The stone is hard underneath my crossed legs, and slightly damp, but with my belly full, I couldn’t care less.
“Should we keep going?”
Manuel shoots a swift look in the direction of the entrance. While not exactly night, there still isn’t enough light. He shakes his head and settles against the craggy wall, his eyes open and alert, flickering from one end of the cave to the other. His eyes glow like twin fires in the dim light, illuminating the shadowy corners of the cave. Silence descends, heavy and obliterating. I’m worried, and I know he is too, despite how hard he’s trying not to let it show.
“You can tell me what you’re thinking,” I say. “I’m not going to fall apart.”
He clasps his hands in his lap, brooding. “I’m wondering if the Illari have been following us and I just haven’t been paying attention.”
“You?” I tease. “Not paying attention?”
His lips soften into a grudging smile. “I was arrogant when I first walked into the jungle. After a few days, I learned never to let down my guard. Which is why I can’t stop thinking about the Illari.”
“It will be easier to press forward when they aren’t breathing down our necks.”
“Whoever or whatever killed all those birds was evil.” He hesitates. “A dark kind of magic.”
“Do you mean like the human who transformed into the caimán?”
“That’s the Pacha magic of the Illari. I saw one of them transform into a large jaguar—which I killed when it was distracted by you.”
I gasp. “That was a person?”
He nods. “I told you the Illari are people steeped in magic from Pachamama. More than anywhere else in Inkasisa, this is her domain, like Luna reigns over the night. The Illari worship the earth goddess just like the Llacsans do. And here she’s gifted her children with ways to protect the land and the lost city.”
“What happens if we can’t find Paititi?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer for a long moment. “Ask me again after we’ve exhausted all avenues.”
“But I’m asking now.”
“And I’m telling you, it’s much too soon to ask that question.”
I swallow my frustration, but even so, a glare still escapes me. “Do you enjoy provoking me?”
“No,” he says frankly. “I hate worrying you. We ought to sleep. Tomorrow we’ll wake up early and set off.”
“I’m not tired. Can you tell me more about how you spent your days here in the jungle? Eight months is a long time.”
He shifts and stretches out his long legs, crosses them at the ankles. “At first I tried to find Paititi. If the rumors are true about the city being made of gold, I thought for certain they’d have the resources to have an effective army of warriors. But every time I thought I was close to finding it, I’d encounter one of the Illari. I’ve only just realized they were protecting a bridge near the hill with the dip in the middle. I made several attempts to cross the bridge, but none of them worked. That’s when I tried to discover a way out of the jungle.”
“Why do you think they’ve remained hidden all these years?”
He shrugs again. “It might be about the gold. A good enough reason not to let the world know what you’ve found hidden in the mountains.”
I scoop up the last orange segment in the bowl and pop it into my mouth. “The gold must be there. Otherwise, why remain hidden?”
Manuel reaches for the pack and yanks out the hammock. He spreads it out on the ground. “Here, you can rest first.” I scoot over and lie down, my head near his outstretched legs. He shifts away.
“They’re foolish if they think no one else will come looking for their city. It’s only a matter of time.”
“Yes,” he says thoughtfully. “I think they’re fully aware that time is running out for them.”
My eyes drift closed at his words, and before I fall asleep, I can’t help thinking how nothing lasts forever.
The next morning we’re up and out of the cave at dawn. During the night, Manuel gave me more aloe to rub on my feet. He’d let himself sleep for an hour, and then we’d switch back again. I don’t think either of us slept well, but at the very least, nothing with teeth snuck into our cave. We trek uphill, hoping to get high enough to find the spot Manuel’s looking for. It’s the landmark closest to that bridge we need to cross in order to find Paititi.
I drop my pack and stretch my arms up high above me. Manuel bends and scoops up my bag, holds it out for me to take. “Do not put your belongings on the ground.”
Reluctantly, I slip the strap over my shoulders.
“Something nasty might crawl in there,” he explains.
