“We’re going to attempt another search in the morning,” Kusi says. “For now no one—not even the watch—steps out of sight.” He motions toward Manuel and me. “You two sleep first.”
Sleep? How is anyone supposed to sleep with a monster on the loose?
We each settle into our hammocks. Mine swings wildly until I slam a foot down to keep it steady. Manuel checks to make sure I’m safe before climbing into his. I stare up into the dense canopy of trees, tangles twisting like long limbs, ready to choke the life out of anyone who draws near. I remember the loneliness and terror I’d felt that first night in the jungle. It was a miracle I’d survived at all.
Manuel says softly, “Catalina.”
“What?” I whisper back.
“I won’t let anything happen to you.” There’s iron in his vow. “Try to sleep.”
I avert my gaze and turn away from his hammock. Somehow sleep claims me after all.
The next morning we look for the missing guard. Kusi keeps us all together, searching beyond our campsite. I get down on my knees, peering into the thick greenery surrounding a massive tree trunk. A tarantula creeps on a long palm frond and I shudder, drawing away. Manuel stays close, lifting tangled vines, trying to forge a path through the dense jungle.
We look for an hour, but there’s no sign of Sayri. And then someone calls, a few feet away.
“Over here,” Chaska says.
She points to the ground. To something half hidden underneath a tight cluster of ferns. I step closer, Manuel at my elbow. Kusi and Sonco join us.
Someone lets out a smothered cry. I think it might be me.
Sayri’s bloody leg rests against a massive rubber tree.
Ripped clean.
We spend hours searching for the rest of him. But there’s nothing else. By the early afternoon, with most of the day behind us, Kusi pulls aside Sayri’s brother. Their exchange isn’t easy to watch. Kusi remains firm while the guard breaks down, crying out in his desperation. He pounds his chest, wipes his steaming eyes.
Chaska comes to stand by me. “We can turn back.”
I glance at her, my eyebrows rising. “Do you want to go back?”
“This is terrifying—and I’ve lived in the jungle all my life.” She bites her lip. “But we haven’t learned anything important. I don’t want to face our people empty-handed.”
I know the feeling. Which is why I won’t go back. Besides, at this point it feels safer to stick together. Kusi and the guard finish their conversation, and we resume our trek toward the dying part of the jungle, drawing closer to danger.
To the unknown.
We make camp later that evening, and once again I pull out my dented telescope. Manuel is standing on the other side of the roaring fire, but he looks over as if I’ve called his name. His gaze drops to the scope in my hands, and he frowns.
“I’m going,” I say, my heart hammering against my ribs. I’m scared to wander away, but I have to consult Luna. She might provide advice—or direction.
Manuel shakes his head.
I prepare for another argument, but I’m saved by Kusi. “We passed by a small clearing. Not too far of a walk.”
Manuel shoots him a look of profound disgust. “It’s dangerous. Why don’t we all pack up and spend the night there?”
“Too vulnerable to attack,” Kusi says. “But we could use Luna’s guidance.”
“I’ll go with her,” Chaska says. “I’ll have my weapon.”
“I go where she goes,” Manuel says. His expression could scare off a jaguar.
The three of us leave, walking away from our companions, away from warmth, and plunge deeper into the sinister forest. Manuel hacks at the dense foliage. I’m two steps behind him, carefully moving around thick sludge streaking through the green carpet. The ground emits a damp, mildewy scent. Liana vines loop down, and a few times I mistake one for a snake. The clearing comes into view, and Manuel stiffens as the trees become sparse, the protection growing thinner. Moonlight shines through the smattering of leaves, casting a delicate pattern onto the mushy green earth.
He sweeps the area and huffs out an annoyed breath. “How long will this take?”
“Long enough,” Chaska says.
“Helpful,” he mutters, then warily walks around the perimeter.
I pull out my scope then spend the next few minutes quieting my heart, calming my spirit. My breaths are intentional, slow and deep, brushing at the back of my throat and filling my lungs. My shoes sink into the earth, taking root. I say a soft prayer to Inti, for the warm days; to Pachamama, for nurturing life; and to Luna, for lighting the darkness.
