Awakening of the Seer (The Gateway Trackers Book 3) Read online

  “What was the Casting?” I asked in a hushed voice.

  “It is called a Tether. Finvarra and I are still connected, but the Tether allows me to stay behind as long as she remains in the Aether. Even now she delays her own Crossing so that I can rectify this mistake. As always, she is more generous to me than I deserve,” Carrick said. He could not tear his eyes from the specter of his boots.

  Hannah and I looked at each other, and I saw the same blind panic I was feeling misting over her eyes, giving her a glazed and wild look.

  “I . . . this is . . . how long do we have?” she managed to choke out.

  “I do not know. Not long. A few minutes, maybe less. She cannot remain in the Aether indefinitely. No Casting we have is any match for the Gateway itself.”

  I stood there, frozen. My brain refused to function, except to scream, “How dare you!” over and over and over again against the insides of my skull. It was all I could do to stop those words from bursting involuntarily from my lips.

  “So, I suppose, I should say—” Carrick began, but I could no longer contain the explosion.

  “You suppose you should say? No. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear anything that you didn’t have the guts to say in the time we had left!” I cried.

  Hannah turned to stone beside me. I, meanwhile, could not stem the uncensored thoughts tumbling over each other to get out. “This time should be for us! For me, and for Hannah, to say all the things we want to say to you!”

  Carrick seemed totally unfazed by my outburst. In fact, he seemed almost to be expecting it. This only made me angrier. “Then take it,” he said quietly. “Take it. It’s yours.”

  “I DON’T WANT IT!” I shouted, and tears joined the mass exodus from my body. “I don’t want to be responsible for fucking this up, when I didn’t even ask for it! How dare she, how dare she force us into this!”

  “You don’t have to say anything. No one is forcing you to—”

  “But how do we live with ourselves if we say nothing? We have to say the right things! We have to express them just the right way! But how can we, when we don’t even know what that is? We can’t let the moment go by, but we can’t make it count the way it needs to! No matter what, we will walk away from this feeling miserable and full of regret, because we didn’t say something, or we said it the wrong way. You can’t just spring this kind of goodbye on someone! You can’t just say, ‘Okay, real quick, just perfectly express the most complicated emotional fucking mess you’ve ever had to deal with, and please hurry, the door is closing.”

  “Jess . . .” Hannah murmured, but I ignored her.

  “I hate you!” I cried. “I hate what you did to our mother! I hate you for never speaking up! I hate you for leaving us to drown in that mess! And I hate myself for hating you, because who hates their own father? And then I hate you again for making me feel that way! There are so many levels of awful here that I can’t get out from under them!”

  “That’s okay,” Carrick said, and his voice shook. And in that little tremor, another crushing blow of guilt.

  “I don’t need you to tell me it’s okay!” I yelled, and the yell crumbled into a sob. “I need to feel it for myself, and I can’t! There’s not enough time! I haven’t had enough time to forgive you!”

  I sank to the floor and let the tears overtake me. Hannah knelt beside me, laying her head on mine and stroking my back in a gentle, steady motion, her own silent tears trickling down into my hair. At last, the sobs slowed, and softened, and finally subsided. Carrick said nothing. He did not approach any closer. He just stood there, letting me cry myself out.

  “Do you want me to go?” he asked, when I had quieted.

  “No,” I said. “Wait, don’t . . . it’s not all anger. You saved our lives from the Elemental. You watched over us from afar for a long time, and you protected us in what ways you could. I’m grateful for all of that. I need you to know that I . . . I will forgive you. I’m not there yet, and I don’t know how long it will be, but I won’t carry these feelings forever. That’s the best I can do, and I’m sorry.”

  I looked up at Carrick, and there was actually the smallest of smiles on his face. “That,” he murmured, “is far more than I ever had the hope to expect.”

  Hannah cleared her throat. We both looked at her.

  “You loved her. I think, if you’d have the chance, you would have loved us. That’s enough for me,” she said in barely more than a whisper.

