Free The Soul Seekers: Horizon by Alyson Noël

won’t change what’s been done. The only purpose it serves is to punish myself for things that were never mine to control.
    Besides, what if there’s a chance Dace is right?
    What if love really can overcome evil?
    What if it’s as simple as that?
    My thoughts toward myself are pretty much the opposite of loving. I’ve been ruled by self-hate and fear, and maybe it’s time I do better.
    After all, Paloma trusted me, believed in me.
    Maybe it’s time I trust and believe in myself.
    With the sun quickly descending, glazing the mountains in a glorious sheen of purples and reds, I take a deep breath, steeple my hands to my chest, and make a true and solemn pledge to do better
than I have.
    To stop denying my grief.
    Stop torturing myself by reliving a past I can’t change.
    To let my friends in.
    Lita was right. We’re all in this together. For a short while I knew that, yet ever since Paloma’s death I’ve been driven by fear, and so I’ve pushed them away in a
misguided attempt to spare them from the kind of things that aren’t mine to control.
    But no more.
    With Kachina off grazing—with Wind tickling my skin—with the low guttural cry of a lone raven soaring circles over my head—I bow in reverence toward the mountain, and
rededicate myself to my legacy.
    To the destiny I was born to claim.
    No matter what may become of me—I won’t go down easily.
    The Richters will pay for the heinous acts that they’ve wrought on this town—on my loved ones—on the Lower, Upper, and Middleworlds, which are mine to keep balanced.
    Then I lift my face to the heavens, drop to my knees, and cave in to my grief. Letting loose the deluge of tears I’ve held back for too long—allowing myself to fully experience the
deep-seated pain of losing my grandmother, my mentor, my friend, a woman I truly loved and deeply admired.
    I cry until my vision grows so blurry it’s impossible to see even a few feet before me.
    I cry until my body grows exhausted and empty.
    I cry until I’m suddenly silenced, suddenly strengthened, by an unexpected infusion of the purest, most buoyant stream of joy, beauty, and love flowing through me.
    My ancestors are here.
    I’m not alone.
    Never was.
    Although they don’t materialize before me, their presence is made known in the glorious chorus that fills up the sky.
    Instinctively, I sway from side to side, gripped by a celestial melody I’m sure only I can hear. But when Kachina snorts and whinnies, when she tips her nose and perks her ears, I know she
hears it just as clearly as I do.
    It’s a symphony of leaves chimed by Wind, accompanied by Raven’s sweet song. And, if I’m not mistaken, I can even detect the low vibrato of Paloma’s treasured drum.
    A sacred instrument, she referred to as a Spirit Horse. Its music akin to a heartbeat, its tempo said to open the portals that lead to the otherworlds.
    There is nothing to fear
, she told me then, just as she’s telling me now.
    This symphony of nature is a message from my
abuela
. Of that, I am sure
.
A sort of opus from the natural world, telling me it’s time to rid myself of doubt. Time to trust
in the wisdom of my ancestral bloodline. And I’m not one bit surprised Paloma chose to communicate in this way.
    With that glorious chorus swirling within me, I leap onto Kachina’s back and race toward home. Only to find a large white box tied with a ribbon as bright and crimson as freshly drawn
blood, waiting for me on the stoop.
    Dace! He must’ve left a present to distract me from the dream.
    I rush toward it, drop to my knees, and go about removing the ribbon and tipping the lid. Only to release a deluge of bright red squares of packing confetti that spill at my feet.
    I plunge my hands in, fingers digging deep. Until they butt up against something silky and cold, unyielding and stiff, that I ease free of the box and hold up before me.
    A raven.
    A dead raven, to be exact.
    Its unseeing eyes marred with precisely placed globs