by Jadie Jones
“What do I do when I wake up?”
“Well, that’s the thing. I don’t know when or where you’re going to wake up. But I highly doubt it’ll be here.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I did mine, Maris told me that I would wake up where my life truly began.”
“So I’m going to wake up in a hospital somewhere?”
“No. I’m not explaining this right.” She pauses, recalling the memory. “She said life seldom begins at birth.”
“I will wake up where my life truly began,” I repeat slowly, digesting the sentence. What if my mother was telling the truth—that she isn’t actually my biological parent? Will I wake up somewhere that I can find people I really belong to? The thought has wings, fluttering beneath my ribs and fanning warmth across my skin. “Where did you wake up?”
“Even if I could tell you, you don’t want to know,” she says with a grimace. “Let’s just say I had to have money wired internationally so I could buy a very expensive plane ticket.”
I don’t know what to say, but the expression on my face must tell her plenty about the warning bells going off in my head.
“Here, I don’t know what the range is on these things, but we’re getting pretty good at it. It won’t hurt to try,” she says and grabs the ring off of my bedside table. “Otherwise, just pray you wake up somewhere with a phone.”
This could get so much worse than I thought.
“I don’t know your number,” I say as I slip on the ring. She reaches across me and pulls a hotel pen out of the drawer.
“Turn your hand over,” she instructs. She writes her number on my palm, and then retraces it for good measure.
“I can’t believe this is really happening,” I whisper, staring down at my hand. But each time I see my hands, my resolve strengthens. I can kill people with these hands. I have to know why. I have to know how to use it for good. “What is it like? Do I see my whole life?”
“I didn’t. It was really fragmented. Kind of like watching a bunch of home movies.”
“Did you see me? Did we know each other back then?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“It feels like we did,” I whisper. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. I don’t know what’s happening to me, but if I’d never met you I wouldn’t have a chance to figure out what it means.”
Her eyes gray over with conflict and she bites at the corner of her mouth.
“What is it?” My spine straightens in alarm.
“I’m going to miss you,” she says and tucks my hair behind my shoulder.
“Miss me? How long does this take?”
“Only time will tell.”
“Well then, let’s get this show on the road,” I say, willing my voice not to crack. I let her pull me into a tight hug, mentally pocketing what it feels like to have a friend that cares so much. More than a friend. A sister.
Sisters, she calls back. When we pull apart, she hastily brings the back of her hand beneath her eye and turns away. I pretend not to notice, and squeeze her free hand.
“Okay, then. I’ll check your room in the morning to see if you changed your mind,” she says and stands up.
“I won’t.”
“I know. Good luck.” She casts one more apprehensive glance over her shoulder and slips through the door.
“Be seeing you,” I whisper to her absence. I hope. The red bottle is so small that it doesn’t even span the length of my hand. This little thing helped Vanessa understand what she can do. Who she is. And although I don’t know how, I’m sure it has something, everything to do with Lucas. Will I see him there? Will he look the same? Or would I know him anyway? The way I’m sure I’ll know Vanessa no matter what she looks like.
Before I can lose my nerve, I pull out the cork and pour the contents of the bottle into my open mouth. The liquid is cool and sugary and is gone in a single swallow. I brace myself for a spinning room or a wave of nausea, but nothing happens. “Here goes nothing,” I whisper as I take a final look around the sparse room and close my eyes.
18 A path to where I first began
“We’ve been waiting for you,” a woman’s voice says, shattering the dark numbness. I leap to my feet and whirl to face the sound. She extends a pearly hand, not in greeting, but to ward off any advancement I might make. I take a step backward and drop my fists to my sides. She lowers her own protective stance, staring straight through me with eyes the color of water under ice. They freeze a path from my skin, through my heart, and to my spine, sending chilly warnings to my limbs.
“I’m Tanzy,” I say, and then instantly cringe at my coarse reply.
