Written in Starlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  “This man is dangerous,” I say. “He’s capable of terrible magic.”

  The priest shoots a quick look in my direction, and he seems almost amused. “So you have heard of me.”

  “What do you want?” Kusi asks.

  “Many, many things,” the man says. “But for now, the way to Paititi will serve. Which of you will give it to me?”

  Kusi’s face turns mutinous.

  The priest casts his eye around. “Pachamama has blessed me this night. I have an Illustrian royal and a handful of Illari warriors to join my army.” For the first time I notice a small leather pouch at his hip. “You’ve all been a nuisance, standing in my way, distracting me from my plans, but once you swallow the flower, you’ll become immortal.” He points toward Manuel. “You first, Illustrian.”

  “It’s not meant to be consumed,” I say. “Can’t you see that you’re bringing death—”

  “Your companions will eat the flower,” he says.

  I gape at the priest. Horror pools deep in my belly, buzzes through my jaw and teeth, locks my knees. “No. Por favor.”

  He scowls at me. “No? Do you know the way to Paititi, then?”

  I shake my head. “I can’t even tell you where north is.”

  “Pathetic.” He turns toward Kusi. “And you?”

  “I will not,” Kusi says.

  He snaps his fingers.

  Kusi leaps forward but abruptly stops, clutching his throat. He’s immobile, his eyes growing wider and wider. He claws at his throat, opening and closing his mouth, unable to drag in air. One of the monsters carries a writhing Chaska toward the priest, unfazed by her kicking and clawing. Manuel holds up his machete, standing in front of me when another figure races forward, a blur of movement, his legs pumping furiously to save his brother in time.

  Sonco.

  I let out a smothered cry. Manuel sweeps his machete in a wide arc and lops off the head of one of the monsters. The decapitated body falls forward, but no blood spills from the gaping hole between its shoulder blades.

  And then something grips me. I can’t move my hands or feet. Fingers won’t curl, knees won’t bend. My blood seems to freeze under my skin. I can’t even move my neck.

  The priest stands in the middle of all of us, bodies frozen mid-movement. The only ones in motion are the monsters. Sonco’s dagger is inches from piercing the priest’s heart. He was so close: Another step forward and the weapon would have done its job. The priest stares at the Illari leader coldly and then rips the weapon out of his hands.

  He drags the blade across Sonco’s neck.

  We are all frozen, unable to cry out or rage. Sonco attempts to look in his brother’s direction, but he’s trapped in his statue-like state. The angry line at his throat waits to be free of magic, to widen and release the king’s lifeblood.

  It’s too horrifying for words.

  The priest lifts a finger. Whatever magic holds Sonco in place releases him, and he slumps forward, his eyes wide open, blood gushing from the gash.

  I can’t see Kusi’s face—his body positioned away from mine, still clutching his throat, utterly trapped in the priest’s magic. Tears streak down my face.

  The people of Paititi have just lost a good man.

  The priest lifts another finger. The magic vanishes. I drop to the ground, shuddering. Everyone else follows. Thud, thud, thud. The monsters encircle us. Kusi stares in horror at his brother—his mouth formed into a silent scream.

  “I hope you understand that fighting is futile.” The priest snaps at one of the creatures. “Pick up the girls.”

  A monster yanks me by the hair, bringing me to my feet. I accidentally brush against its arm and I shiver. The body is bone white, cold to the touch. Dark eyes gaze at me, and its jaw closes with an audible snap. Curling brown-black hair falls to its shoulders. I keep staring, sure there’s something familiar about this face, and it takes me a while to finally understand that I recognize the monster.

  Rumi. The vigilante.

  CAPÍTULO

  Treinta y tres

  The priest surveys the jungle and wrinkles his nose. He slaps a mosquito against his neck. “We leave for camp. Immediately.” He crooks his finger, and Kusi and Manuel lift to their feet. “My men will carry the girls. Should you attempt anything, it will be their lives.”

