“Let’s go,” he says, and vanishes behind the green curtain. I trudge after him, unable to rid the smile from my face. I’ve never seen him blush.
The walls of the tunnel are just as craggy and uneven as the cave we left behind. But there are roots and plants covering most of the rock, and warm, muggy air clings to my skin. We keep walking, Manuel ahead, lighting the way forward with his Luna-blessed sight. I push myself to match his long-legged stride. Which is a mistake—my body is inexplicably weak. As if I’ve been hungry and sick for days and days.
“I wonder how long we have before the poison kills us.”
He looks at me in alarm. “Have you gotten worse?”
I consider his question. “I haven’t, actually. I feel the same as when I woke up.”
“I think if we were poisoned, we’d steadily get worse.” He pulls back the sleeve of his tunic. “None of the bites are infected or swollen.”
I wrinkle my nose. “So then what could it be?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “The jungle has all kinds of magic in its veins, Condesa.”
“But this building is man-made.”
“Doesn’t mean it can’t be affected.”
“Well, say it is the building. What magic is at work? What’s making us sick?”
He runs his fingers along the wall. “There might be something in the air. But it’s definitely magic. It doesn’t make sense that we’d both be feeling this poorly after one night.”
I shoot him a sidelong glance. “You know I wouldn’t have survived the swim without you, right?”
“It’s my job,” he says, but the words are softened by a small smile that deepens the lines at the corner of his mouth. He reaches out and tucks a long strand of wet hair behind my ear. My heart stutters. “Condesa, about what I said—”
I abruptly stop walking and hold up my hand. “Wait. You shared how you felt, and I think I deserve the right to speak my piece. For you to hear it without retreating. That’s fair, isn’t it?”
He hesitates, but then nods.
“I don’t know what the future holds or if we’ll ever make it to Paititi. But until we do, I’d like us to be who we are. We might die in the jungle and this might be the only time we’ll have together. It seems a shame to waste it when we both know what we clearly want.”
He studies me, quietly considering.
I clear my throat. “Well? What do you think?”
After a second of deliberation, Manuel holds out his hand. I can’t stop my grin from reaching ear to ear. We resume walking, and I swing his arm playfully. He glances at our clasped fingers, as if he can’t quite believe what he’s agreed to.
But he doesn’t let go.
At last we reach the cave opening. I walk out of the tunnel, letting out an immense sigh of relief. I immediately drag in a lungful of warm air. The sun is out, peeking through the tangle of leaves overhead. We’re a few feet from the cavern entrance when Manuel stiffens beside me and drops my hand.
I look around. “What is it?”
He doesn’t register my question, just stares straight ahead. I follow the line of his gaze.
A lone woman stands at the base of an enormous tree trunk, dressed in forest-green pants and a black-and-white checked tunic.
The Illari tracker.
CAPÍTULO
Quince
Manuel unsheathes his machete and steps in front of me. I peer over his shoulder, my body rooted to the spot, as if I’ve suddenly become one of the oak trees surrounding the tunnel entrance.
The girl dismisses my companion and his blade, and she has the temerity to move a single step closer. Her hair is bound in a single black braid, and it swings over her shoulder, curving around her skin like a snake. She has wide-set eyes, and a dusting of freckles peppers her high cheekbones. She’s taller than the woman we saw earlier with the butterflies.
“Not one more step,” Manuel snarls, raising his weapon.
“You don’t make demands,” the girl says. She speaks the old language of the Llacsans and Lowlanders. I have some knowledge of their tongue. Hopefully my accent won’t offend anyone.
She stands alone and without a weapon in her hands. Rays of sunlight cast parts of her body in a bright glow. She’s younger than I originally thought. Perhaps a touch older than Manuel. Her bare arms are smooth, deeply tanned, and toned. A bow is strapped to her bag, and even from where I’m standing, I catch sight of feathered arrows kept in a leather pouch.
I place a soft hand on Manuel’s arm, tight and strained, ready for action. “Calm,” I whisper into his ear.
