Alyson Noel - Horizon

“While the statement is true, you used the line as proof that you should make the choice you were determined to make all along.” His tone is sharp though it’s not meant to sting. Leftfoot is merely stating the truth.

“And every action yields a reaction.” I frown, the words coming from a place that allows for perfect recall of that day.

“The moment those dueling curls of smoke rose up before you, your choice was made. Maybe even before.” Leftfoot’s face grows dark, hooded, as he returns his focus to me. The absolute veracity of his words leaving me no choice but to duck my head in shame.

I’d decided long before I entered that sweat lodge which path I’d choose, and I used the events as an excuse to proceed. I was sure that choosing darkness over light would strengthen me—allow me the necessary edge to defeat the Richters and protect Daire.

Now I know better.

After a long bout of silence, I lift my chin and regard him with smoke-stung eyes and a profound sense of unease. “Did I make the wrong choice—or was I merely following my destiny?”

“Destiny is inevitable.” Leftfoot’s gaze centers on mine, though his thoughts grow distant, drifting to a faraway place. “In the end, all roads lead to the end.”

“You once said that the bit of darkness I ingested is the very thing that makes me human, maybe even normal.”

“The darkness inside you allows for a more human experience. Giving you the very thing you lacked before: an insider’s knowledge of the two faces of man—the constant struggle between darkness and light. But make no mistake, you’re not entirely human, Dace. Your inherent nature is something much greater.”

I close my eyes and sigh.

My birth. Of course. What else could it be?

I’m the product of violence.

Black magick.

Dark interference.

Sorcery at its worst.

Wrought from the bleakest, purest form of evil, my creation was aided by demons, beasts, the restless undead, and other dark, fetid things dredged up from the depths.

“There’s a reason you survived. A reason Leandro couldn’t extinguish your light, no matter how hard he tried. And it’s not for the reason you think. Seems you have a big role to play.”

I lift my gaze to meet his, hoping he’ll choose to elaborate on what that role might be. But he just motions for me to get up and stand beside him.

“Time to read the bones.” He arcs a finger toward the scattering of skeleton bits now spread across the dirt in patterns that at first look don’t make any sense. “Describe what you see.”

My gaze moves over them until three very distinct shapes begin to form.

I inhale a sharp breath. Swing my head between the startling array of bones and the old medicine man beside me.

It can’t be.

There’s no way.

After everything that’s happened, how could it amount to this?

Leftfoot motions toward that rising curl of smoke that once represented the glorious beast within, now transformed into the dreaded monster I’m in the midst of becoming.

“The bones never lie.” His voice is a match for the remorse that I feel. “This is one of the oldest forms of divination. And, in your case, it’s appropriate to say it came straight from the Horse’s mouth.” He cracks a smile, offering a welcome bit of levity in a room gone heavy with dread.

Though my own expression is bereft when I say, “Now that I know, what do I do?”

“That’s always the question, isn’t it?” His gaze grows so hooded, so shadowed, it’s impossible to read. “I’m afraid my guidance ends here. The next move is yours.”

I balk. Sure he can’t be serious. Despite the absolute finality of his expression, his word. “You’re abandoning me? Now? Just when I need you the most?”

“I’ve taught you as well as I was able. Instilled within you the necessity of rooting yourself firmly in your own truth.”

I stare at him incredulously. “And what kind of truth is that?” I motion toward the bones. “I never wanted this! Everything you taught me brought me closer to the light. And now . . .” I rake a hand through my hair, press my fists to my eyes. Hardly able to believe the horrible turn destiny has decided to make.

“Know this.” Leftfoot rests a comforting hand on my shoulder. “It’s never enough to just accumulate knowledge and skills. It’s what a person does with what he knows that defines who he is.”

“Every man must decide the kind of path he’ll walk.” I return my focus to the bones, reciting yet another of Leftfoot’s many lessons. “Turns out it’s not true at all. I never wanted this path. Never asked for any of this.”

“Didn’t you?” Leftfoot moves away, all the while watching me intently. But I can’t meet his look. Can’t bear the truth in his gaze. “You made your choice that day in the sweat lodge. And now it seems it’s taken on a life of its own.”

I clutch at my stomach, feeling sick, drunk, as though I might vomit. I stoop toward the dirt. Duck my head low until the key that swings forward, slaps at my chin, serves as a sobering reminder that no matter how dire the prophecy, I can’t afford to give in.

Daire.

Everything I did was for her—for us—and now look.

“Only one way to vanquish the dark . . .”

I shake my head, struggle to pull myself up. My eyes finding his as I say, “Turn on the light?”

“The question is, will you? Can you? Or is it too late?”

I turn to see Chay and Cree, watching intently, their faces etched with deep lines of worry. Then I return my focus to the bone fragments before me. Shifting my focus from image to image until the message is sealed on my brain, hardwired into my soul. And, when it’s done, it seems I know just what to do.

I raise both hands before me, like a maestro conducting a symphony, and send the bones whirling back into the fire. Only, this time, instead of exploding, they snuff out the flames.

The cave grows dark.

The temperature drops.

And without so much as a single word between us, we gather our belongings and find our way back. The elders maintaining a wide berth around me now that my truth is revealed.

They fear me.

No doubt they should.

Still, it’s nothing compared to the fear I feel toward myself.

DAIRE

After a busy day of performing healings and determining the spirit animals of newborns (always my favorite), I head for Kachina’s stall in search of some fresh air and the clarity that often comes from a nice long ride. Needing to slip away for a bit before my house fills with friends and I’ll be forced to make good on Lita’s request that I start accepting their offers to help.

Kachina bobs her head up and down and whinnies in greeting, as Cat crouches and glares from the corner of the stall. Though he doesn’t scram the second he sees me as he usually does, and I consider that progress.

I toss a bridle onto Kachina and lead her from the yard. Allowing my horse to wander aimlessly as my mind does the same.

Usually I try hard to guide it, stay focused, on track. But today my fatigue overrules me, and it’s not long before I’m immersed in the memory of the day we lowered my abuela ’s body into the earth. The ripe scent of freshly churned soil—the plaintive call of the lone raven soaring overhead—so immediate, so accessible, it’s as though I’m transported in time.

It’s been six full months since she passed.

Six full months since Cade Richter’s last heinous act.

Still, the pain of losing her is so raw, so real, it’s like a festering wound that refuses to heal.

I can’t imagine ever not feeling this way.

Can’t imagine how I’ll ever learn to live with the big, gaping void that remains in her place.