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bsp; I’m the hardened crust of a hard winter’s spell
I’m adapting
Ever-changing
My attachments nonexisting
Follow my lead when you find yourself resisting.
The song repeats. Playing over and over until I’m singing right along with it. And once the lyrics are lodged in my head and etched on my heart, I find my way back. The once-raging waterfall slowing to a trickle—allowing me safe passage before it returns to full force.
Paloma and Chay meet me at the shore, warming me with a large heavy blanket she wraps snugly around me. Her hands moving over my shoulders and back, her voice thick with pride, she says, “Nieta, you made it!”
I gather my hair into my fist, squeezing large droplets of water onto the ground, along with a beautiful stone that glints up from below. Its color reminding me of Dace’s eyes.
“A gift from the water.” Paloma stoops to retrieve it, displaying it on the center of her palm as I gaze upon it in wonder. “An aquamarine—a water stone. This goes in your pouch, nieta.”
She drops it beside the other talismans as I look between her and Chay, asking, “What’s next?” Feeling more than ready to handle it, whatever it is. Sure it couldn’t be any worse than the feat I just survived—okay, barely survived, but still.
Chay looks to Paloma. “I’ll leave that to you,” he says, giving her a brief kiss good-bye as he heads for his truck, and Paloma directs me to her Jeep, where I change back into the clothes I arrived in.
“Fire is next.” She shields me with the blanket as she goes on to explain, “It’s the last remaining element, and some would say, the most dangerous. We don’t normally endure two trials in one day, but then again, these aren’t normal circumstances, are they?”
“I’m ready.” My voice is determined, as I allow her to weave my hair into a long braid that falls down my back much like hers. “Whatever it takes, I’ll do it. Just tell me where to begin.”
nineteen
Dace
After a tedious amount of nature hugging, blending, and merging, Leftfoot finally gets to the juice, saying, “Your twin is a skinwalker.”
My first reaction is to freeze. It’s instinctive, something I couldn’t stop if I tried. My eyes darting frantically, on the lookout for anyone close enough to overhear, but of course it’s just us. Though I still don’t breathe any easier.
One of the first things I learned as a kid was that giving your attention to something by talking about it, or obsessively thinking about it, helps make it real by delivering it right to your door whether you wanted it or not. And it works for the bad things just as well as the good.
Because of it, I was steered away from unsavory topics—and the topic of skinwalkers counts among the most unsavory of all.
It’s serious stuff, skinwalkers. Seriously scary stuff. If you’re going to bring it up, you better have a good reason lest you draw the attention of one, which you’ll live to regret.
If you’re lucky enough to live, that is.
But, according to Leftfoot, I’ve already drawn the attention of one, who, as it just so happens, is also my twin.
I focus my attention on the old medicine man before me. In the fading afternoon sun, his hair glints like tinfoil. His hooded gaze deepening, he says, “Or rather I should say he’s more like a hybrid of one. I doubt he completed the ritual. Not only because he lacks the patience for such a thing but also because it involves killing a relative—the usual price of admission for one’s introduction to the black arts. And since Leandro is unwilling to spare even the dimmest Richter, it’s my guess Cade isn’t a full skinwalker yet. With a soul as dark as Cade’s, the mere act of getting riled up, either by becoming very angry or very excited about something, is enough to result in a complete transformation of self.”
I stare into the distance, needing a moment to examine his words. While I’ve no doubt what he’s saying is true, the question remains—can I do it too?
“I’ve seen it.” I switch my gaze to meet his. “Both in dreams and real life.”
“As have I.” Fielding my look of surprise, he says, “I’ve seen a lot of things in the sweat lodge, as will you. But first things first.”
I look at him, feeling jacked up, ready for anything he’s willing to teach.
“I’m going to share something with you that’s long been forbidden. Something my brother, Jolon, taught me, that no one taught him. He just sort of gleaned it, as only Jolon could. He was very powerful that way.” Leftfoot’s eyes cloud with memory before returning to me. “I’m going to teach you to soul jump. How to immerse yourself in another person’s essence by merging with their energy in order to share their experience. You will see what they see, hear what they think. And for the few who master the skill, they find they’re able to wield great influence over those very same things.”
Despite my eagerness to learn, I balk at his words. Standing before him in gaping-mouthed silence until I pull it together enough to say, “You’re joking, right? How’s that even possible?”
“Oh, it’s possible.” Leftfoot’s expression and voice remain level and sure. “Much like you merged your energy a few moments ago with the birds and the snakes to share their experience—you will now learn to do the same thing with a human.”