  He marches forward. Manuel and Kusi follow, half dragged, half struggling against the priest’s magic. They have enough freedom to move only their legs. Rumi swings me over his shoulder, keeping a firm hold on the backs of my thighs. The other monster attempts to do the same with Chaska, but she fights him, scratching and kicking, until his hand grips her throat and squeezes until she faints.

  This is how we travel up the hill.

  My only line of sight is the ground and Rumi’s tattered pants sinking into the mud, the muck splattering up his legs. I cry the entire journey to the dead part of the jungle. What possessed me to think I could help in any way? This is all my fault. I’m a worthless seer—how could I not have seen this? Luna might have been trying to tell me more, but because of my inexperience, I missed crucial information. Sonco would still be alive if I’d known to demand he stay behind.

  How many more people will I put in danger?

  The ground transforms under Rumi’s feet. From green to gray to white. From alive to dying to dead within a few steps. I try to lift my head by pushing against his back, but his hold across my legs tightens and I wince. We walk on, the cold settling into my bones. By the time we stop, my whole body shivers, teeth clacking against one another from the bitter air. Each howl of the wind tears into my flesh.

  Rumi drops me and I land painfully on my side. The dust lifts and then settles around me. I try not to breathe any in. It smells of nothing—devoid of any hint of life. Terror raps against my chest, rattling bone, making my fingers tremble.

  The priest wipes his eyes, yawning. Our walk took a toll—or maybe it’s his prolonged use of his magic. The land is barren and bone dry. There are several cages made of tall bamboo stalks, fortified by liana vines. Manuel and Kusi are thrown into separate prisons. Both immediately attempt to rattle the stalks but there’s no give, and more monsters appear to guard them. Every time Manuel or Kusi reach for the bamboo, a creature jabs its spear between the bars, pushing the men back.

  Kusi’s face twists in horror. The monsters are dressed in Illari-style tunics. These people must be the missing scouts.

  “Catalina, you’re with me,” the priest says. “Take the other girl and lock her up.”

  “¡Espera!” Manuel cries. “Take me instead.”

  Rumi wrenches me toward a large tent made of fabric and leaves draped over bamboo. Inside there’s a simple woven mat on the ground and a narrow cot covered in mosquito netting.

  The priest follows me in, breathing down my neck. I jump away, trembling.

  He gestures toward the ground. “Siéntate.”

  I carefully lower myself, my gaze flicking past his shoulder to the tent opening. How far could I go before he uses his magic on me?

  He observes me shrewdly. “You won’t get far.”

  There’s a small basket by the cot and from within it he pulls out a bottle of wine and a clay cup. He pours himself a full glass then settles across from me. “Rather interesting,” he says, “facing you here. Clever strategy to send a decoy to the palace in your place. Was that your idea?”

  I shake my head, shuddering at the sight of the deep burgundy wine staining his lips. “It was Ana’s.”

  He tilts the cup back, takes a long sip. His fingers clutch the cup possessively. When his cold gaze settles on mine again, I notice the smirk. “I remember Ana. Your general. She’s a screamer. Did you hear how she died?”

  I wince, looking away.

  “Atoc pushed her into a deep crack in the earth. She screamed the whole way down. A bit dramatic, if you ask me.” He studies me—my skin ravished by mosquito bites, my hair in thick tangles, my clothes damp with sweat. “You’ve lost every
thing, haven’t you? The throne. Your friends. And eventually your freedom, when I sell you to the highest bidder.”

  “Who will want me? I have no land, no title.”

  He shrugs. “When you’ve lived as long as I have, survived against all odds, you learn to take whatever is available. No opportunity is wasted.”

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask quietly.

  He rubs his eyes and then finishes the rest of his wine. Again I can tell he’s drowsy from the use of his magic. And again my gaze skitters to the entrance, the fabric fluttering gently against the bamboo.

  The priest’s low chuckle makes the hair at the back of my neck stand on end. He lifts a single finger. My throat constricts, and I reach up, wanting to pull away whatever is blocking air from my lungs. But I feel only skin.

  “Have you guessed my magic? Nothing to say?” The priest smiles coldly. “Not too bright, are you? At least your decoy knew how to stand up for herself.”