  Carrick nodded his gratitude to her. “I have nothing but pride in my heart when I look at the two of you. At the women you are. There is so much of her in you, and so little of me. I thank God for that. You are better for it, and the world will be, as well.”

  Carrick’s voice faded out for a moment, and his eyes widened. “I’m going. I can feel it.”

  “Tell her we’re okay,” I said suddenly, wildly. “Tell her I love her, and we have each other, and we’re going to be fine.”

  Carrick’s face spasmed with emotion. “I will do that. I promise you, if it is within my power, I will do that for you.”

  Hannah’s hands had tightened on my shoulders. I could feel the pressure of her fingernails in my flesh. I looked up at her and saw her face was contorted. I watched as she struggled for a moment then blurted out, “I forgive her. Tell her I forgive her. Please.”

  Carrick nodded. “Of course. As soon as I—”

  His voice faded out, and his form dimmed into the shadows. For a moment, I could still see the shape of him, one hand raised in farewell, as though imprinted on the air.

  But then I blinked, and the image faded. Our father was gone.

  16

  Into the Woods

  “I CAN’T BELIEVE I have to go do this.”

  I stood by the open door of one of the Caomhnóir’s fleet of sleek, black SUVs, my backpack by my feet.

  “I know. But the quicker you get it over with, the sooner you’ll be back,” Hannah said, giving my shoulder a squeeze.

  It had been less than forty-eight hours since the black banners had flown from the towers of Fairhaven, and we had to face saying goodbye to our father. It had been less than twenty-four hours since we all stood in the central courtyard, candles aloft, and watched Finvarra’s silk-draped body laid to rest in the Tomb of Priestesses that lay concealed beneath the Geatgrima’s ancient stone dais. The awful truth of it all still hung like a fog over the castle, and yet life was grinding back into motion. Hannah had to attend her very first meeting of the Council, at which they would discuss the election of the new High Priestess, and I had to reluctantly slip back into my role as a Tracker, and attend Irina’s trial at the Traveler camp.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be all right? Maybe I can talk to Catriona and see if we can delay—”

  Hannah was already shaking her head. “I will be fine.”

  “You would say that even if you were the furthest you’ve ever been from fine,” I pointed out.

  “She would, but I wouldn’t,” Milo said, floating around the front of the car and coming to rest at Hannah’s side. “I’ll be right here with her, raining Milo-style destruction down on anyone who dares give her a moment’s disquiet while you’re gone.”

  “Promise?” I muttered.

  “Spirit Guide’s honor,” he said, crossing his heart with a swoop of his finger.

  “Jess, we’ve got to get a move on, or we’ll be late for our escort,” Finn said stiffly, putting on a show of indifference for the Caomhnóir by the gates.

  “Okay, okay,” I said grouchily. I pulled Hannah into a one-armed hug. “Good luck.”

  “You, too,” she said.

  “I’m going to need more than luck,” I said under my breath as I slid into the car, slamming the door shut behind me.

  Several hours later, Finn and I stood together in the bitter cold on the outskirts of a deep patch of woods. A hundred yards behind us, our SUV was pulled off the road and out of sight into a clump of bushes.

  “We’ve
already been to the camp. Is this really necessary?” I complained.

  “This is where they told us to wait,” Finn replied. Though his voice was soft, it sounded like a trumpet in the utter stillness of the snow-blanketed countryside. We were both bouncing up and down on the balls of our feet, though he was doing it to cope with the tension, whereas I was doing it to keep my blood flowing so I didn’t freeze to death.

  “I know. It’s just, why the secrecy? They know they can trust us already,” I said through slightly chattering teeth.

  Finn chuckled. “The Travelers trust no one outside their clans. It doesn’t matter who you are or what you’ve done for them in the past; unless you have Traveler blood, you are assumed the enemy.”

  “The enemy? That’s a bit over-the-top, don’t you think?” I asked.

  Finn shrugged. “Think what you like. But as Caomhnóir we were taught to be cautious in our dealings with the Traveler Clans. They will choose blood over all else, no matter what, and betrayal of blood is unforgivable.”