The woman takes another step.
Manuel growls at her. I tighten my hold, my fingers digging into his skin. This is what I want—a chance to talk with them. Space to have a conversation, present my case. I’m about to open my mouth when a dark shape materializes behind her, crouched low. The shape draws closer and my heart kicks.
A spotted jaguar.
This is why she’s not unnerved by Manuel’s steel. Or his growls, for that matter. She has a beast at her side. Hunched under her fingertips, ready to pounce, to sink its knife-tipped teeth into our throats.
“I mean you no harm,” I say in Quechua. “I wish to speak to your village leader regarding an urgent matter.”
She tilts her head, once again drawing closer, the big cat climbing the steps. “Why have you come into our jungle?”
I move out from Manuel’s shadow. He shoots me a quick look. “I need help against an adversary.”
Her face shutters. “We are not interested in war.” She turns away.
I rush after her. “Espera! Wait!”
The jaguar lunges for me, teeth first. Manuel yanks me back, and I’m saved by mere inches.
The woman snaps a command—I can’t make sense of it over the roar of my heart. The jaguar snarls but backs down, settling onto his haunches, his lambent gaze on mine, tracking every breath, every move.
“Por favor, I’ve been looking for you. For the Illari.”
“We do not want to be found.”
“I know,” I continue. “And I can understand. I’ve been kept a secret for most of my life.”
“You’re a secret?”
I nod. “Por favor. Don’t leave, and hear what I have to say.”
“I have been waiting a week for you to leave the temple. I’m impatient to go home.”
“A week?” I turn around and look at the building, as if it will somehow lessen my confusion. “That can’t be right; we were only in there for a day.”
“A week,” she repeats. “What do you wish to tell me?”
“Perdón,” I say, switching to Castellano. “But I still don’t understand.”
She sighs. The woman continues in Quechua, but she clearly understands the language of Inkasisa. “Time is a funny thing in that building. I couldn’t believe you chose to run into that one when there are others.”
I gasp. Our exhaustion makes sense. Our bodies went a week without food or water. No wonder we had trouble focusing.
“We were in danger,” Manuel says in perfect Quechua. I nearly jump from surprise. But of course he’d know the language—traveling around for three years from one corner of Inkasisa to the other. What had I thought? That he was on vacation?
I shake my head. My mind can’t move past the notion that we lost an entire week inside the temple. What’s happening with my people back in La Ciudad? Maybe they’ve forgotten me, or worse, believe I’ve given up on them?
“I need help. There’s a powerful threat in my home city—the same threat that drove your people into the jungle all those years ago. I’m begging you to take me to Paititi.”
She’s as still and remote as the trees surrounding us. But something I’ve said has arrested her attention. The subtle narrowing of her gaze—eyes that glow amber gold in the sunlight. Her fingers clench on the tufts of hair atop the jaguar’s head. “You have a choice before you,” she says at last. “Head back the way you’ve come, and you may live. Co
ntinue, and risk death.”
I glance at Manuel, panicked. If I don’t keep going, if I don’t keep trying, what does that say about me? My people will live under another Llacsan. Another enemy. My family will never be avenged.
Everyone thinks I’ll eventually disappear. Slink off into a quiet existence, defined by my inability to lead. My weakness. I don’t want to be that person. I don’t want to give up.
I’ve come so far.
“I must stay,” I say in Quechua again. “Will you escort my companion to the jungle border? His safety is important to me.”
Manuel looks at me with impotent fury. “Your companion won’t be leaving.”
“There is one more test,” the woman says. “If you live, I will take you to Paititi myself. Will you follow me?”
“One more test?” he asks, realization dawning. “The caimán? The butterflies? Were those tests?”
“Decide,” she says, her gaze flickering to mine, confirming our suspicion.
I inhale. “We’ll follow you.”
