The Soul Seekers: Horizon (6 page)

“How long is this gonna take? I have to be at work in an hour.” I cast an agitated glance at Leftfoot, but he purposely ignores me and hurries me along toward my
truck.

Settling beside me, he thrusts an impatient finger toward the window, and says, “Make a left at the corner.”

“Care to tell me where we’re headed?” I crank the key in the ignition, once, twice, until the engine roars to life.

“Do you always need to know your destination?” His eyes dart toward mine, the question as wry as his look.

“As the driver, I find it comes in handy, yeah.” I clench my jaw and ignore the stop sign at the corner, hardly bothering to slow as I barrel into the turn.

“Who taught you how to drive?” Leftfoot squints. His eyes so hooded it’s impossible to tell if he’s joking or serious.

“You did.” I shrug. Aware of the tension draining from my shoulders, my spine, when his delighted laugh bellows between us.

“But I’m serious about needing to get to work,” I say, thinking maybe this time he’ll listen. “I can’t be late. That sort of thing doesn’t go over
well.”

“This is more important than work.” Leftfoot bobs his head as he takes in a string of broken-down adobes lining the street.

“Easy for you to say.” I shake my head, rub a hand over my chin.

“You want to work at that gas station forever?” His gaze veers toward me.

“Forever?” I turn to face him. “No thanks. For the duration of the summer? Well, yes, that’s what I was hoping. I need money to live on, Leftfoot. I live in the real
world, you know.”

“You live in the Middleworld.” Leftfoot grins, slapping his knee as he laughs hard at his joke.

“And you don’t?”

He shakes his head, eyes glinting at the turn this conversation is taking. “As medicine man, I have one foot in this world, and one foot in the spirit worlds. And today, if you’ll
stop resisting my efforts, I’m going to teach you how to bridge those worlds too.”

“Seriously?” I quirk a brow. “And we can accomplish all of that in the span of an hour? Because that’s all I’ve got, as I’ve already mentioned.”

“Don’t kid yourself.” His grin fades. His voice takes a sharp turn. “This day should come as no surprise. I’ve been leading you to this moment since you were a kid.
You’re finally deemed ready.”

“I’m finally deemed ready? Or the El Coyote situation has become so dire my shelf date got bumped?”

“Does it matter what prompted it?”

“You’re in charge, you tell me.”

He laughs again, even though I was entirely serious and not trying to be funny. He grabs his belly and howls like the madman I’m suspecting he is. Finally calming himself enough to lead me
through a series of turns that takes us straight to the reservation where I was born and raised.

“Why didn’t you just tell me we were headed here?” I make no attempt to hide my annoyance.

“Because you would’ve taken a route of your choosing which would most likely involve a shortcut or two.”

“In the interest of saving time and fuel, yeah, you’re right, I would have.”

“And what purpose could that possibly serve when I need you to get used to following directions?” He looks at me like he wants me to reply, but before I can, he’s off and
running again. “Make no mistake, since the moment you inhaled your first breath, your life has been a test that you are always on the verge of failing. If you want to pass, and you’re
ambitious to the degree that I’m sure that you do, then you need to listen. You need to pay attention. You need to let go of your attachment to things that hold no real importance. And you
need to learn to embrace the importance of taking the necessary steps to do a job properly.”

“What does it matter, if the end result is the same—or, in my case, even better?”

“You think that just because you shave ten minutes off the clock and save an extra gallon or two of fuel you would’ve been better off ?”

I look at him dumbfounded—sure that the question must be rhetorical.

“Then I’m afraid this is going to take even longer than I thought.” He shakes his head sadly, and motions for me to drive on.

Instead of directing me to his house like I thought, Leftfoot leads me to Chay’s where he and Leftfoot’s apprentice, Cree, are busy getting four of Chay’s
vast stable of horses saddled up and ready to ride.

“All set?” Leftfoot glances between the two men.

Chay nods, Cree grunts, as I resist the urge to look at my watch.

