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I push hard against the wall, the tips of my fingers seeking my ancestors, reading their names like braille. Reminded of the words Paloma wrote in her note, about learning to see through the mirage—to see in the dark, see with my heart—and knowing I can’t go it alone. I need them to help.
I hold tight to my pouch, seeking comfort in the hard, curved edge of Raven’s beak, but my resolve is wearing so thin, stepping over the line before it’s time seems like a small price to pay for a reward that’s so great.
I stumble to my feet, my gait so stiff and uncertain, I kick the rattle, causing the small beads to spin and loop crazily, as I move toward the exit, eager to be free. Free of the darkness and cold—free of the vision quest—my training as a Seeker—eager to say good-bye to it all—when someone tugs hard on my arm, pulling me backward, and I turn to find Valentina standing behind me.
I recognize her from the spirit animal she’s brought along with her—a dark-eyed raccoon with its head lowered, back raised. Its sharp teeth bared as it paces back and forth, careful to never veer too close to the line marking the cave.
Valentina is young. Pretty. Reminding me of what Paloma must’ve looked like at that age, with her long dark hair, flashing brown eyes, and bare feet. She grips my arm hard, pulling me to her. Murmuring a long string of words I can’t comprehend, though the message is clear—I’m not to go any farther. I’m to stay right where I am, next to her.
If she’d brought some food and drink, heck, even a small blanket, something to warm me—I might reconsider. But as she came empty-handed, she’s soon overpowered by more immediate needs.
I yank free of her grip and make for the exit, focusing on the thick, white border, the freedom that looms just beyond. Telling myself there’s no shame in failing—nothing wrong with rejecting this world. Their practices are barbaric, too primitive to work in this new, modern time.
Just one step away from all that I crave, when another voice drifts from behind me and says, “Daire—my sweet baby girl, won’t you do this for me?”
It’s Django.
The Django from the black-and-white picture I keep in my wallet.
And just like Valentina, he’s brought his spirit animal with him—a huge, menacing black bear that growls loudly, angrily, as it paces behind me.
One step … just one more step and I can move past all of this. I don’t have to end up like him—don’t have to face a premature death. Now that I know what I’m up against, I’ll find a way to outsmart them—but for now, I just need some relief …
Sorry, Django.
Sorry, Valentina.
I really did try. But I’m refusing this life.
One more step, a rather large one at that, and freedom is mine.
> My toe aiming for the line’s other side, when the boy appears before me—head shaking sadly, arm raised in warning—as Valentina lets out a bloodcurdling cry—and Django remains right behind me, his voice low and serious, urging me to reconsider, to look, to think, to stop seeing with my eyes, my stomach, my immediate needs, and start seeing with my heart—to distinguish the mirage from the truth.
I stare into the boy’s eyes—his brilliant blue eyes—seeing my bedraggled reflection transform to something brilliant—incandescent.
The promise of the me I can be.
Will be.
But only if I see this thing through.
I press my foot downward, sick of being ruled by hallucinations and dreams. Ready to cross the line, wipe that hopeful look from his eyes, when my pouch begins to thump so hard against my chest I can’t help but flinch.
Can’t help but stumble backward, away from the boy, away from Valentina who lets out a terrible cry, as Django rushes forward and I land in his arms. His dark gaze burning on mine—filling me with all the fatherly love and devotion I’d missed all these years. The moment holding, growing, filling me with the most beautiful, expansive burst of hope—only to be broken by a wicked rush of hot air and a horrible howling wind bearing a hail of black feathers that rain all around—the herald for a giant, purple-eyed raven that swoops down from above.
I fight.
Scream.
Try like hell to free myself.
But it’s no use. Django’s too strong. And when Valentina joins in and grabs hold of my feet, the fight becomes hopeless.
The two of them working together, working against me—allowing Raven’s beak to pierce through my skin and snap all my bones. Plucking out my entrails, my organs, my heart—before systematically ripping me apart.
And it’s not long before the other spirit animals join in as well. Valentina’s raccoon, Esperanto’s bat, Maria’s horse, Diego’s monkey, Mayra’s wildcat, Gabriella’s squirrel, Piann’s red fox, along with a huge, raging jaguar I suspect belongs to my grandfather, Alejandro. Even Paloma’s blue-eyed white wolf is here—and they’ve brought the rest of my ancestors with them. Several generations of Santoses forming a circle around me, watching in dull fascination as I’m torn into pieces.
No matter how much I plead—no matter how much I beg, cry, and demand for it to stop—my cries fall on deaf ears. The boy’s disappeared, and those who remain, willfully choose to ignore me.
