“All right,” I say through a clenched jaw. “Now push.”
“I have been.” He shifts and leans against the wall, using his shoulder to help me shove, gritting his teeth and groaning with effort.
We might as well have tried moving a mountain with a shovel. The rock wall won’t budge. I back away, blinking at it, expecting it to disappear or evaporate or both. I look around the room, but there’s no other doorway. This is the only way out.
And it’s blocked.
A whisper of panic clings to my voice. “Manuel.”
He drags a long hand down his face. “That’s our exit. I know it is.”
“What could have happened?” I hate the panic in my words, hate it, but I can’t help it. “Why didn’t we hear it move? It’s stone. Shouldn’t it groan as it moves? Or does it screech?”
He stares back at me coolly. “Condesa.”
“Right. Not important.”
Manuel squats in front of the wall, peering at the edge of the stone. “Looks like the door came up from the ground. There’s a gap here, and that’s why we didn’t hear it.”
“Walls don’t just rise without help.”
“I’m aware,” he says mildly. “There might be a lever or a pulley somewhere. Why don’t you search the opposite wall, and I’ll look over here?”
A reasonable suggestion. But it sits heavily at the back of my throat, difficult to swallow. “I don’t think whoever trapped us in here will have done us the courtesy of also providing the way out.”
He stands, his hands on his hips. “Would you prefer to do nothing?”
His tone is stubbornly calm—and I want to shake him. We’re trapped in a temple! We aren’t carrying a lot of food, and there’s not a morsel to be found in this chamber. I walk right up to him. He keeps utterly still, like one of the statues up on the pillars. “I’m scared.”
“There’s no reason to be just yet. We haven’t explored all of our options. I’ll tell you when it’s appropriate to panic.” He gently turns me around. “Go over there and see if you can find anything interesting.”
Sometimes he can be infuriatingly right. I look around the room, studying every corner and crevice. The carvings on the pillars depict suns and moons and flowers whose roots travel deep into the earth. As I walk the chamber, a round shadow ensnares my attention. Three of the walls have them—the only one that doesn’t is our former entrance.
“Manuel,” I call over my shoulder. “Ven aquí.”
He walks to me and together we analyze the dial. It’s a wheel made of smooth white marble, with three long dashes filled with gold and carved deep into the center of the stone. Manuel attempts to move the dial to the left and then to the right, but it won’t budge, no matter how much he tugs. I step away from him and examine the dial on the next wall. This one is also made of the same marble, but it has two dashes. The third wall has one dash.
Manuel attempts to turn the two remaining wheels, but neither one budges. He walks around all three pillars, his finger tapping his lip lightly, his head tilted back to examine the statues. I walk up to one of the pillars. The carvings are truly beautiful, deep fissures as wide as my hand, all working together to create a scene from nature.
We walk around the room several times. I discard idea after idea, each as impossible as the last. Manuel attempts to turn the wheels on the wall in a different order, but that doesn’t work. An hour might have gone by, maybe more. My stomach decides to loudly wake, growling impatiently, the sound reverberating in the small room and crashing in my ears. Exhaustion seeps into my bones. The shaft of sunlight turns silver. Night has fallen, and it’s Luna’s turn to reign. But her light barely illuminates the chamber; the corners are dark, shrouded in shadow. The only other light comes from Manuel’s softly glowing eyes. I have to lean close to the walls in order to study the feathery cracks, searching for some clue.
Finally I slump against a wall and slide down. “Manuel, come sit.”
He looks over at me from examining one of the dials. “What is it?”
“You need a break.”
“I do?”
I nod. “We’ve been on our feet all day.”
He walks around one of the pillars and gracefully sits next to me, making sure there’s a respectable distance between us. Of course. “If you’d like to panic now, I think it might be the time for it.”
“Are you panicking?”
“I might tomorrow.”
I glance over at him. “How much food do we have?”
