Arek is silent until Sassi places a hand on his shoulder. “Remy’s in there. She has the gift . . . still.”
“Do I know your mother?”
Arek nods. “The spiritual world was as close to you as anything tangible here for us, and after my mom died, she would use that to speak to me,” Arek explains.
I place a hand on his chest. “She’s there. It may be deep, but she’s there.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
A freezing wind picks up suddenly, pulling the icy leaves in front of me, up and around in a circular motion. When one lands it makes a small distinct cracking sound. Even the hair on my arms is starting to form small icicles from the moisture in the air. I spin around taking in the encompassing darkness, yet the echo of the trees tells me I am in the forest. How did I get here? I don’t remember walking outside Sassi and Kilon’s cabin. Then again, it doesn’t seem like the same type of tree and their cabin is nowhere in sight. Suddenly my feet begin to burn, yet when I look down, they are nearly covered in foot-high snow—it isn’t burning, it is severe cold that pierces my skin with needles.
“Look at me, Willow.” I hear Arek’s voice and I look up into the darkness. If I stick out my hand, it is difficult to even see my palm. There is no moon and the stars are fading.
“Where are you?” I call out as I wrap my arms around my chest.
The eerie nature of a forest at night is magnified when alone, and especially when a dark figure begins to emerge from the shadows. I back away, my heart painfully trying to find normal rhythm. A morphing shape keeps an even pace until finally it is clear that Geo is coming close. He stares at me with expectancy.
“What? Where’s Arek?”
“In front of you.”
I look again, but see nothing, only trees and darkness. I squeeze my eyes hard, almost as though I am trying to peer through a pane of glass.
“I can’t see him.”
“He’s touching your arm.”
I can see the hair on my arm compress and draw down toward my wrist. “I can’t see him.” The pain of standing in the severely cold mountain air isn’t nearly as bad as the feeling in my head. Everything is beginning to pound, almost to a point where the phantom hand running down my skin feels like razors. “It hurts, tell him to stop.”
“I can’t, Willow. Stop and concentrate on finding him.”
“How do I do it?”
“We’ve told you this.”
The pain worsens. “I don’t remember! Tell me again!”
“You’re letting him see for you.”
“It doesn’t make sense.”
“Yes, it does. He’s controlling you with his voice. Can’t you hear it?”
“No.”
“Listen.”
I close my eyes. I can hear the flap of a bird’s feathers. The trees crack. The emptiness of the forest is too loud, but then I can hear something. I’m not sure if I can even call it a sound, rather a breath—like a quiet hum. Then it turns to tapping; after a while I realize it is my teeth chattering.
“It’s too cold.”
“It’s not cold, Willow.” Geo doesn’t come closer. He stays away and places his hands in his pockets.
I clench my jaw together. Again, I hear it. This time I focus on the hum. If I listen hard enough, it separates into beats. A rhythm. Then finally I hear words.
“Magatea, in hus cols. Sesham ban il hunt.” And then they repeat.
“You hear it.” Geo can see the recognition on my face.
“Yes.”
“Bring the thoughts back to your own. It’s not cold. Figure out where you are. You must let go of Arek’s words. Counter them with your own. You know the language . . . speak back. Break the rhythm he’s made.” I am quiet for a moment as I think. “Speak!” Geo yells angrily, which is the most emotion he’s shown. “You don’t get time to wait, Willow! You understand that? Japha and Navin will take every advantage that you give them and control you in seconds. You’re not weak yet you’re acting like it.”
He continues, “The more silence, the more the rhythm begins to make sense to your brain. Don’t let it make sense. Find the difference between what your voice sounds like and what his sounds like.”
The drag of his voice is low and the rumble deep. I listen.
“My voice is higher.”
“Then use it,” Geo demands. “When you realize how much fear enslaves you . . . if you break free of it, you’ll be able to do anything.”
“What do I say,” I grimace as my head splits. It’s the same as with Navin. I am willing to do anything to battle this pain.
“Just speak. Anything . . .”
Arek speaks, “You have nothing of your own. Your breathing doesn’t belong to you.”
I counter in my own rhythm—pushing beats to change his pattern. Geo says, “Any break in one’s pattern means a weakness in their defense.”