She nods and then makes a loud clicking noise. The jaguar instantly becomes alert and follows her away from the cave. I hoist my pack and trudge after her, one eye on our guide and the other on Manuel. His face is set, but in the depths of his eyes there’s something else. Something I don’t expect at all.
Fear.
The woman doesn’t speak, or encourage conversation. She doesn’t hack her way through the tangled brush, but somehow finds a path, bending and curving her body around thickets of trees and clumps of jagged-edged leaves. Several times she glances over in my direction, often after I’ve made a noise—not even that loud of a sound—and she frowns, as if I’m walking and breathing wrong. It seems there’s only one way to walk properly in the jungle. Whatever it is, Manuel has mastered it. He moves quietly, his machete sheathed, mimicking her movements. A born predator, like the jaguar following on the heels of the Illari tracker.
She never looks at Manuel in disapproval.
We trek deeper into the unknown, the surroundings changing gradually. Plants become brighter and fuller. Trees loom larger, and the vines curling around branches become longer and thicker. I don’t recognize any of the fruit hanging above our heads, or even the scent of the forest. The damp smell of decay turns sweeter, less rotting, and my nose doesn’t wrinkle as much. The sounds are the same, however: croaks, hoots, grunts, and buzzing. There is a constant cacophony of leaves rustling and water rushing, glazing rocks and splashing the muddy banks. And always, the inescapable heat. Sweat clings to my skin, coating every inch in a wet, sticky sheen. Mosquitos lap up my blood—tiny monsters, all of them.
But the jungle never fails to be wondrous as much as it is dangerous. Even in the gloom, howling monkeys traverse overhead, sloths with their young slowly reach for the next branch, and everywhere are the jewel-tone birds, fluttering and singing. I want to hate this place as much as it hates me.
But I don’t.
There’s magic in every inch; the forest creates a powerful enchantment—though I can’t see it. I can only feel the subtle currents of Pachamama. This is her domain; she is the giver of life and beauty, nurturing every beast and insect.
The woman leads us to a clearing next to a pond with a small island in the center. Overhead, the stars have come out and Luna shines brightly from her throne in the sky. Her rays glide over my skin, and I shiver from the cool embrace.
“We’ll rest here,” the Illari tracker says.
“¿Cómo te llamas?” I ask.
She ignores my question. My cheeks flush as we head onto the sandy bank, imperfect, with numerous jagged rocks marring its surface. Manuel cuts down bamboo, and I look for firewood, bringing back whatever I can find that isn’t sopping wet. She takes the bundle from my arms and lays it above a stretch of broad leaves. Using two rocks, she somehow coaxes a small fire to life. Manuel hands out bamboo cups filled with fresh water, and then ventures to the lake, once again with a long bamboo stalk, one end carved into sharp prongs. I settle onto the sand near the fire, even though it’s blazing hot, and sip from my cup. The jaguar curls next to the tracker, its gaze on my every movement.
Manuel returns carrying a long catfish writhing in his arms. While he prepares the fish for cooking, I study our guide as she rests by the fire, her big jungle cat pressed against her legs. She stares at Manuel, a slight furrow between her black brows, as if she can’t quite figure out what he’s doing here. He’s not a member of a tribe, his weapon is Illustrian, but he also carries a slingshot, which he’s never had to use. The jungle seems to accept him, and in return he respects its majesty. He’s a blend of the land and people who have shaped him these last three years.
“How far is the next test?” I ask.
No reply to this. Manuel seems to know to keep silent, but I’m not built that way. When I’m nervous, I chatter. But even her foreboding expression deters me from asking another question.
I catalog her features. Study every line of her compact frame. The tracker’s tunic is beautiful, the hem finished with a black-and-white fringe that grazes her skin. On her feet are soft leather sandals, and her trousers look lightweight and of good quality. The circlet of gold on her brow intrigues me. Is she someone important in the lost city?
The silence stretches. I can’t take it. “Is Paititi far from here?”
Her gaze flickers to mine. “You may not see it at all. No sense in talking of my home village.”
