Echo Soul Seekers

You’re no good to me either. Save yourself, Santos. While you still can. And while you’re at it, save my brother too. And the next time you come here to kill me, remember that it’s because of you that I’m stronger than you.” A crude smirk further distorts his demonic face. “Speaking of which, I should probably thank you for the latest infusion of power. Thanks to you, I’m stronger than ever. I can only imagine the kind of dirty deeds you two have been up to.”
    The tremors intensify. The earth shaking so violently, the trees I once hid behind crash and fall all around me. And when one of them narrowly misses crushing Dace, I’m left with no choice but to risk the leap toward him.
    My focus narrowed as I flail through the air. My legs kicking wildly as the toe of my boot finds purchase, but only briefly, before the soil crumbles and loosens beneath me. Sending me into a free fall—tumbling into a yawning dark chasm that offers nothing to grab hold of.
    The pull of gravity dragging me down until the earth shifts again, moving toward me this time. Offering a hardened piece of packed earth I’m quick to grab hold of, followed by a succession of rocks. And the next thing I know, I’m seeking handholds and footholds, as I cautiously work my way up.
    When I’m over the ledge, I rush to the place where Dace lies. Sparing a second to ensure he’s still breathing, I toss his good arm over my shoulder, heave him up alongside me, and drag him along as I seek a way out.
    Chased by an ever-increasing crevice splintering behind us and the sound of Cade’s mocking laughter singing, “Run, Seeker, run!”

 
    thirty-five
    Dace
    When I wake, I have no idea how long I’ve been out.
    All I know is it must’ve been bad, if the heady shroud of incense and candles are anything to go by.
    Chepi reaches me first. But then I’m pretty sure she’s been there all along. Never really left. Her exhausted, tear-streaked face hovers over mine as one hand fusses at my hair, smoothing it off my forehead, while the other clutches an overused tissue she presses hard to her chest. Murmuring soft words of gratitude and relief—wanting me to know how much she loves me, how much she prayed for me, that Jolon’s spirit stood by me—until Leftfoot pushes her aside and stands in her place.
    His own ministrations not nearly as loving, he says, “I thought for sure you were dead on arrival.”
    I start to speak, but my mouth is so dry I have to force my tongue to separate from my teeth. “So, these are funeral candles?” I croak, my voice hoarse, underused.
    “You can’t afford to make jokes.” He frowns. “You have no idea just how bad off you are. But soon, the medicinal herbs I gave you to numb your pain will wear off, and you’ll be newly enlightened.”
    I slide my eyes shut, straining to remember exactly how I got here. My mind requiring a handful of seconds to warm up, wake up, and piece together the hazy remnants of a distant memory. And a moment later, when the scene comes barreling toward me in its hideously detailed entirety, I’m left wishing I’d been smart enough to leave it alone.
    The hellish encounter gleefully unfolds in my head, lingering over the scene where Daire had to physically drag me out of the Lowerworld. Insistently rewinding it again and again, if only to punish me.
    Humiliated doesn’t even begin to describe it.
    Mortified doesn’t work either.
    There’s not a single word I can think of that accurately states how I feel.
    Though the question remains: Is she here?
    I try to sit up, desperate to see her. Stopped by the stabbing pain in my side, along with Leftfoot’s hand pushing me back toward the mattress.
    “Where is she?” I force the question between gritted teeth. Leftfoot was right—the herbs are starting to fade.
    In an instant, Daire is beside me. Her hair disheveled and wind-tossed. Her clothes filthy and bloodstained. And yet, beneath the layers of dirt, her cheeks are flushed pink, her eyes bright and hopeful, and to me, she’s never been more beautiful. I’ve never been more happy to see her.
    “I’m here—I’m always here,” she whispers, words intended only for my ears.
    But when she bites down on her lip and sweeps a cautious hand over my cheek, I’m quick to close my eyes and turn away. Imagining how repugnant I must look to her.
    Battered.
    Broken.
    Defeated and weak.
    Someone she was forced to rescue.
    A far cry from the hero I was striving to be.
    And it’s