  I flush hotly, even as my body yearns for sweet air. It wants to live. I know what kind of awful magic runs through his veins. But the words stick at the back of my throat. I’d been afraid of him for years after hearing about all of his exploits against my people. What horrors did Ximena face at his hands?

  The priest leans forward. “I can control blood. Stop a heart from beating. Swell a throat, thicken it with blood. Force a person to jump off a cliff, drown in a puddle of water.”

  I stare at him in horror as I clutch my throat. He drops his finger and I drag in a mouthful of cold air. I cough and gasp, fight to control the rapid beating of my heart. I have to keep him talking, learn as much as I can. Expose a weakness. My mouth is dry, but I somehow manage to choke out, “I’ve never heard of this kind of magic.”

  “A rare ability in the little village I came from,” he says absently. “Have you ever visited the Lowlands?”

  I shake my head.

  “Skip it,” he says. “A smattering of huts, no road or wealth of any kind. I wanted more for my people, my family, but they were content in their small corner of Inkasisa, content with being forgotten.”

  My eyes narrow. That weary bitterness feels familiar. I’ve seen it on someone else too, a hazy picture in my mind. “I know your face.”

  “Of course you do,” he says coolly. “I was there the day you lost it all.”

  He’s right, but it’s more than that. This is the boy Luna tried to show me, the one who grew up lonely and isolated. Without companions or family. “You lost your parents when you were young.”

  The scowl vanishes from his face.

  “We have that in common,” I say softly. “But that’s where our similarities end. Maybe you thought the people would like you better if you brought money into the village. But it didn’t go that way—they feared your magic. Even though you didn’t ask for it.”

  The priest folds his arms across his chest.

  My throat thickens, unnaturally. A voice inside tells me to speak up, to share that I understand some of what he went through as a boy, wanting a friend, a home of his own, for his tiny village to make it onto a map. “That must have been terribly lonely for you.”

  His hold on my blood thins. I inhale deeply, filling my belly with air.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “You think you know me because Luna shared my past?” His fingers dig into his arms, and the veins in his throat become more pronounced. “I don’t need saving, Condesa.”

  I chance another look toward the tent entrance, trying to see if one of the priest’s men waits outside. But I don’t see anyone.

  “I wouldn’t attempt it,” he says in a voice colder than the bitter breeze howling against the tent. “Or have you forgotten I have your friends locked in cages?”

  He’s toying with me, provoking me, as if I could possibly fight back against his magic. Any attempt would be futile and we both know it. He wants to watch me fail. “You obviously want to say something to me, so say it.”

  “I want you to answer a few questions about Paititi.”

  “Why should I?”

  He points a crooked index finger toward the cages outside the tent. “Consider the lives I hold in my hands.”

  “You’re going to murder them anyway,” I say bleakly.

  “But think about how I could do it. Tell me what I want to know, and they die peacefully; resist, and I will turn them into monsters for my army. It’s your choice.”

  Two terrible choices. I stare at him—the thin lips, the pulled-back hair, the razor-sharp cheekbones, the hungry eyes. He’ll ruin their lives and in the most horrid and wretched way imaginable.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Where do they keep the gold?”

  I blink at him. “Gold? This is what you’re after?”

  He is silent and not amused by my caustic tone.

  I decide to be honest with him. “The roads aren’t made of the metal you seek. People wear an odd bracelet or necklace, but that’s it. Some buildings use gold on their roofs, but the legend of Paititi was grossly exaggerated.”

  He lifts his hand, and I’m blown back, rolling out of the tent and landing in a messy heap. The wind is knocked out of me. I pound my chest, coughing, and scramble to my hands and knees. My fingers dig into the cold earth, desperate for purchase.

  “Catalina!” Manuel roars, his hands clutching the bamboo. One of the creatures jabs a spear toward him, and Manuel jerks back, cursing loudly.