  I mulled his words over as we stared into the dark, silent edge of the woods. Finn could definitely err on the side of cynicism, but he knew much more about Durupinen culture than I did, having been raised in the heart of it. If what he said of Traveler culture was true, that did not bode well for Irina. Her betrayal would surely be considered one of blood, both of family and of calling. If she were found guilty . . . a shiver ran through me that had nothing to do with the cold.

  “Here they come at last,” Finn said, pointing into the trees.

  Several orange lights were bouncing toward us, looking at first like the flitting lights of fireflies. As they got closer, they grew and resolved into the dancing flames of three torches, held aloft by three hulking young Caomhnóir with olive complexions and dark hair. Their voices drifted out to us, raucous and, unless I was mistaken, a bit intoxicated.

  By the time they reached us, Finn’s expression had hardened from wary to stony.

  “You’re late,” he said, the moment the three Caomhnóir came to a stop in front of us.

  “Did you have somewhere else you needed to be, Northerner?” the Caomhnóir in the middle asked, almost jeeringly. He was by far the biggest of the three, barrel-chested and thick-necked.

  “Other than freezing on the edge of the woods, you mean? Yes, we were meant to have been greeted by the High Priestess at her tent ten minutes ago,” Finn said dryly.

  Another of the Caomhnóir, taller and ganglier than the first, laughed. My nose, well-acquainted with the scent of booze on breath, wrinkled in distaste at the sharp smell that his laughter expelled at me. “You’re lucky anyone bothered to come for you at all,” he sneered. “More trouble than you’re worth, you Settlers.”

  “Charming,” Finn said dryly. “What a delightful welcoming committee.”

  “You know full bloody well we don’t welcome anyone here,” the third Caomhnóir spat. His expression was more hostile than the other two, totally devoid of humor. His hair was closely cropped to his head, unusual for a Traveler male. “Every outsider here is an unnecessary threat to our safety and security.”

  “Right, then. Cheers,” Finn said blandly. “Lead on.”

  At first, it looked as though the Traveler Caomhnóir were disappointed for some reason. One of them even opened his mouth again, looking combative, but the short-haired one jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow and jerked his head back toward the forest.

  We followed them at a distance, having no desire to interact with such hostile hosts. Soon they were several yards ahead of us, and I felt safe talking to Finn without being overheard.

  “What the hell is their problem?” I muttered, the crunching sound of the frozen leaves and twigs masking our conversation from the Caomhnóir, who in any case now seemed to be ignoring us, teasing and shoving each other around as they walked. “They weren’t like this the last time we were here.”

  Finn smirked at me and raised his eyebrows as if to say, “I told you so,” but instead said, “We were with Annabelle the last time we were here. And even then, they were extremely wary about letting us enter the camp. You could hardly have called them welcoming.”

  “I know, but they weren’t so . . .” I gestured ahead at the Caomhnóir, searching for the right word.

  “Rude? Combative?”

  “I was going to say drunken frat boy, but yeah, that works,” I murmured.

  “They were also scared of you the last time we were here,” Finn pointed out. “Last time, you were at the center of the Prophecy. Their prejudice was somewhat tempered by their fear. Now that they know you’re just an average Durupinen again, well,” he shrugged dismissively.

  “Oh, thanks very much,” I said coolly.

  Finn grinned. “You know what I mean. Anyway, I intend to have a word about them with Dragos. This is entirely unprofessional. We are here on official clan business, at the request of the Traveler Council, no less. They ought to know and respect the difference.”