“No, you’re not.” She gives me a disdainful stare and purses her lips. A long sword is slung across her back. Behind her stretches a graveyard of a forest, its bare limbs twisted by heat and drought. A narrow path divides the dying trees like a scar. Suddenly, I realize who she is: my guide. The one who will show me who I really am. And we’re off to a spectacular start.
She eyes me warily. I follow her gaze and examine myself, self-conscious under her hard stare. My cotton night gown has transformed into a simple linen dress and my feet are bare. Unfortunately, so are my hands. No ring. No phone number. Great.
“Step forth,” she says. I lean away reflexively and then force my feet forward. She brings a flat palm to my mark. I wait for it to burn beneath her touch, but instead her cool skin sends quiet vibrations through my core. “What you hear is sealed within. What you see is sealed within. Agree you not and be cast from here. Walk with me to see your Origin.” Without any further introduction or explanation, she turns away from me and starts down the dusty trail.
The moment I take a step in her direction, the vibrations intensify, pushing and pulling at my ribs. I stagger to a stop and clutch my chest. Is she trying to kill me? Or is this what it feels like to be sent back? My eyes move briefly to my guide, who is still and watches me with little interest, before they close as I bite against the pain. And then understanding takes hold: I am being sealed. It doesn’t lessen the pain, but it makes me more willing to accept it. Embrace it.
“Do you understand the oath of silence you are making by taking another step toward me and your path?” my guide asks, her voice flat and detached.
“Yes,” I stammer, caving to my knees, and silently cursing Vanessa for not giving me better warning.
“She is sealed,” her airy voice announces, and instantly the pain vanishes. I draw in a deep breath and climb to my feet. The closer I move to the mouth of the path, the more I understand how hard it would’ve been for Vanessa to describe why she couldn’t tell me: I know with absolute resolve that I will uphold the oath. There’s no question. No desire to tell anyone. Not out of fear. Not out of anything that I can name. Still, I wonder at the solidity of it, probing my relieved chest with my fingers.
“You must join souls past and present with a touch, or you will be kept from full knowledge,” my guide calls from the mouth of the trail.
“What does that mean?” I ask, moving to her side.
“You must acknowledge why you are here. Who you’re here for.” My mind immediately leaps to Lucas and Vanessa. I tuck the thoughts within my heart and follow her into the twisted, thirsty woods.
The trees thin as we reach the edge of a blistered clearing. My guide pauses and steps aside as if to allow me in front of her. I oblige, but not by much. The rocky, brown earth surrounding us is as vast as the sky, meeting the horizon in a sickly gray line. Boulders mark the expanse like gravestones, and sudden chasms gouge the flat surface.
Several voices cry out from somewhere ahead of us. The words are foreign but they are angry in any language. The unmistakable scuffle of horses’ unshod hooves on dirt draws my ear. Piqued adrenaline thickens the air. And something else, too. Something about their smell pulls at me like a magnet, like they’re where I belong. I don’t have to search for them. I know where they are. My blood knows. It quickens in my veins, demanding to be
taken to the herd. A tremor passes through my muscles, begging them to action.
“Let go of your mind and follow your blood,” my guide says, her eyes studying my face.
“Are you coming, too?” I ask, aware of the endlessness of my surroundings.
“Yes. Fear not on this matter, for I have no choice in it.” Her answer makes me pause, marveling at her polite contempt. But then a new voice calls out, clear and shrill. And deeply afraid. I move toward it without thinking, jogging across the burning sand and stone. More shouts. I follow them around the face of a near vertical cliff. The salty smell of lathered horses makes each breath warmer than the last.
The precipice opens in a crescent. I flatten myself against the sharp surface and carefully step around the stony lip. A girl stands between four men and a small band of nervous horses, which are only a few perilous feet from a canyon ledge. They are boxed in on both sides by the massive rock formation. If those horses spook they might run right off the cliff. The moment the thought passes through my mind I realize with horror that it’s exactly what these men intend to do.