I bounce my pack higher and nod. The last thing I need is for a scorpion to make a new home within my things.
A shimmery glint catches my attention. There’s a small patch of flowers nearly buried by vivid green brush. I stride forward, arrested by the glimmering petals. Manuel follows and falls down into a squat. Using his machete, he gently uncovers the silver flowers. They’re incandescent and glowing, as if made from the finest crystal. My breath catches.
“Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” I reach out to touch the soft petal, but Manuel snatches my wrist.
“What have I told you about touching things?”
“But it’s so pretty,” I protest. “Look, it’s entirely delicate. I might hurt it.”
“Not that delicate.” He points at the ground with the tip of his blade. “Tell me what you see.”
I bristle at being told what to do, but I drop my gaze to the jungle floor. Underneath the shrub, the ground is covered by an iridescent dusting. It looks dead, frozen, and void of any color. Manuel smells the petals, then drops even closer to the shimmering ground. “The flowers are killing the soil. Look—”
“I see that.” My pleasure turns to outrage. How could something so beautiful destroy the land? “What should we do? Can you uproot it?”
“We shouldn’t touch it.” His expression turns thoughtful, considering. “I wonder if the Illari have seen this? I can’t imagine they’re happy with its presence.”
“What do you mean? It’s not from here?”
“I’ve never seen it before. I think it could’ve been brought to the forest by someone who didn’t care about the consequences. They might’ve simply been careless—but I don’t think so. My gut tells me this flower is hard to come by.”
I nod approvingly. “So it stands to reason that whoever got ahold of it knew what it could do.”
“Exactly.”
What kind of stranger would bring something so destructive into the jungle? And for what purpose? A sudden thought makes me gasp. I reach out and grasp Manuel’s arm. To my surprise, he doesn’t flinch. Instead he encourages me with a small smile. “What is it?”
“I understand why the Illari haven’t killed us yet.”
He raises a brow.
“What if they think you brought the flower?”
Manuel tilts his head to the side. “Even more reason to do me in, wouldn’t you think?”
I shake my head. “Not if they want to learn where you got the flower, and what you’re planning on doing with it. It’s what I’d do. I wouldn’t want to kill the only person who might know how to destroy the flower and reverse the damage.” I clear my throat and realize that I haven’t had anything to drink in hours. “Is there any water?”
He jumps to his feet and searches the area for bamboo. When he returns, he hands me a cup. “You might be right. But that doesn’t explain all those birds dying at the same time.”
“We won’t know for sure until we have an actual conversation with the Illari.”
“Which they may not want to have,” he points out grimly. “They may shoot us on sight.”
But I get the sense that he’s wrong. Otherwise, we’d already be dead. It’s not like two people—who have been mostly lost—are hard to kill.
The Illari are up to something; I can feel it.
We drink from bamboo
stalks, and as the water touches my lips, a butterfly lands on the wooden cup. Her wings are a vibrant red, with iridescent veins creating a shimmering pattern that literally takes my breath away. She’s a tiny thing, no bigger than my palm.
I slowly lower the cup from my lips. With my free hand, I reach toward her with my index finger. She doesn’t move, and as I’m about to coax her onto my hand, I stop.
Manuel’s warning: Don’t touch anything.
I shoot him a glance, surprised to see him watching. He suddenly grins, and his brown eyes become warm. He’s pleased I’ve remembered his lesson, especially after my near miss with the flower. I lift a brow in question.
“Butterflies don’t harm humans.”
Again, I stretch out my finger for the butterfly to climb on, and a moment later she does, her wings fluttering. I gleefully show Manuel, whose smile hasn’t faded but only stretched wider, as if we were the former Catalina and Manuel living behind the stone walls of the Illustrian keep, sometimes friends.
“What shall I call her?”
He seems bemused by this. “Consuelo?”
I make a face. “I had a Great-Aunt Consuelo who always made me brush my hair one hundred times every nigh—” A sharp pain flares at my finger, burning hot. The feeling travels up my arm, into my chest—smothering.