Then I lift my scope and peer through it, trembling. Dimly, I’m aware of Chaska doing the exact same thing.
Please guide us.
The stars move, connecting and reconnecting, shifting and turning to fit against one another, forming shapes that only Chaska and I can see and decipher. Each word is a blow to my chest.
Enemy. Power. Near. Consume. Unnatural.
The message doesn’t change, and I feel the quiet assurance of Luna’s presence. Tucked in every glimmer of moonlight that kisses my skin and grazes my cheek. Hurry, she seems to whisper. Hurry.
“I don’t understand—hurry where?”
Chaska looks over at me. “That’s one of the words I see too.”
Manuel draws near, his brow puckered. “What’s the word?”
“Words, multiple.” I finger the end of my braid, letting the strand tickle my lips and chin. “Enemy, power, near, consume, unnatural, and hurry. But … they don’t fit together. Almost like—like they’re meant for two different people.”
Manuel is quiet while holding up his machete and surveying the area. I pace around, carding through ideas and impressions, gut feelings and intuition.
“By enemy,” Manuel asks, “does she mean the person who’s planting the flower?”
“It has to be. I don’t know who else Luna could be talking about. But why doesn’t she just name the culprit?”
“With Luna, everything is carefully measured,” Chaska says. “Intentional. She doesn’t pick random shapes; it’s all supposed to mean something. She gives me the words, and a seer is meant to form the rest of the story. Perhaps the name doesn’t matter. After all, it could be someone we don’t know. And in that case, what difference does a name make?”
He lets out a low whistle. “A lot of room for error. Not to mention pressure.”
“Shhh,” Chaska murmurs. “Let us think for a moment.”
“I’m close to understanding,” I say as I continue pacing. “I can feel it.”
“Would you mind standing still?” Manuel asks. “So I can keep an eye on you while looking out for … jaguars.”
He doesn’t say monster, and I’m glad for it. I stop walking, my arms flapping. “I’m missing something, or maybe I’m feeling too much. I have so many options, so many ways I can interpret her—” My eyes widen when I’m hit with a flash of realization. “It’s the flower.”
“Yes, we know that already,” he says.
“No, I mean the flower isn’t meant to be consumed.” I reach out and grasp his arm. “The monsters are people who’ve consumed the flower. The plant not only corrupts the earth but human flesh, too.”
“Of course,” Chaska says breathlessly. “Poor Urpi must have eaten it.”
“How is that possible?” Manuel demands. “Where did the flower come from?”
“I don’t know but—”
A harsh, long scream rents the air. Manuel spins in the direction of camp, shoulders tightening. “Stay here—”
“No,” I whisper, suddenly understanding the urgency. “They’re coming—”
Chaska bolts out of the clearing, shouting for her cousins. She disappears into the brush. Another bellowing shriek follows, full of agony. My stomach lurches, and I sag against Manuel, feeling Luna’s frantic breath against my edges.
“I can’t leave them,” he says.
“Neither
can I.”
He grasps my hand and together we run toward whatever horror our friends face.
CAPÍTULO
Treinta y dos
I pump my legs, racing after Manuel, ignoring all of his lessons. I touch branches and vines, stumble over a log. My feet kick up leaves, no doubt disturbing the homes of tarantulas and poisonous frogs. When the glow of the fire looms ahead, Manuel spins and hauls me behind a tree.
“What are you—”
Manuel slaps a firm hand over my mouth, his fingers dry, unlike my sweat-slicked ones. His face is as calm as ever, and for the first time I wonder if it’s because he knows that if he shows fear, I’d be too frightened to go on. He peers around the vast tree trunk. Moss clings to the branches overhead, and I brush aside a clump, staring at Manuel, at the part of the jungle within my sight, and at my own weaponless hands. The only thing I have on me is my telescope and those useless darts.
He removes his hand and speaks, his voice a mere strip of sound. I have to lean in to hear him at all. “Don’t move from this spot. I’ll be close by.”
