana was another immortal like Katia, and while Katia used alchemy to achieve immortality, Aiyana was granted immortality from the Great Spirit herself. Aiyana taught Katia everything she knew—they were like sisters—she even taught her Caddo.”

  Beth dug the oar deeper into the water. “When Coronado killed Alonso, Katia was heartbroken, but when he killed her daughter, she was devastated. Marie’s soul couldn’t be saved, but the Great Spirit agreed to bring Alonso’s soul back to her once their vessels had been found.”

  “Wait.” My breath hitched in my throat. “You said the Great Spirit agreed to return Alonso’s soul?”

  “Yes.” Beth skimmed the oar on top of the water for a moment and studied my face.

  I looked out over the corn in the distance. In my vision, I’d seen Katia turn to the Dark Spirit—and Aiyana tried to stop her. This was a part of the story the community didn’t know about.

  I couldn’t get Aiyana’s face out of my mind. That haunted look in her eyes when she realized she couldn’t enter the sacred circle.

  “What happened to her . . . to Aiyana?” I asked.

  Beth continued rowing. “Aiyana couldn’t bear to stay after all the blood that had been shed here. She took her tribe out west to start anew, leaving Quivira in Katia’s care. They returned briefly in 1861 when they found out Coronado and the Arcanum planned to attack. But there was a great battle in the corn, most of the tribe died trying to protect us. That’s when Katia enchanted the corn.”

  Something didn’t feel right. I guess Katia and Aiyana could’ve patched things up. I mean, five hundred years is a long-ass time to hold a grudge, but it was hard to believe Aiyana would help Katia with anything that had to do with the Dark Spirit.

  “I can’t believe I’m asking this.” Rhys leaned forward, raking his fingers through his hair. “But if the ritual takes place . . . if it’s real . . . what will happen to our mom? Will she still be our mom, or will it just be Katia in our mother’s body?”

  “I guess she’ll be a mother to all of us.” Beth smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “It’s an honor.”

  Her words hung heavy in the air. I remembered my mother saying the exact same thing to me in her studio when she gave me the last protection mark.

  I couldn’t imagine anything worse, living forever, watching everyone and everything die around me, but maybe for Mom it was an honor, being able to spend eternity with the one she loved.

  “Ahoy.” A man’s voice called out across the water.

  “Hi, Henry.” Beth waved as she eased the canoe alongside a long, crooked wooden structure that looked like it was about to commit dock suicide. If the Larkin lodge looked anything like this, we were in for a treat.

  A man picked up the lantern resting at his feet, illuminating a ravaged pockmarked face arranged into a scowl.

  “Henry’s the caretaker of the Larkin lodge.”

  “This gets better and better,” Rhys murmured as he heaved our bags onto the dock.

  I slipped my boots back on and climbed out after him.

  “Oh, and, Ash?” Beth called from the boat. “Your markings are really beautiful.”

  All of the hairs stood up on the back of my neck. Slowly, I turned around, running my fingers against the last tattoo on my collarbone. “You see them?” I whispered.

  “The circle with a dot in the center,” she said as she struggled to hold up the heavy briefcase. “That’s the symbol Katia uses on her gold bars.”

  I reached out and took it from her, clutching it against my chest.

  “Don’t worry,” she said as she pushed away from the dock with her oar. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  She knew about the protection marks. She knew about the gold.

  “Beth, wait,” my brother yelled as he rushed to the edge of the dock. “You’re just going to leave us?”

  “I’ll pick you up at dawn,” she said as she turned the canoe around and started rowing back toward the Grimsby lodge. “There’s something you need to see.”

  18

  HOME SWEET HOME

  THE LANTERN SWUNG from side to side as Henry led us up a gently sloping cobblestone path, slick with moss and sprawling ivy. I scanned the surrounding towering pines and cedars and, beyond that, the corn. Always the corn.

  Henry stopped and raised the lamp, illuminating the beautiful arched door at the base of an enormous A-frame house with wings jutting off on either side. Here, in the dark, it looked like a cedar-shingled spaceship. There was a flag out front—a simple circle with a golden crescent moon and a star. Henry opened the door, lit two more lanterns that rested on the entry table, and thrust them into our hands.

  Rhys dug in his heels, but I pulled him over the threshold.

  The moment I stepped inside the house, the scent overwhelmed me: hints of pine, geranium, rising bread, fresh rain, and wet cedar. And deeper than that, my mother was everywhere, like a faint imprint of sunshine. I wondered if—

  “She’s not here,” Henry said, as if answering my thoughts.

  I looked up at him with raised eyebrows as he led us inside.

  I wasn’t expecting it to be so open; the main room was vaulted like an atrium with huge windows covering the wall overlooking the shimmering lake. The décor was sparse—a few elegant and functional pieces. I walked through the dining room, running my fingers along the enormous wide-planked farm table, eyeing a number of portraits and photographs that hung on the walls—their faces as familiar as my own, but nameless.

  Henry showed us the kitchen. “You got bread, almond butter, jam, lemonade,” he said as he opened the old-fashioned icebox. The light from the lantern shot up his arm, illuminating the scar on his inner wrist, a brand identical to Beth’s.

  “You’re a Mixed,” I blurted.

  The tendons in his neck flared.

  I thought about Dane’s scar and the strange overwhelming urge I had to touch it.

  Henry glared at me. “I’ll do my best to stay out of your head, but you’ll need to watch your thoughts around me.”

/>   It took me a few seconds to register what he was saying, but then I remembered Dane telling me that all the Mixed had certain quirks. Henry must be a telepath.

  I felt a deep flush spread over my face.

  “If anyone even suspects an inappropriate relationship there will be punishment. Severe punishment,” Henry said. “It won’t even matter who his daddy is.”

  “Who’s his dad?” I asked.

  “Spencer Mendoza.”

  Just the thought of them sharing the same blood offended me.

  “My father was a Larkin, my mother a Mixed,” Henry explained as he rolled down his sleeves. “I was caught bringing flowers to my half cousin Anna Larkin. They let me live, but I wasn’t unmarred.” Henry shifted his weight. “A Larkin girl mingling with not only a Mixed, but a Mixed with Coronado and Mendoza blood? Out of the question. Doesn’t matter that the vessels have been found. It’s forbidden. Always has been—always will be.” He moved into the living room to light a lantern hanging from an iron stand. “Do you hear me, girl?” He turned to stare at me.

  I nodded, just to get him to stop. I didn’t want to talk about my “mingling” in front of my brother.

  “What really happened to the rest of the Larkins?” Rhys asked warily.

  Henry’s knuckles turned white as he clutched the lantern. “The Larkins started disappearing a few years after Nina and Thomas walked the corn. By this time last year they were gone. We thought all was lost until a few days ago. Katia told us salvation was on the way. She must’ve suspected a traitor among us, because she kept Nina and Thomas a secret from everyone.” He let out a heavy sigh. “She did what she had to do to keep them safe from Coronado.”

  “Why would she think there was a traitor?” Rhys rubbed his temples. “And why would you assume Coronado was involved? Maybe the Larkins just didn’t want to live here anymore.”

  Henry squinted at him. “People don’t leave Quivira.”

  I clenched my eyes shut. Please don’t tell Rhys about the corn. Not yet. Not now.