Blood and Salt (8 page)

SAVAGE

I SEARCHED FOR DANE,
but I'd lost him. Even with the meeting house lit up like a jewel box, it was still incredibly dark outside—the kind of dark that pressed in around me like a lead veil.

I walked to the shore, watching the ripples fade to black. The clouds obscuring the moon sailed past, giving the water an odd veneer, like the film on an old dog's eye.

“You shouldn't have come here.” Dane's voice slipped from the shadows.

The blood seemed to flutter in my veins.

I should've been embarrassed, but I wasn't. I'd already made a complete fool of myself. What was one more twist of the knife?

I stepped across the lawn, toward the sound of his voice, straining to catch a glimpse of his face. But what I saw chilled
me. Standing a few feet deep in the corn, he watched me through the heavy stalks, his dark eyes glistening with a focus that unnerved me.

I crossed my arms over my flimsy garment, afraid he could see right through me.

“What was all that about . . . with Spencer Mendoza?”

His jaw tensed. “You and I can't be seen together. Alone.”

“We're just talking. Besides”—I stepped forward—“I don't care about any of that. About me being a Larkin and you being a Mixed or whatever,” I said as I fidgeted with the end of the black silk ribbon.

“
I
care.” His voice had a menacing edge. “We take tradition and honor very seriously in Quivira.”

“I didn't mean it like that. I just . . . when we met . . . and then you left . . . and I saw you again . . . it's just . . .”

I took another step toward him. As soon as my foot hit the soil at the edge of the corn, a current ripped through my body, flinging me back at least ten feet in the grass.

Stunned, I got back up. He stared at me unflinchingly.

I tried again, but the moment I stepped into the corn I was thrown back with an even greater force.

“What's happening?” I struggled to get to my feet, feeling more than a little dazed.

“The only way you'll leave Quivira is if the corn wants you to leave.”

I couldn't stop thinking about Tanner's warning.
People go
into the corn but they don't come out.
Could it be true? I held my ground a few feet away from the edge of the field. I could feel it now—an invisible energy force keeping me there.

“But how are you—”

“I'm a Mixed. I have Coronado's blood.” He pulled up his left sleeve, showing me the brand on his inner wrist. “All of the Mixed have certain
quirks.
”

“Beth,” I exhaled, remembering the scar on her inner arm, her strangeness. But her mark looked different from Dane's. “Can all of the Mixed go into the corn?”

“No.” He looked at me with a pained expression. “And you're the only person who knows I can. If anyone found out, they'd kill me.”

“
Kill
you?” I whispered as I glanced back toward the meeting house.

“I need to know I can trust you,” he said as he brushed his hand over the scar tissue on his arm; I had an overwhelming urge to touch it.

“I know how to keep a secret,” I managed to whisper.

He walked toward the edge of the field. “There
is
a way you can walk in the corn,” he said, extending his arm. “Take my hand.” He glanced nervously behind him. “But we need to hurry.”

When I looked out over the field, a dark feeling rose inside of me. The stalks hulked and swayed in the breeze, like a churning sea, but the thought of touching him overruled every other thought in my head.

As I reached out for his hand, something violent quaked inside of me, a dull ache grinding me into the past.

I tried to hold on to the present, but it felt as if someone had a death grip on my rib cage and they were trying to pull me through a sliver in the earth's crust.

• • •

I drag Alonso's corpse through the corn. A sadness unlike anything I've ever felt washes over me, as if my heart can't bear to beat without him. I call upon the Great Spirit, begging her to break my blood bond to Coronado and return Alonso's soul to me, but she refuses.

Then a whisper rustles through the crops, tickling my ear. “I can bring him back to you.”

I stumble back—there's no one there, but I can feel a presence all around me.

“Who are you?” I demand.

“Without darkness, there can be no light.” The whisper swirls past me this time, circling Alonso, moving his hair about his face, making him appear . . . alive.

I know who speaks to me now—I can feel him trying to slip under my skin.

The Dark Spirit.

I should block him out, refuse to listen, but when I look down at Alonso's mutilated body, I know what I have to do. The Great Spirit has turned her back on me. She's made her choice, as I must make mine. “What do you want of me?” I ask. “I'll do anything to bring him back.”

The whisper then seeps inside my throat. I breathe his power into my lungs. The Dark Spirit etches the terms across my heart.

“Let him go,” a voice behind me pleads.

I turn to see Aiyana. Her long plaited hair, eyes shining like wet shale. “The Great Spirit knows best. You must accept your fate.”

“I can't,” I scream, tears running down my face. “I love him.”

“There are other ways to break the blood bond.”

“But not ways to bring Alonso back to me.”

“If you turn your back on the Great Spirit, I will be forced to turn my back on you.” Aiyana's words cut right through me.