As if to offer proof, they stretch a thick length of twine between them and take a couple of steps closer, shouting at the girl. She’s younger than me, but not by much. The adrenaline pounding through my body roars in my ears, and every part of me wants to plant itself between her and that rope. I’m behind them. They’ll never see me coming. My guide seems to sense my plan and places an icy hand on my shoulder, rooting me to the spot. I stare up at her, my eyes asking what words can’t. She answers me with a slight shake of her head, and then moves her gaze back to the men.
“Why do they want to kill the horses?” I whisper to my guide.
“Those men are farmers here. They believe these wild horses are competing with their cattle for the grass, even though there hasn’t been grass here in years. This region is in a terrible draught. Even the idea of grass is precious.”
“So they’re trying to drive the competition off a cliff,” I say.
“They are.”
“Will they hurt the girl?”
She doesn’t answer. It’s answer enough. Instinctively I strain against her hold, determined to offer what little help I can. But my guide squeezes her fingers into my shoulder like a mother stopping a child from running into the road. Her eyes say she hates me. Her touch says something very different. I relax and glance up at her placid face.
“Keep in mind that this has already happened. They can’t see you. You can’t affect the outcome. That’s not why you’re here. You must remember why you are here.”
I watch them move a step closer. If she could grab the rope hard enough, she could throw them off balance and maybe make some room for the horses to get out. Without warning, the girl leaps toward the men, grabbing the rope in both hands and twisting it hard around herself. The farmers grunt in surprise, yanking back on the thick twine. But she leans forward, pulling them toward the center as she makes a full loop around her waist and deliberately collapses to the ground. The men crash toward her, dropping the rope to keep from falling.
“Go, go!” I scream at the horses, even though they can’t hear me. But their ears prick forward the moment the rope hits the ground. In a flash, they take off at a dead gallop, disappearing seconds later into the brown stretch of nothing.
The girl glances up and watches their trail of dust, a delirious smile on her face. She doesn’t see one of the men reaching a hand back, aiming for her face. Just before he lets his fist fly, a fork of purple lightning streaks down out of the clear sky and strikes the red earth so close to them that they have to shield themselves from the shower of sparks. The force of the blast sends me to the ground. Grit and blood mingle in my mouth. I spit it out and cover my head with my hands as the sky hums with warning. Another bolt of lightning crashes somewhere between us, pelting my back with rocks and embers.
After a few seconds of silence, I lift my head and look around. The men slowly climb to their feet as the girl works to free herself from the tangled rope. My eyes dart back and forth between them, an internal alarm gnawing at my insides. Their faces twist with the kind of frustration that can be lit into rage in an instant. They call out to each other in confusion as they point at her and then up to the sky.
“They think she’s controlling the lightning, don’t they?” I ask. Before my guide responds, the four men descend on the girl, drag her to the edge of the cliff, and without a moment of hesitation, toss her over the side.
“No!” I cry out and sprint toward the ledge. The farmers run past me and in the other direction as the burning hum builds all around us. But I can’t worry about taking cover. I just want to find the girl. I need to find her.
The sky crackles with energy and a brilliant bolt of lightning spears down from the heavens. But it doesn’t vanish when it strikes the ground somewhere on the floor of the canyon. The glow straightens between the earth and the sky, and the air fractures and groans as the column of energy widens. I stumble to the edge of the cliff and peer down.
The girl is suspended just a few feet above the canyon floor, floating limply in the center of the bolt of lightning. This can’t be real. I hold my breath and stare unblinking at her body. A spider web of electricity rolls across her skin as she slowly rises from the canyon floor. She finally passes the top of the cliff. The column of light bends over the ledge and gently eases her to the ground only inches from my feet. I stare, mouth open, at her face. She draws in a jagged breath and tears of relief prick the corners of my eyes.
