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And it’s not long before I’m gone. My body reduced to small shredded crumbs that litter the floor. My life force fading, dissipating—as a river of blood seeps into the ground, blending with the dirt—becoming one with the mountain.
My energy mixing with the earth’s until whatever’s left of me—my soul, my spirit, my essence—is rewarded with the mountain’s sacred song:
I am constant and strong
Eternal—everlasting
A provider of shelter and solace
Strength and perspective
Look to me when you’re lost—and I’ll give you direction
The words continuing to swirl all about me, though it’s too late to do any good.
I am nothing more than a small wisp of energy.
To the eyes of the world, I am already dead.
twenty-two
A soft, insistent tickle brushes my nose—tapping lightly against the tip, forcing me to chase it down over my lips, well past my chin, until I grasp it at the base of my neck, pop an eye open, and peer into a hard slant of light at the single black feather—a raven’s feather—I hold in my hand.
Knowing instinctively it came from my Raven—the one who ripped me to shreds—I spring to my feet, my gaze darting, heart racing, as memories of my horrible dismemberment blaze in my head.
I went through a war.
Fought a battle I was sure I had lost.
Yet the only thing out of place, the only thing that wasn’t here from the start, is this single black feather—carried by the wind that raged in this cave.
My leg’s fully healed—my cast nowhere to be seen.
While the grainy white border is left untouched, intact, and my small black bag is propped neatly in the corner just as I left it. And the place near the center, where the spirit animals plucked out my heart and tore off my limbs, remains undisturbed.
No blood.
No shredded bits of tissue and flesh.
Not even so much as a bone scrap.
No sign of anything out of the ordinary, and yet there’s no doubt in my mind that it happened. All of it. I’m absolutely certain of it.
I’m reborn.
Renewed.
Having fused my energy with the energy of the earth, I’ve been resurrected with a surge of power the likes of which I’ve never known—never could’ve imagined.
My fellow Seekers—my fellow Santoses—my family—allowed me to be ripped apart so I could be rebuilt. And because of it, I am now bigger, better, and stronger than I ever thought possible.
I have earned their approval, their trust.
I have earned the right to carry their name.
And with the mountain’s song still fresh in my mind, I know it has accepted me as well. My time in this cave has come to an end. It is time to move on.
I riffle through my bag, find a stub of chalk, and add the name Santos right beside Daire. And then, in the space above that, I add Django Santos, taking a moment to include a sketch of Bear—the spirit animal he never had a chance to acknowledge as his.