He hesitates. “I have an emergency stash of nuts. That’s it.” He turns his head to face me. “You can have it all.”
It’s as if someone has doused me with frigid water. I sputter at his words, part disbelieving, part mad with panic that we might die here, slowly starving once his emergency reserve is all gone. “What are we going to do? How are we going to get out of this?” With each question, my voice rises. And for the first time, I notice how small this chamber is, how dark and forbidding.
We are in a tomb.
I sip the air and it tastes stale and wet. “What if they just leave us in here? Is there enough air for the both of us?”
“There’s a hole in the ceiling.”
“I can’t die in here! What about our people? The throne?” I struggle to my feet, but he reaches for me and places a firm hand on my shoulder, keeping me on the ground. He places one calloused palm on each of my cheeks, his dark gaze boring into mine.
“Look at me,” he whispers.
My heart thunders against my ribs, rattling bone.
“Catalina.”
A whoosh of air escapes my mouth. I gulp more in, my chest rising and falling in quick successions. My body shakes, my teeth clacking against one another. “I’m so—so scared.”
“Did you know I love horses?” Manuel says suddenly.
His words reach me from far away, a sharp tug that momentarily stops the hitch in my breath. “W-what?”
“We had a farm before the revolt,” he continues. “Just outside of La Ciudad. When my parents were off for the season, we’d go out on horseback and get lost for a week or two in the mountains.”
My heartbeat stutters and then slows. “You’ve never talked about your father.”
Manuel lets go of me and settles against the cool stone. “He died when I was six years old—during a routine visit with a tribe from El Altiplano. I still don’t know what happened exactly, and the mystery made us all sick. The not knowing used to keep Sofía up at night. Mother spent more and more time training soldiers; I think because, if she stopped for one moment, she’d notice his absence … and then the revolt happened.” He pauses, his shoulders tense. “Sofía and I worried we’d lose Mother, too.”
I reach out and place a soft hand on his arm. The war has taken so much from us. My parents and cousins and aunts and uncles. People who made up my large family, all murdered in an afternoon. I carry their faces with me, and the memory keeps my hatred of the Llacsans burning.
“What was your father like?” It’s a question I wish people would ask me sometimes. But no one really does, and why would they? The pictures I have in my mind of my parents are blurry, smudges on a blank canvas. I wish I had known them better. But all I have left are vague recollections. The scent of flowers in Mama’s garden and Papa’s scruffy beard against my cheek.
“He was a big bear of a man. Told stories during mealtimes and always ate second helpings. He didn’t like to dance, but he loved listening to my mother play the guitar. He was honorable.”
My breath quiets, no longer violently shaking my chest. “What’s your favorite memory of him?”
Manuel tips his head back and shuts his eyes. A long moment passes, and I think he may have fallen asleep. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, his hands lightly clasped in his lap. His long legs are stretched out, crossed at the ankles. He’s calm, composed, and in control. I can’t help staring at him as I wait for him to speak.
“I was small for my age,” he
whispers. “My mother worried about my size a lot, wondered why I wasn’t growing. But Papa never did. He’d pull me onto his shoulders, carry me around until I felt like I was a great giant. He promised me that I’d get to be that tall one day.” His lips twist into a sad smile. “I didn’t, obviously. But once Mother told me I’d reached his height, that was tall enough for me.”
He slowly reopens his eyes and stares unseeingly out into the dark room. “I volunteered for many of the missions into La Ciudad simply to be able to ride the horses outside of the keep. I could never go fast enough on our side of the bridge.”
“And did you volunteer on your mother’s mission to secure allies to get away from me?”
Manuel shifts his gaze to mine, and he keeps it there. “Yes, I did.”
There’s no need to ask him why. I think I understand what he can’t explain—he’d felt something for me back then, when we were younger and the outside world hadn’t yet intruded into our bubble. That kiss shattered the illusion, and Manuel’s profound sense of duty and honor prevented him from going further.
Just like it does now.