  We fell into silence as we walked, and my mind, ill-at-ease from the less-than-warm welcome, thought back to our first arrival here, and then, onto Annabelle. Hearing Finn speak her name had caused a cold, clammy feeling in my stomach, like I had swallowed a block of ice that was just sitting in there now, chilling me from the inside. I hadn’t heard Annabelle’s voice since my frantic late-night phone call, though I had found excuses to text or email her almost every day since. I’d also been checking her social media accounts multiple times a day like a creepy stalker. She posted her daily horoscopes on her shop’s page every morning without fail, and updated her customers with inventory news regularly. She even posted a selfie with some friends who were watching a band play at a local bar the previous night. Everything seemed . . . completely normal. So normal, in fact, that I had started to doubt everything that Fiona had told me about being a Seer. And yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling—stronger, now that I was walking into the heart of her heritage—that my sketch was still on a winding, dimly lit path to fruition, unless I could figure out its meaning.

  The trees began to thin, and the sultry scent of campfire smoke wafted out to meet us like beckoning fingers. Another sensation greeted us, too: the unmistakable tingle of spirit energy, thick in the air like swarming bees. Just like at Fairhaven, the concentrated presence of multiple Gateways caused spirits in the area to congregate like moths to a flame.

  A single battered tent stood on the outskirts of the clearing. Beyond it, I could see the collections of other dwellings, each able, at short notice, to be picked up and relocated should the Travelers so choose. It was hard to tell—because it was dim and the grove looked very different in the winter time—but I thought we might have been in a different part of the forest than we had been three years previously.

  “Oy! Andrei!” the tall gangly Caomhnóir called sharply.

  A bleary-eyed and unshaven old Caomhnóir poked his head out of the tent, his expression cantankerous.

  “What are you on about?” he growled, squinting as though even the half-light hurt his eyes, one of which was hidden under a heavy bandage. I noticed bandages around his left arm and peeking out from under the left side of his misbuttoned flannel shirt.

  “You’re supposed to be guarding the northern crossing point, you useless parasite,” the Caomhnóir spat in disgust. “What good are you if you can’t even stay sober for a four-hour shift?”

  Andrei muttered something that contained the words “spoiled children,” but did not address the Caomhnóir directly. He pulled a battered book out of the depths of the tent with his good hand and scribbled something into it with the stump of a pencil.

  “This the Northern Walker and her guardian?” he grumbled, slurring the last word ever so slightly as he jabbed the pencil stub in my direction.

  “That’s right. Now splash some water on that mug and pull yourself together before I report you to Dragos,” the short-haired Caomhnóir growled.

  Andrei pulled into the tent like a curmudgeonly turtle ba
ck into his shell and our escorts stalked past. I could still see the old man’s eyes shining in the dark interior of the tent, following us as we passed.

  “Why was Andrei all bandaged like that?” I asked their indifferent backs. “What happened to him?”

  “His own incompetence happened to him, nothing more,” the burly Caomhnóir replied without even glancing over his shoulder. “Good for nothing but mopping up spilled liquor, that one.”

  “Oh what, because you’re so sober?” I shot back, firing up. “I’ve been to frat houses that smell less like beer than the three of you.”

  The gangly one turned, frowning perplexedly. “Frat houses?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s a Northerner thing,” I said.

  “The difference is that we can hold our liquor,” the short-haired Caomhnóir said. “Andrei is little better than a sponge, and half as useful.”

  Finn gave me a warning look, so I bit back my retort. Perhaps I was more defensive than most when I heard people dragging someone with a drinking problem, having spent the better part of my childhood cleaning up after my mother, whose self-medication of choice dwelled at the bottom of a cheap bottle of chardonnay, but that wasn’t the only reason I was angry. I knew Andrei—not well, it was true—but I’d met him three years ago, dozing outside of Irina’s wagon. He’d not only been charged with guarding her; he was also her nephew. If I’d had to watch one of my own family members endure what Irina had suffered, and then been required to help enforce it, I would probably have drunk myself into a stupor, too.

  We followed them to the left, down a path that seemed to lead away from the rest of the encampment. This path led to the lavish tent where Ileana, the High Priestess of the Traveler Clans, resided. I could feel my heart starting to race as the tent loomed out of the darkness, tendrils of smoke unfurling from its roof like kite tails.

  Dragos met us at the entrance of the tent, arms folded across his chest like bolts barring a door.