My entire body trembles. I cannot let Coronado win . . . cannot let Alonso go. I will have my vengeance.

Ripping the stalks from the field to form a circle, I cut my wrist with my golden blade and walk along the rim, letting my blood sink deep into the soil. I call upon the Dark Spirit.
“A'ckista ra'u taku nistka'au'a.”

“Katia, stop!” Aiyana races toward me, but she's unable to enter the sacred circle.

I dig my hands deep within the soil. The ground grumbles in defiance until it finally gives way, taking Alonso's body down with it, forming a deep crevice in the center of the circle. A gateway to the Dark Spirit.

I feel the light leaving me and the darkness taking hold, consuming me.

I know what must be done. Every great deed requires great sacrifice.

And so it shall be . . .

• • •

“Ashlyn.”

I was thrust back into the present, standing at least thirty feet inside the corn, Dane bracing my wrists.

“You walked straight into the corn like you were in a trance,” he said, his voice low. “I've never seen anyone do that before. How did you do that?” He shook me.

People began to pour out of the meeting house, screaming and crying.

Dane's eyes darted toward the commotion and then to the corn behind him. He looked down at me, lips parted, eyes blazing. “What are you?” he whispered, letting go of my arm.

As if a spell had been broken, I was torn from his side. A tremendous force of energy pulled me back toward the perimeter, spitting me onto the grass of Quivira.

Rhys and Beth spotted me. As they ran across the lawn to reach me, I peered back at the corn, searching for Dane. The look of savage beauty on his face nearly shattered me as he stepped back, letting the dark green stalks envelop him.

ADRIFT

RHYS COLLAPSED TO
his knees beside me on the grass, gasping for air. I couldn't tell if he was trying to catch his breath or if he was going to throw up.

“What's going on?” I asked, still in a daze.

“He's come back,” Beth said as she stared off into the corn.

“Who?” I pulled myself into a sitting position.

“Coronado.”

“How do you know that?”

“The crows,” she replied.

I looked up to the sky and saw the faint outline of black birds flying high above.

“These people . . .” Rhys panted. “They think the crows belong to Coronado . . . some kind of animal spirit.”

“They're called familiars.” Beth blinked slowly, like she could push them from her vision. “The crows attacked during the slaughter in 1861 when Katia sealed off Quivira. They
returned the night Nina and Thomas walked the corn. Their presence has marked the disappearance of so many Larkins over the years. But this is different—his magic's getting stronger.”

“Ash, we have to leave,” Rhys whispered as he pulled me to my feet.

My stomach coiled up into tight knots as I looked out over the corn. He still didn't know we were trapped. Rhys would absolutely freak if I told him. “We can't leave.” I shook my head. “Not without Mom.”

“Look at me.” He turned me toward him, his hands trembling. “Someone just
died,
Ash. She died right in front of me.”

My mind stuttered, trying to grasp what he was saying. “Who?”

“My cousin Betsy Grimsby,” Beth said softly as she looked down at the ground.

“The girl you were dancing with?” I asked, my mind spinning. “I thought she just fainted.”

“There was so much blood.” Rhys winced. “Coming out of her nose . . . her mouth . . . her eyes. She just bled out right in front of me. She must've had an aneurysm or something. I tried to get them to take her to a hospital, but they looked at me like I was crazy. They think Coronado's ‘black magic' had something to do with it.”

Brennon ran up to us. “Thank heavens you're okay.” There was blood spattered on his white dress shirt.

Rhys must've noticed it, too, because his knees went weak. Beth helped me hold him upright.

“What's happening?” I asked Brennon as I looked past him, toward the crowd gathering in front of the meeting house.

“I'm not sure, but Spencer will know. Come.” He motioned for us to join the others.

The people of Quivira were huddled in sections, seemingly sticking close to their respective families. Children clung to their mothers' skirts, while the elders stared out over the corn with blank, glassy expressions. One man was down on his knees, tears streaming down his face as he looked up at the sky. But they were all eerily quiet, like they were holding their breath. It made me hold mine, too.

“Friends,” Spencer Mendoza announced as he stepped into the center of the crowd. “Rest assured, the vessels are safe. Katia and Aiyana will protect them until the summer solstice.”

The crowd let out a collective sigh of relief.

I looked around in confusion. One of their own just died, and this was their highest concern?

“It's Coronado, isn't it?” a woman blurted, her cheeks mottled and damp with tears.

Spencer nodded dramatically. “We know, all too well, what the appearance of the crow means. Because of the sudden and violent nature of Betsy's death, we must assume Coronado had a hand in this. Through black magic, he may have found a way to worm his way into our minds . . . our hearts.”

The gathering erupted in panicked murmurs.

“Betsy wasn't a Larkin. Why her?” A man with thick sideburns pulled his children close.