I tilt my head back until it rests against the cold stone. This place is terrifying, with its musty air and dark corners that hide secrets. Exhaustion clings to my bones, and I fall asleep, and as I do, I picture a yawning pit. Dark and black, with no escape, smothering me as I slowly starve.
CAPÍTULO
Trece
My stomach wakes me. The growl reverberates through the room, and at my core I feel completely empty. As if I haven’t eaten in days, weeks. I shake Manuel, and he sits up, yawning and rubbing his eyes. For some reason he appears more tired than I’ve ever seen him, even though I know we both slept through the night. Not that it was very comfortable; stone makes for an appalling bed. Manuel peers at me, assessing me in the same way I study him. There are bruises under his eyes, deep caverns stained purple.
“I’m hungry.”
He nods. “Me too—ravenous.” When he stands, I’m surprised to see him sway on his feet. He has to fling his arm out to keep himself upright. “Condesa, get up.”
I struggle to get to my feet, my back sore and stiff. My limbs are heavy, and I’m weirdly lightheaded. I don’t want to move from my spot on the floor. “I feel terrible.” A thought strikes me. “Could it be the butterflies, after all? Perhaps the honey didn’t work.”
The blood drains from his face. “Maybe.”
“We might seriously be poisoned.”
“If we are, we have to get out of here,” he says grimly. “There are plants that help with infection, but we won’t find any in this temple.” He slaps his face, once, twice. “I’m struggling to stay awake. Vision is a little blurry.”
He doesn’t seem to be talking to me. I use the wall to help me up to my feet. Once again, Manuel walks the chamber. His Moonsight makes his eyes softly glow like a fire blazing against the night. I watch him from the corner of my eye, wanting to make sure he’s all right. I wish I could reach out to him, but I know he’d look at me in alarm. Touches like that aren’t allowed between us. I walk to the base of one of the pillars, once again studying the carvings on the stone.
The answer lies here somewhere, I’m sure of it.
I lift my chin and study the statue at the top. This one is of Luna, looking off into the distance, as if watching over her faithful subjects. There are stars in her flowing hair, and her robes are decorated with the different phases of the moon. My gaze lowers and a potent whisper nudges me closer. A feeling, a rush of discovery that suddenly raises the hair on my arms.
There are cracks embedded in the stone that look as if they’re part of the design. My feet can definitely fit into these cracks, as if they’re not only meant to complement the design but to serve a purpose, too—a kind of beautiful, ornate ladder.
I reach for the stem of a flower that’s curling out from the stone and place one booted foot between the cracks. I lift myself up, finding another flower stem to hold on to. This happens again and again until I’m all the way up to the top of the pillar.
The effort takes a toll.
I’m panting, nearly gasping for breath. I have to sit down again, my legs dangling off the side of the pillar like fallen banners.
“Condesa,” Manuel asks from below. “Are you all right?”
“I only want to sleep,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes. “I could drop to the ground and not get up for years, I think.”
“Damn those butterflies. We have to find a way out—”
“How much time do we have left?”
“No sé,” he says grimly. “I’ve never encountered Consuelo before.”
My fingers cling to the edge of the pillar until my knuckles turn white. No food, perhaps not enough air, and we’re both slowly dying from poisonous butterflies. The odds aren’t in our favor.
And I’m too tired to panic.
I stand on wobbly knees, holding on to Luna’s cool surface. There’s enough room for me to walk around the statue, its height reaching my shoulders. I study the intricate detail, marveling at every fold of Luna’s clothing.
And then I see it.
The statue sits on a raised circular platform. When I place the slightest pressure on the statue, the whole thing rotates—but only if I go against the clock. Manuel comes to stand at the foot of the pillar, his face upturned, the length of his neck exposed.
“The statues move,” I call down.
He darts over to the pillar with the statue of the pregnant woman at the top. He climbs faster than I did, and in no time he stands at the top and spins the platform counterclockwise. He looks over at me. “What do you think?”