“We are done here.” My guide’s nimble fingers square my shoulders to hers. I keep my gaze trained on the girl, but my guide brings my face around with a finger on my chin. “Look at me.” Her dazzling blue eyes are like a vacuum. Once mine lock into hers it is impossible to see anything else. “I choose what you should see and what you should not see. I control when we move from one memory to the next. Do not fight me. You will not win. I will do you the favor of giving you warning before we move on.” Her eyelids meet, and I am plunged into the deepest black I’ve ever known.
My ears are filled with a murky quiet. Suddenly, the thick void is ripped apart by angry screams. I can’t focus yet, but the tension in this new place is tangible, even more eager than the near murder we’d just left. In a single breath, the water-color images sharpen, and I let out a gasp. We are standing in the middle of a huge group of people. They are all staring in the same direction, their faces gaunt and hard. I stand on my tip-toes, straining to see what they’re glaring at with such fever, but I can’t see over the crowd.
I slip through the crush of people like a ghost, sure my guide will stop me with one of her freezing hands at any moment. But she doesn’t, following close behind instead. Simple stone buildings line the sandy courtyard, leaving a narrow path along the edge of the crowd. I inch along the meager space. On instinct, I try my best not to bump into anyone, although I’m not sure whether or not they’d feel it. But I feel them. Not their bodies. Their want, their need, a sea of rage.
Finally, I reach the front of the courtyard. Two cloaked figures huddle over something on the ground. A few feet away, a man and a woman throw themselves against crude restraints. I can’t understand the words that they say, but it sounds like they’re begging. An urge to touch the woman, to wipe the tears from her face, fills me with such longing that it scares me. This is not the time or the place to hash out your mother issues, Tanzy. That’s definitely not Vanessa or Lucas. Remember why you’re here. I lock my hands around my elbows and look away from her.
Up front, the dusty cloaks flutter with motion as two men stand, each with a vice-like grip around a girl’s arm. Dried blood and dirt crust her bare skin. Her knotted hair spills over her slumped shoulders. She won’t lift her head. A swell of ferocity burns in my chest, threatening to break through my ribs if I don’t release the roar clawing up my throat. I lock my jaw shut, letting the hot air out in a hiss.
The men work to bind her hands with a crude rope, an
d then cover them with a heavy black cloth. They shove her hard from behind and she falls to her knees. Fists punch into the air as the crowd breaks into a menacing chant. Each person is holding something round and gray. Stones.
“They want to stone her to death?”
“That is their intention,” my guide answers. My next question stills on my tongue as the man and woman held captive scream out in pain. But no one is physically harming them. In fact, people closest to them are reaching out to them in sympathy. This doesn’t make any sense. Why would they tie them up and then act sorry about it? Their agony is inconsolable, as if this is the end of their own lives.
My eyes drift back to the girl. Her chin lifts toward the sounds coming from the two people crying in the corner. Her parents. But the obvious tie between them and the sudden stab of pain it brings are washed away in the wave of my own recognition: the girl from the canyon, no doubt about to be hastily tried and executed for surviving her own murder.
That same pull from the open desert is back, drawing me to her like a magnet. One foot in front of the other. We’re so close I can see the grains of sand moving in time with her heavy breaths. It wasn’t about the horses. It was never about the horses. I’m here for her. Now if only I knew what that meant.
The girl’s empty gaze falls back to the dirt. Blood might still course through her veins, but her spirit is clearly dead. She’s giving up. In my mind I am back at Wildwood, watching the water at the bottom of the ravine, sure my father would break the surface at any moment. He could swim. He was strong. He was a fighter. But there was no thrashing in the muddy water. No effort. No fight.
“Don’t you give up,” I whisper fiercely to her. “You have to fight. At least let them know that you tried. Don’t just give up!” She doesn’t flinch. “I don’t know what to do,” I plead with her, automatically reaching my hand for her dirty arm. Join souls past and present with a touch. My guide’s instructions from the beginning of this journey come back to me, wrapping around my insides like a blanket. Could it be so simple?