  I jump to my feet without thinking, only wanting to be near Manuel, even if I have to be in that cage with him. But the moment I take a step, I’m lurched backward again and dragged through the mud and inside the tent, kicking and screaming as I go. The priest’s magic forces me onto my knees in front of him.

  “Try again.”

  “I never saw gold—not in the way you’re imagining. There aren’t piles of it lying around!” I cry, trying to fight his magic. But it’s as hard as iron. “This is a fool’s errand.”

  “There has to be,” he snaps. “I cannot face him empty-handed.”

  “Who? Who can’t you face?”

  He releases me and I slump to the ground. “What pact have you made?” I ask. “With who?”

  “The king of Palma,” he says stiffly.

  I think back to Ana’s lessons about the neighboring countries. Inkasisa is landlocked, surrounded. After the revolt on La Ciudad—the capital city—Manuel reported seeing soldiers pressing into our borders, testing our weaknesses. But Atoc pushed them back. It was now his younger sister’s problem to deal with overeager kings.

  One of them being from Palma.

  Notorious for their ambition and greed, with a power-hungry monarch bent on conquering his imagined enemies. My family kept him appeased by sending chests filled with silver from our mountain. What was his name? I hadn’t thought about him in a long time, so concerned about my own revolution against Atoc’s iron grip on my throne.

  “Fuentes,” I say under my breath.

  “What was that?”

  “The name of your … employer. What will he give you in return for the gold?”

  The priest leans forward, a slick grin on his face. “The Inkasisa throne.”

  I’m removed from the tent, the priest wanting sleep. I expect to be taken to one of the empty cages near the others, but instead Rumi yanks me away from them, and Manuel stares furiously at my captor. I drag my heels, but his grip is tight and painful on my wrist. I’ll wake up with bruises tomorrow.

  We reach a dark pit and he yanks me forward so hard, I’m surprised my arm doesn’t pop out of its socket. I stumble into the hole and land with a sharp thud on my side. Pain shoots up and down my leg. A grid of bamboo stalks slams on top of the pit opening. I scramble to my feet, my fingers digging into the moist earth. The space is claustrophobic, dirty, and damp, smelling of rotting mushrooms.

  “Let me out!”

  But no one comes.

  Damn it. I don’t dare sit on the ground. Who knows what might take a s
ampling of my flesh? I let out a miserable sigh. It’s pitch dark, save for the moon and stars. A gasp rushes from my lips. My hand flies to my pants pocket—the priest never asked me to empty them. Perhaps he thought me too helpless.

  I dip my shaking hand inside and pull out my trusty dented telescope.

  My knees buckle in relief. Prayers fall from my lips—to Luna, Inti, and Pachamama. I beg for their help. No amount of breathing can slow the drumming of my heart. But I shut my eyes, focusing on quieting my cluttered mind, ridding it of the deafening chatter, terror, and doubt. I fill up my lungs with frigid air, and it’s ice against the back of my throat. I wait for the pulsing thrum, the delicious sense of peace, wait for my goddess.

  I lift up the telescope. The stars have moved since I last looked. I squint, making sure I’m reading every word right.

  Consume. Consume. Consume.

  I lower the scope and pull at my bottom lip with my teeth. What does it mean? No answers come. Even as I stand stock-still, barely breathing, listening for Luna’s soft whisper against my cheek.

  There’s nothing.

  Something bites my leg. A sharp sting that I feel everywhere. I look down and screech—ants crawl under my boots, hundreds of them. I stomp on them, my breath coming out in freezing puffs of air. I scream when more come, remembering what Chaska told me about the ant that burns flesh, the feeling as if you’re being stabbed.

  Someone peers down—Rumi the monster, by the shape of his outline.

  “There are ants in here! Please let me out!”

  I shudder, rubbing at my tunic, scratching my legs. The image of ants crawling all over my skin pierces my mind, and I let out a whimper. The only thing I can do is keep marching all over them throughout the night.

  But they bite me anyway, and by the time morning comes, dozens of welts cover my legs.

  That’s nothing compared to the dread that snakes up my spine at the sight of the priest, looking down at me, refreshed, magic full and ready to be unleashed.