“Is it because Katia's away?” Lou asked with her palm pressed against her chest. “Has the corn weakened in her absence?”

Spencer held up his hands, quieting the din of agitated whispers. “The corn will hold,” he said sternly. “We are being tested.” He tugged down his vest. “Unfortunately, because of the nature of Betsy's death, we must set her soul free with fire.”

A woman next to me gasped, her slender fingers trembling as she attempted to cover her mouth.

“That's a terrible insult to the Grimsby family,” Beth whispered as she hugged herself. “Only the Mixed are burned.”

The woman then began to sob openly. A man placed his arm around her, holding her tight.

Spencer glared at her. “We cannot risk Coronado's influence taking root in Quiviran soil. But take comfort. Everything we've hoped for, everything we've dreamed of is within our grasp. Nina and Thomas will be joining us soon, friends.”

I wished he would stop saying
friends
like some kind of creepy roadside preacher. And what did he mean, everything we've
hoped
for? Why did they care about Katia getting her dead boyfriend back?

“Tomorrow, we'll meet on the fields for the annual social,” Spencer announced. “A little levity will do us good.” He clasped his hands behind his back and walked around the circle. “But for now, we must return to our lodges. If Coronado's black magic is at play, only the weak of spirit shall succumb.
So hold fast and pray. And be ever watchful, for the night near the summer solstice is full of wicked things.”

A palpable hush swept over the people of Quivira as they stared straight ahead at the corn . . . like zombies . . . like a cult.

Spencer stretched out his arms, as if to embrace the crowd. “And so it shall be . . .” He bowed his head.

My skin erupted in goose bumps.
And so it shall be.
The same thing my mother said when she dug the bone needle into my flesh. The same thing Katia said when she formed the sacred circle.

The community answered his call in unison. “And so it shall be . . . at the harvest of the end of the world. The reaper will come forth and sever the wicked from among the just; and she will make us immortal.”

It hit me like a tidal wave.

For five hundred years . . .
this
is what the families have been waiting for. All their hopes and dreams were pinned on this event. They believed
they
were the
just
among the wicked of the outside world.

My heart felt heavy, my fingers, numb as I reached for my brother.

“Immortality,” I whispered.

“What the hell's going on?” Rhys said through his teeth.

“They think Katia will make them immortal after the ritual. That's what this is all about.”

A group of men pushed through the crowd, carrying a wood stretcher bearing what looked like a mummy, wrapped in a white sheet.

The mob silently followed the stretcher toward the boats lining the dam.

Rhys held me back. “We can make a run for it,” he said as he stared off into the corn. “They won't come looking for us in there . . . they're too scared.”

“Rhys . . .” I swallowed hard. I wanted to tell him about the corn, but I couldn't make the words come out. “We'll be safe here until Mom gets back.”

“Safe?” He grasped me tighter, his eyes welling up with fear. “Look around, Ash. This is a cult. That girl just died and no one batted an eye, and now they're building her a freaking funeral pyre.”

Beth pried my brother's hand off my arm. “It's best if you come with me,” she said.

Rhys and I looked up to find the entire community staring at us.

“Your belongings are already on the boat.” She looked at me and I knew what she was trying to tell me. This wasn't the time to cause a scene. They were watching us. If we had any chance of seeing our mother again, we were going to have to lie low a while longer.

My brother must've felt it, too, because he let Beth lead him toward the dam.

“Where are you taking us?” he asked as he walked stiffly through the crowd.

“Home,” Beth whispered.

Brennon was waiting for me by the dam. He scrunched what was left of the wreath onto my head and kissed my hand. “Till tomorrow.”

He got into a canoe with his family, and his mom waved at us, flashing a tight smile. I wiped the back of my hand against my dress. I don't know what made me do it. The words . . . the ceremony . . . the dance . . . for some reason it all felt a little too real.

Rhys and I stood perfectly still as they carried the stretcher past us to the lake and placed it in the water. It was some kind of raft.

The other families climbed into the boats lining the dam. Beth helped us into a battered canoe painted with bright yellow daisies. In one fluid movement, she settled herself into the hull, pulling the paddle from the bottom of the boat to row us “home.”

As the fifty or so boats traveled together across the lake, a young girl's voice rose above the rhythmic strokes of the oars pushing through the water. She sang a hymn I didn't recognize—a song of lost love, sacrifice, and redemption. I was glad the others didn't join in. Her lone angelic voice was perfect in that moment—hauntingly beautiful.

At the darkest point, in the center of the lake, they set
Betsy's body adrift. Spencer threw a lit torch onto the raft; her body was swiftly engulfed in flames.

We sat there for what seemed like an eternity, watching her body burn. The orange flames stood out with perverse clarity against the midnight sky.