“What just happened?” Manuel demands. “Condesa?”
The butterfly sinks her teeth farther into my skin, sucking blood. I try to shake her off as the fire spreads to the rest of my body. I clench my jaw as her incisors dig into my skin again. Tears prick my eyes. Manuel grabs my arm and cuts her wings—but still she feasts on my flesh. Finally he yanks the butterfly off, throws her onto the ground, and steps on her.
My index finger has two deep puncture marks and is bleeding profusely, dripping onto the jungle floor. Manuel rips at the bottom of his tunic, producing a long strip. He binds the wound.
“Does it still hurt?”
A shape materializes near his shoulder, paper-thin wings fluttering in the sharp heat of the jungle. “Manuel!” But I’m too late. The butterfly lands on his shoulder, and he hisses sharply, yanking her off. He bats at another one near my ear, and another at the top of my hip. It’s only then that realization dawns.
I look up to hundreds of bloodsucking butterflies riding the warm wind above us, circling like vultures.
CAPÍTULO
Doce
I see the girl first.
Between the oak trees, shrouded in a greenish glow cast from the broad leaves. She’s slight, with dark hair bound into a single braid. Her body is painted in vibrant colors, a thousand wings decorating her skin. Manuel and I barely notice as she transforms into a butterfly; we’re too busy smacking at the insistent creatures fluttering above our heads. There are hundreds of them, swooping from behind broad palm leaves. Manuel shoots me a quick look. It only takes me a second to understand: We’ll be eaten alive if we don’t run.
We race away from the cloud of furious insects, our arms flapping over our heads, trying to protect our necks. The swarm of butterflies persists and a few catch up as I struggle with tangled roots and vines spooling at my feet. Damn being careful or quiet, damn whatever we accidentally touch. There’s another prick on my upper arm, then one on my right leg and one on my left, close to my knees and ankles.
The burning sensation blazes up and down my body, making my head swim. I yank the creatures off me, and blood drips down my arms and legs. Manuel glances over his shoulder, motioning for me to keep up.
Another butterfly lands on my exposed skin. And then another. I slow my pace, tears streaming down my scorched cheeks. I’m burning alive, set on fire from the inside. Manuel doubles back for me, his eyes yelling don’t slow down, don’t give up. He swats away the little monsters, hissing as one sinks its teeth into his palm. He plucks it out, throwing it to the ground, and then takes my hand, now slick with his blood. I don’t stop to think how disgusting that is. Somehow I push through prickly leaves and jagged-edged palms.
We are too slow.
There are hundreds of them.
And then—just ahead, something made of stone looms between the trees. Manuel guides me toward a square building, both of us still swatting at the hungry butterflies. Vines devour the exterior of the building, covering patches of black stone. We clear the trees and race up the front steps. I’m half aware that I’m running straight into what looks like an abandoned temple. The entrance is tall with a curtain of thin leafy vines blocking the way through.
We bolt past the plants, and they swing back into place. The butterflies can’t drift in after us, and the realization makes my knees buckle. I sink onto the stone floor, sweating from every pore, bleeding and fighting to keep the fire under my skin at bay. Manuel drops down next to me, in the same miserable state. He drags in air, but on his exhale, he sits up and frantically grabs a hidden butterfly near my ankle. The rip of flesh and fabric rents the air and I groan. He steps on the insect with his left boot and then swivels around to face me. His hands run along my arms and legs, urgent and methodical. Satisfied I’m butterfly free, he lifts his gaze as my vision blurs.
Exhaustion covers me like smoke intent on smothering life. Manuel shakes my shoulders. “Condesa!” A second later he smartly slaps my cheek. My eyes fly open. “Don’t you dare fall asleep on me.” His fingers dig into my skin. “Stay awake. Talk to me. Look for more of them; I might have missed one.”
There’s a shaft of light coming from somewhere above, landing in a triangular shape in the center of the room. There’s enough light to see his expression as he examines my face. His dark eyes softly glow in the shadowy chamber. I return the favor, and when we’re satisfied there aren’t any more insects feasting on our blood, we bind the wounds as best we can, and then lean back against the cool walls, exhausted.