I nod as he walks away, vanishing into a thicket of tree ferns. I blink back tears, struggling to keep calm. An army of ants climbs up the long line of the trunk, disappearing into a gaping black hole. I take a half step away, shuddering. Leaves drip tears onto the top of my head. It takes everything in me not to run for my life, screaming at the top of my voice. I clutch my stomach, spinning in a slow circle, half waiting, half dreading for the monster to come.
I wait for minutes. Every second feels like an hour.
Fear keeps me upright, rigid and tense. I can’t believe I didn’t take my weapon from Chaska. Foolish, foolish planning. I pray to Luna for Manuel to come back. I’m so desperate, I’m about to get on my knees to beseech the canopy when I hear it.
Someone moans close by.
Human.
I slowly turn, my ears straining at the hushed noise. I creep away from the tree, my heart thundering against my ribs as I will myself not to panic. Manuel hasn’t returned, watching for the monster, trying to find our friends. Another groan punctures the night. I drop to a squat, gently unfolding leaves until I see streaks of blood glistening on the jungle floor. There’s so much of it. Spread over ferns and vines, mixing with the muddy ground. I crab-walk forward until I find someone’s warm hand under a brush of greenery.
Without thinking I reach forward, grasping the open palm. “It’s all right now. I’m here to help.” The words are a whisper, barely teasing my mouth. I brush the rest of the leaves aside—notice the bone and blood on the other end—and let out a scream. I drop the hand and kick away, my boots slapping mud everywhere.
Tears carve tracks against my cheeks.
It’s one of the guards.
“Catalina,” Manuel says from above me, frantic. “Get up. We have to move.” He notices the palm and blanches. “Can you stand?”
No way. The bloody limb is a mere foot away from me.
Manuel tucks his hands under my arms and hauls me to my feet. His face startles me. Sweat greases his hairline, drips down the sharp planes of his face. His tunic is soaked through, forearms glistening in what little moonlight pokes through the canopy of trees.
“The others?”
“I can’t find them,” he says grimly. “We’re going back—”
Someone crashes through the jungle near us. The heavy panting roars in my ears. Branches snap. Manuel shoves me behind him, machete raised, reflecting the light from his luminous eyes, glowing bright against the flat black.
Kusi stumbles through a gap in the trees, his clothes stained with mud—no, not mud—blood. His spear is clutched in his hand, and quivers holding blowgun darts cross his broad chest. He’s ready for war.
“Where’s Chaska?”
“She’s not with you?” I ask.
“¡Mierda!” Kusi cries. “She went with you, didn’t she?”
“Yes, but she ran ahead the moment the screaming started,” Manuel says.
“What do they look like? The monsters?” I’m amazed I have enough saliva in my mouth to speak at all. “Did they look like poor Urpi?”
“Barely human,” he says, his face pale. “Bodies turned white. Cold skin.”
His flat voice heightens my fear.
“Where is Sonco?” Manuel asks. “We found one—part of—” He breaks off, his expression pained. “One of the guards is there. Sayri’s brother.”
The Illari follows Manuel’s line of sight and lands on the bloody limb. His face twists, the warrior brother barely containing his rage.
“Is the monster gone?” I ask. “What should we do?”
“Monsters. There’re several of them,” Kusi spits. “They came after you left. We all fought so Sonco could run back to Paititi, round up the army—”
A bloodcurdling scream cuts him off.
Chaska.
We race toward the sound, leaping over twisted roots buttressing up against massive tree trunks. We run through towering saw grass and hanging vines, through utter darkness, Manuel leading the way with his Moonsight. The green of the jungle is an ocean hiding slithering creatures, monsters with the strength of ten men, and animals with sharp teeth. I try not to think of what I’m stepping on or what’s flying around me.
“Chaska!” Kusi roars, bolting around Manuel.
He kneels beside a shaking form—it’s Chaska. He lifts her halfway. The expression on her face is stark terror, her skin ashen and pulled tight over her cheekbones. She stares at me blankly from red-rimmed eyes. Above us, several king vultures peer down with their beady eyes, patiently waiting for dinner.
Luna’s breath glides across my skin, raising the hair at the back of my neck. They’re coming.
“Manuel,” I whisper, fear searing my throat, stabbing my belly.