“I’m only attempting polite conversation.”
“You make too much noise,” she says, and then tilts her head back to gaze up at Luna.
I try not to be hurt by her words and her tone, even as they scratch my skin. When she reaches for her small pack, I expect her to pull out a weapon; instead a small canvas sack appears in her fingers. She reaches inside and grabs a glittering dust from within.
Moondust.
I’ve never seen it unless made by Ximena, a byproduct of whenever she’d take to the loom and weave with strands of moonlight. A magical ability gifted to her by Luna—our goddess. How does this girl have access to moondust? Have they captured an Illustrian weaver?
Another thought blazes through my mind—scorching hot. Could Ximena be here in the jungle? But no. That’s impossible. She stayed behind in La Ciudad. We parted ways as enemies.
Manuel brings the fish over to the fire, along with his pan. When he sees the sparkling powder cupped in her hand, he pauses, and then his glowing gaze shoots to mine.
“How did you come by moondust?”
The woman ignores my question again, and I hiss out an impatient breath. When she throws the dust into her eyes, I gasp. Her dark eyes turn silver, gleaming from across the fire pit. She lifts her hand, her index finger pointed, and traces the sky. My blood runs cold. I’ve done the same gesture before. Hundreds of times. Every night, probably. It’s what I do when trying to read the stars.
She’s a seer. She has to be. But even as she surveys the heavens, my body refuses to accept the truth. Despite the heat coming from the fire, from the steaming jungle a few yards away, I shiver. I thought Luna only blessed Illustrians; I thought we were her chosen people. Set apart and gifted by her awesome powers.
But here’s an Illari reading Luna’s celestial message.
I reach into my pack with shaking hands. Pull out my dented telescope and peer up into the sky. My breaths are erratic pants. I don’t notice when Manuel hands me a slab of cooked fish on a leaf. Don’t notice when he hands me another bamboo cup. All I care about is what I can see though the narrow window of my scope. But Luna doesn’t speak clearly to me. The lines between the stars shift and fade, messy letters that don’t make sense or form any legible words. I lower the telescope, fighting tears.
The woman stares at me steadily, her eyes no longer silver.
“She hides from you,” she says. Then she picks up her fish and settles away from the fire, a few paces from the pair of us, the jaguar jumping to its feet and settling in the space between, an effecti
ve and deadly barrier.
“Try eating,” Manuel says softly from his place on the damp sand. “You might feel better.”
The fish is crisp in my mouth but tastes like ash. Manuel sits next to me, his leg pressing against mine. I glance at him in surprise, and he merely smiles. The Illari tracker catches the movement, and then turns away from both of us, finishing her meal in silence, every now and again feeding the jaguar bits of her food.
“Do you think she’s taking us to the bridge?” I whisper.
Manuel’s lips flatten. “I’m sure of it, but hopefully our experience will be better than the last time I attempted to cross.”
“What happened?”
His eyes flicker to mine. “My nose was broken.”
I make a gesture with my hand, signaling for him to continue. Manuel sets his plate and cup down. “It was two, maybe three months after I arrived in the jungle. I’d tracked one of them to the bridge.” His lips twist. “But it was a trap. I almost made it to the other side when arrows came flying from every direction. I turned around—got hit twice, and then fell forward and broke my nose on one of the wooden slats.”
I grip his arm. “How are you alive?”
“I fell into the water,” he whispers. “The current carried me away, and the Illari left me for dead. It’s not a memory I like to dwell on. Now do you see why I wanted to spare you before?”
Fear shoots an icy blade through my veins. “What if this is another trap?”
Manuel gazes at the tracker, considering. “It might be. While she sleeps, we can make our escape.”
The decision doesn’t come easily. Whatever happens, we have to cross that bridge. She’s offering to escort us, to take us right to the entrance. If we go alone, we might get shot, but if we accompany her, there’s a small chance they’ll let us cross.
“We go with her.”
Manuel nods, resigned.
Written in Starlight Page 13