Thing is, as nervous as I am about being late for work—or, more likely, losing my job—I know better than to doubt Leftfoot for long. Around these parts, he’s honored, revered.
And though he’s taken me under his wing since the day I was born, I try not to take his teachings for granted. It’s taken me years of hard work, over a decade spent earning his trust
and respect, to even get to this point.

From what I’ve seen over the last sixteen years, many have knocked on his door, but only a few are allowed entry.

Whatever he insists on revealing today must be important—possibly sacred. He knows what a struggle money’s always been for Chepi and me. He would never risk a job I sorely need if he
wasn’t convinced it was of the utmost importance.

He turns to me with a knowing gaze, leaving me to suspect that he spent the last few minutes eavesdropping on my innermost thoughts. Then he nods toward the smallest horse in the group—the
one that’s barely bigger than a small Shetland pony, and motions for me to hop on.

I stand before the horse, refusing to budge. Sure this is yet another one of his tests I’m destined to fail, but no way am I riding that thing. I’ll look ridiculous. He’s
smaller than the pony I learned to ride on.

Leftfoot shakes his head, working his jaw as he says, “Do yourself a favor and rid yourself of your vanities, and the foolish assumptions they cause you to make. You’ve never ridden
Big Thunder. I guarantee he’ll surprise you.”

“Big Thunder?” I shake my head. Shuffle my feet uncertainly. But after a few prolonged moments under the elders’ impatient glare, I climb on. And, just as I suspected, they
waste no time indulging a long, hearty laugh at my expense.

Chay and Cree take the lead, talking mostly among themselves, as Leftfoot occasionally calls out to various animals and birds. Many of which are considered to be dangerous and
predatory—but who, in the thrall of Leftfoot’s calm, peaceful energy, merely follow along for a bit, before moving on. While I mostly fight to keep pace and stay on my steed, whose
power and strength defy his small stature. Studiously making a point to observe all I can, remembering what Leftfoot said about my life being a test, and knowing this particular lesson began the
moment I ran into him at Gifford’s. Leaving no doubt he’ll call upon me to access these observations later.

The ride drags on much longer than expected, consuming the better part of the day. Finally ending when Leftfoot dismounts by a small grove of trees where we tether our mounts in the shade and
continue on foot up a long, steep trail ending at the mouth of a cave.

Same cave I visited when my vision quest collided with Daire’s.

She was scared. Hungry, thirsty, tired, and desperate to end it. Caught in a sort of netherworld between delusions and reality, she was just about to slip past the border and wave a white flag
in surrender, when I appeared before her and urged her to stay. To see her initiation through to its end.

I told her we were different. Not like the others. That our paths were chosen for us and it was our job to follow them and live up to the task. Something of which I become more convinced each
day.

Then I gave her a glimpse of her future.

Showed her the radiant, magnificent being she could someday be if she could just stay the course.

Luckily, it worked.

Still, being here now somehow feels wrong. This cave belongs to the Santoses. Without Daire, I have no right to enter.

The elders move a round me, as though I’msome annoying obstacle they’re forced to tolerate. Chay sprinkles a fresh layer of salt along the front entrance that’s meant to keep
it free from predators and intruders—including, possibly, us? As Leftfoot looks at me and says, “You recognize it?” Accurately reading my expression.

I nod. “It’s sacred ground for Seekers.” I meet his gaze. “I’m not sure we have any right to intrude. We have our own sacred places—why force ourselves on
theirs?”

“Since when have I ever forced myself anywhere?” Leftfoot makes an exasperated face, and pushes ahead of me until he joins Cree and Chay inside the cave, while I remain stubbornly
fixed outside. Trying not to cringe under the weight of Leftfoot’s scrutinizing glare when he says, “You questioning me?”

I shift my weight from foot to foot, knowing I shouldn’t, that I have no place to doubt his wisdom, yet there’s no denying the truth.