Four of them melt into view, surrounding us. They’re all bare chested, bodies turned pale white. Only the tips of their fingers are dark, their nails sharpened into lethal points. They carry bows and arrows, swords in sheaths. What’s left of their clothing is tattered and dirty. Their sinewy muscle is tense, holding back, but ready for violence—for death. Every one of them has Moonsight, lambent gazes staring with unguarded hunger. They’ve been blessed by our goddess.
Blessed—or cursed.
Black tattoos are etched across their bodies. It’s a language I know—constellations. I read the words carved into their flesh: Child. Gift. Blessing.
I press close to Manuel, my hand a death grip on his arm. Kusi slowly pulls Chaska to her feet, and she slumps against him.
Luna. What is this?
From the dense foliage comes another figure—a man covered from head to toe in an eggplant-purple robe. Long black hair sweeps past his shoulders, and in his bronze hands he holds a sword. He regards us coldly, his lips twisting into a sneer. “Drop your weapons.”
The pale creatures lift theirs, ready to unleash their hunger. We drop our spears and daggers, but I clench my telescope, refusing to let it go. He said weapons, and this isn’t one. My heart slams against my ribs, my arms trembling at my sides, completely useless. The man in the purple robe studies my companions, then his attention lands on Manuel and me.
“Illustrians.” A catlike grin stretches across his thin mouth. “Interesting.”
He snaps his fingers. One of the monsters removes an arrow from his pack and notches it in his bow. I’m frozen all over as the monster levels the weapon at my heart.
Manuel stiffens next to me, breathing softly. “What do you want with her?” His voice is unimaginably calm.
“Answers,” the man rasps out. “Step forward, girl.”
I glance at Manuel, who doesn’t take his eyes off the creature training his arrow on me. He gives me an imperceptible nod. But my feet remain rooted to the ground. The monster growls at me, his strong arm pulling back the bow.
“Catalina,” Manuel says.
The robed man’s gaze sharpens and latches onto mine. When his laughter cuts the air, I actua
lly wince. It’s an awful, grating noise that makes every inch of my skin crawl. “Catalina? Catalina Quiroga?”
My jaw drops. “How do you know my name?”
“I know all about you.” He steps closer, and his eyes travel up and down my body, lingering on my dark hair, my face. “You two could have been twins,” he adds, almost as an afterthought.
I freeze. He can only mean one person—the girl who acted as my decoy for nearly my entire life. The idea of her being anywhere near this man sends a shiver down my spine. I don’t like the mean curve to his mouth, the anger hidden in his eyes. “You know Ximena?”
“We’ve met,” he says with a grim smile. “Imagine running into you here, of all places. What brings you?”
“I was banished to the jungle by the Llacsan queen.”
“And the Estrella?”
Shame eats at me. “I lost it to Ximena. It was destroyed.”
“A pity,” he says. “But there’s a small chance you might have some value. The daughter of nobility, a member of the royal family who ruled Inkasisa for centuries. I imagine you either have enemies or admirers. Come over here—I won’t hurt you.”
I blanch. Manuel steps in front of me, his calm veneer fracturing. The instant he does, there’s a whistle of wind and a sharp thud. Manuel hisses loudly, bending forward. I kneel beside him and gasp. An arrow pierces his right thigh, blood blooming from the wound.
Manuel shoots a quick look at me, his face contorted in pain: Hold it together. Don’t fall apart.
I straighten helplessly, my hand at the center of his back. Manuel reaches behind his leg and breaks the shaft close to the wound without so much as a whimper, and then throws it on the ground at the man’s feet, who appears pleased by Manuel’s defiance. His thin lips frame a cold smile, and fear squeezes my heart. I don’t like the way the robed man assesses Manuel, as if he were a prized warhorse.
“You’ll make a fine warrior.”
Manuel frowns as Kusi asks, “Who are you?”
The man considers the question. “I am a priest.”
Recognition slams into me. This is Atoc’s priest, his loud shadow, master of vicious magic. Memories flood my mind. His many attempts to cross the magical bridge dividing the Illustrian keep from Atoc’s army. His use of torture and control to force our people to let him pass.
Written in Starlight Page 26