“I feel as if I’ve walked through fire.” My mouth is dry. I lick my lips and swallow. “Have we been poisoned?”
His lips flatten, and there’s a grim set to his shoulders. “Possibly.”
My heart stutters. “What do we do?”
Manuel reaches into his sack, the movement slow and almost clumsy as he struggles with the flap. He rummages inside the bag, and finally pulls out a small bottle filled with honey. He pulls the cork stopper with his teeth and then holds out the jar to me. “Dip your finger and dab honey on every single one of your wounds.”
“What will this do?”
“A healer in one of the villages I spent time in used this when treating similar bites.” He dips his index finger and spreads the gooey liquid on the irritated patches of his skin. I do the same, addressing the ones I can easily touch. “Every time I’ve used the honey, it’s helped the affected area.” He replaces the cork and tosses the jar back into his bag.
“Have you tried it for poison?”
“No,” he says shortly.
I don’t have any experience with poison. The idea of dying slowly, growing weaker and sicker, makes my stomach twist painfully and the breath catch at the back of my throat. My fingers curl into a tight fist, as if readying a fight against an invisible enemy.
Manuel nudges me with his knee. “We’re not dead yet, Condesa. Keep breathing—slowly. Let the honey do its work, and we’ll take it from there.”
I concentrate on keeping my panic at bay. My body is tense, strung so tightly that I fear I might snap. We sit for long minutes. I don’t know how much time passes. But the waiting doesn’t make me calm; it only fills me with dread. What if we’re getting worse?
But then something inside me shifts. The burning sensation slowly fades, leaving a dull ache. Without meaning to, my head drops onto Manuel’s shoulder, and he immediately stiffens. It’s noticeable enough for me to move away from him, my cheeks flushing.
He stands, using the wall to support his frame. Then he peers into the room, squinting a little against the stream of light. There are three pillars each situated an equal distance from one another, framing a triangle on the floor. They ar
e covered in ornate carvings, and standing on the tops are marble statues. Each of the statues is different: One is of a pregnant woman, the other a young man, and the third a woman with a gentle motherly expression. They all face away from one another.
I stand, my knees shaking and my head spinning. Manuel casts a quick glance in my direction. “Are you all right? You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
“So did you,” I say with a wan smile, my gaze roving the chamber. It feels old, the air stale and smelling of damp stone. “What is this place?”
“There are a few of these buildings in the jungle. I’ve come across at least four, but never stepped inside.” His hands skim the wall. “We shouldn’t stay long.”
“What about the butterflies?”
“They might be gone by now,” he says. “I don’t like the idea of staying in here—we’re too vulnerable. If the Illari come …”
I shudder. “You’re in charge.”
This makes him pause, a grudging smile bending his mouth. “Am I? Is that what you think?”
“You don’t remember what you said to me in the cave?” I deepen my voice. “‘Do exactly what I tell you; if I tell you to run, do it. If I tell you to act like a monkey, do it. If I tell you to walk backward and—’”
“I said nothing of the sort.” He rolls his eyes. “And I don’t sound the least bit like that,” he says, exasperated. “But I’m pleased to hear you are paying attention.”
More than he knows. It’s impossible not to notice how he’s filled out in the shoulders, developed muscles along his arms. I flush and avert my gaze. I feel his attention on me, a somewhat curious, perhaps even baffled air about him. He wants to know why I’m blushing. I squash the urge to look in his direction, and instead walk to the curtain of vines. But when I try to walk through, I’m met with a wall of stone. I step back, confused.
This is the entrance, isn’t it?
Manuel comes to stand next to me and sweeps the vines aside with his machete. The blade scratches the stone. I slap my palms against the rock and push—but it’s heavy and won’t move, not even an inch. Manuel imitates my stance, placing his hands close to mine.
Written in Starlight Page 10