I rub a hand over my chin, shoot him an apologetic look.

Only to see him grin as he says, “Good. You passed. Never trudge onto sacred land without a proper invitation. But now that you’ve been summoned, you have a handful of seconds to
join us, before the offer will close and you’ll be shut out for the duration.”

I enter the house to the sound of shrieks and giggles drifting from under the door of my old room that can only mean one thing: Lita and Axel are at it
again
.

I head for the sink, drop my cap on the counter, flip on the faucet, and stick my head under the spray. Looking to cool off after a long run in the scorching heat, and hopefully drown out the
blare of the love-fest down the hall.

With my ponytail clinging to my neck, and water streaming down the back of my tank top, I pour a tall glass of iced ginger tea and position myself before the fan I’ve propped on the
counter. Surveying the pile of dirty bowls in the sink, the mixer stand speckled with crud, the baking pan left to cool on the stove—all the usual remnants of yet another failed breakfast
experiment.

I’m annoyed by the mess.

Annoyed to always return home to this.

But mostly, I’m annoyed by the sheer force of their happiness—and my inability to warn them of their ill-fated future.

We’re doomed.

Every last one of us.

Making me feel like a virus—infecting everyone around me.

The only ones who stand half a chance are Auden and Xotichl. And yet, there’s no denying that things between them aren’t quite as intense as they were. Ever since he left Epitaph to
work on a solo act, he’s off playing gigs in other faraway cities. And while I know it’s been hard on Xotichl, she’s mostly really proud of him. She knows how hard he’s
worked for this, and how much it means to him.

I turn back to the sink and flip on the faucet again. This time filling the basin with warm sudsy water, preparing to clean up Lita’s mess, when she enters the kitchen with gleaming brown
eyes, cheeks flushed light pink, and a tumble of dark waves cascading messily over her shoulders, the newly bleached ends nearly meeting her waist.

“Didn’t hear you come home.” She grins happily as Axel comes to stand beside her in a pair of dark denim jeans and a white V-neck tee that Lita picked out for him. And though
he looks undeniably good, it’s still weird seeing him in anything other than the white tunic he wore in the Upperworld.

“You were busy.” The words come out gruffer than I intended, or maybe not. My mood is unstable, my nerves are jangled, and while I’m tempted to blame the heat, I know better.
This is about the dream. No matter how hard I pushed myself during my run, I just couldn’t ditch it.

“Sorry.” Lita’s tone is as sheepish as the look on her face. “Sorry for the noise, the mess, and the overall intrusion on your life.” She sneaks a peek at Axel,
motioning for him to grab the dish towel as she edges me back toward the fan and takes over the washing. “To be honest, Daire, I’m not quite sure how to be around you
anymore.”

I lean against the counter, unsure how to take that. Catching the cautionary look Axel shoots her as he whispers, “Lita—”

But Lita’s not one to be shushed, and so she hands him a bowl to dry as she looks at me and says, “Truth is, when you’re not outwardly irritated, you’re so cut off and
withdrawn it makes me miss the annoyed sighs and frowny faces you make.”

My gaze drops to my feet. Her words cut to the bone, yet there’s no denying their truth.

“And even though everyone tells me to back off and give you the space that you need—thing is, it’s been six months, and—”

“Six months, and
what
? What’s that supposed to mean? Is that the timeline you’ve placed on my grief ?” I’m seething, glaring, ready to explode, but to her
credit she continues washing and rinsing, keeping her cool.

“That’s not fair and you know it. I miss Paloma too. Not a day goes by that I don’t think about her. What I meant was, it’s been six months of watching you shut us all
out, acting like we’re in the way. And while I’m aware that, technically speaking, we probably are, we’re not the enemy here, okay? We’re your friends. And we’re here
to help. We’re
dying
to help. We’re
begging
to help. And we feel like we’re left to idle on the sidelines, just passing the time. Looking for ways to relieve
some of your burden, only you won’t let us.”