I bend closer to Luna, trying to find something—
“Look to see if she’s wearing a pendant!” I point to the necklace hanging around our goddess’s neck. “Mine has a round disc with two dashes on it.”
Manuel spins the statue and then exclaims, “This woman is wearing a crown and on one of the jewels, I can see a single dash. Condesa, I think this is meant to be a depiction of Pachamama. The earth goddess of the Llacsans.”
“Why is she pregnant?”
“Because the tribes believe she’s a symbol of motherhood and fertility. The earth gives life every season.”
I point to the last statue. “Mine is certainly Luna, and if you’re correct, then that pillar has to be their sun god, Inti.”
Manuel quickly climbs down and then dashes over to the pillar. Once again he makes quick work of the climb, even though he’s breathing heavily from the effort. When he reaches the top, he walks around the marble, studying every detail. “There’s an amulet on his wrist with three dashes!”
“All right,” I say, and I’m happy to feel a fluttering of excitement. “We’re definitely onto something. The dashes match the dials on the walls. I bet you have to turn the dials in the correct order, starting with the first dash, and then the door will open again. Why don’t you do one and two, and I’ll take care of three?”
I climb down, careful not to slip, and then run toward the corresponding dial with three dashes. “I’m ready!”
“I’m not,” Manuel says. “The wheel with one dash won’t turn.”
My shoulders slump. “I really thought that was it.”
“It was a good idea,” he concedes. “What are we missing? All of this has to relate somehow.”
We try each wheel on the walls again, but none of them move. Even reversing the order doesn’t work. Hunger drives me around the room, searching for an answer, willing one to appear. But there’s nothing. Finally we slump onto the ground again, backs pressed against the wall. Both of us sweating, exhausted, and panting.
“Do you want to eat the nuts?” Manuel asks. “Enough to curb your appetite?”
“Are you going to eat?”
“No.”
My stomach grumbles and I actually glance down at it and glare. “Then I won’t either.”
“Have my portion,” Manuel says.
A fissure o
f alarm sweeps through me. “When I eat, you eat. Always together. Stop thinking that you’re not important.”
“You have to survive and I don’t.”
I can’t stand his tone. Matter-of-fact, far removed, as if he’s already decided that he won’t make it out of the jungle alive. I hate that he’s thinking that.
“I’m not going to survive without you. That’s the unvarnished truth, so I suggest you eat when I do.”
He pushes back the dark hair falling at a slant over his brow. “Well, of course I want to live. But we may not have the luxury of walking out of this building together.” He deliberates for a moment and then reaches inside his bag, pulling out a cloth bundle tied up by a leather string. He hands it over to me, and I carefully unwrap the fabric. My stomach growls at the sight. There’s a large pile of assorted nuts: walnut, macadamia, and the enormous castañas de Pando. “You need to eat, Condesa.”
I grit my teeth, ignoring the loud rumbling of my stomach. “Only when you do.”
Manuel glares at me but eats a handful. “Happy?”
“Now that you’ve stopped being morbid, yes.”
“I’m not being morbid,” he says. “I’m being practical. This is our reality.”
I can’t talk about this anymore, can’t imagine Inkasisa without Manuel in it. I spent years wondering about his life beyond the walls of the Illustrian keep. Hated the miles and miles between us, not knowing if he was all right. I pluck a castaña and enjoy its smooth, buttery taste. I eat several, one after another, thankful to have something in my belly. “Tell me about the people you met during your travels around Inkasisa.”
He blinks at the subject change. “¿Por qué?”
I nudge his shoulder. “Because you’ve been everywhere, and for most of my life, I’ve lived within a fortress. You’ve probably fallen in love, and the most I’ve done is kiss boys at the keep.”
He faces me, outrage dawning. “What?”
I can’t help the sudden thrill that makes my body shiver. “I was curious. Nothing else happened, not that it’s any of your business.”
Written in Starlight Page 11
