La Reina Gigante gently laid Max back on the sofa and lowered her head, revealing a nest within her crown. There, in a hollow bordered by sticks and grass, the peregrine slept. La Reina softly kissed Max’s forehead before standing to her full height again and swaying back toward the cliff.
“Don’t leave!” called Max, scrambling after her. Through the storm’s wreckage, he ran down the path to the fork and uphill, waving his arms. Breathless, he yelled, “Come back!”
His feet hammered the earth up the switchbacks, but just when he thought he’d reached the grove of coral trees, he found himself at the bottom of the hill again. “Please stay,” he cried.
But La Reina Gigante moored herself back onto the cliff—once again a tower, proud and unyielding.
Even so, Max ran and ran and ran.
An insistent rapping woke him.
Lola leaped toward the door. Her low-throated growl confirmed that someone was on the other side. Max looked around for signs Buelo had returned. He hadn’t.
Still groggy, Max glanced at the clock in the kitchen. Two in the morning! He rubbed his eyes. Who would come to the cottage at this hour? He walked to the door and leaned an ear against it. “Who’s there?”
“A pilgrim, true of heart.”
Max groaned. “Buelo, I’m too tired for games.” He grabbed Lola’s collar and opened the door.
A tall, imposing man in mud-caked boots and a jacket with many large pockets stood on the threshold. He wore an oilskin hat and gripped a walking stick in one hand.
Lola wriggled from Max’s grasp, wagging her tail.
The man laughed, took off his hat, and stepped inside. He stooped to pet her. “Hello, Lola.” He straightened and bowed to Max. “I am Father Romero, friend of Feliciano Córdoba Sr. and Jr. I have a … delivery for them. And you must be Maximiliano. I haven’t seen you since before you could walk. How old are you now? Eleven?”
“Almost twelve.”
Father Romero didn’t wear a cassock like the priest at Our Lady of Sorrows. And Max couldn’t remember hearing Papá or Buelo talk about him. But Lola seemed to trust him, and she was a good judge.
Father Romero looked over Max’s shoulders. “Is your father or grandfather home?”
Max shook his head. “My father is in San Clemente. And Buelo is at a friend’s.”
Father Romero blew out a deep breath. “That complicates things. You see, I have a …” He stopped, as if something had suddenly occurred to him. “I should ask, are you familiar with …” He scratched his head. “How should I put this? On occasion, there are those of us who help travelers get from one place to another.” He leaned forward. “Has your father or grandfather ever mentioned this?”
Was he talking about the guardians? Weren’t they a thing from the past? “Do you mean the Guardians of the Hidden Ones? Yes, they’ve told me.”
Father Romero looked relieved. “Of course they would have! So I will speak freely and in confidence. Four weeks ago, I brought a young woman here. Rosalina. Her parents had died and she was in an unfortunate situation. Your father escorted her to the next safe place. Do you recall?”
One week last month, Papá had left to work on a bridge in Valencia. Was that another lie?
Max nodded.
“Tonight, I have with me her sister, Isadora. Both have already been reported missing by the man who employed them. And there’s a big reward to anyone who turns them in,” said Father Romero. “People will be hungry to talk and collect. So she will need to be moved today. But your father is usually the one. Your grandfather will know what to do. I believe there are substitutes in place. I’ll get her situated and stay with her until daybreak. Then unfortunately, I must leave. If you have any provisions for now, it would be helpful. Also, something to keep her warm. The tower will be drafty.”
Max peered into the yard but couldn’t see anyone.
“She is at the fork,” said Father Romero. “And time is short.”
“Yes, sorry.” Max hurried into the kitchen and filled a large woven market bag with leftover bread, cheese, and a few figs. He pulled a blanket from the cupboard and grabbed one of Buelo’s old sweaters. He stuffed the blanket and sweater inside the bag and set it near the door.
“Before I go, I need to point out some things on the map,” said Father Romero.
Max hesitated. The only map he’d seen in their home was Papá’s work map. “The one with all the bridges … ?”
“Yes. Quickly now.”
Max started for Papá’s room then stopped and turned. “Were you the one to bring my mother?”
Father Romero shook his head. “I only met her once when you were a baby. I had escorted two women to the tower. She helped me get them settled and brought you along. You were not yet walking.”
Max nodded and smiled. So it hadn’t been a dream. He had been to the ruins before.
As he hurried to retrieve the map, his mind raced. Buelo, Tío, and his aunties were no longer able to make a long journey. Who would Buelo ask to substitute? Who else could he trust? Miss Domínguez? A wild idea sprang to mind. What if he escorted the hidden one? He could meet the next guardian, who might have traveled with his mother. That person might know the way to Mañanaland.
He could take Lola. No one would bother them if she was along. Max had gone with Papá to remote work sites before and slept outside under the stars. How hard could the journey be anyway, especially if his aunties and Tío and Buelo had done it?
Papá never believed Max could do anything on his own, but he could! He just needed to safely escort the hidden one and hand her off. Buelo said it only took three nights. He’d need another three nights to get back. So about a week. He’d still have plenty of time before tryouts. He could leave a note.
Max walked to the kitchen and handed Father Romero the map. “I will take her. I sometimes substitute for my father.”
He studied Max. “I didn’t realize they had already brought you into the fold.” He scratched his head again. “But now that I think of it, your father was about your age when he started. Still …” His face twitched with worry. “This situation is fraught since we know she is being followed. Her life and yours would be in danger. We should—”
Max interrupted. “I’ll take Lola. And …” Max stood straighter. “… you said she needed to be moved today. I’m pretty sure Buelo won’t be back in time. And I want to do it. Guardians helped my mother. I want to do the same in return. Favor con favor se paga.”
Father Romero’s face softened and he smiled, his eyes crinkling. “Maximiliano, you are continuing a noble legacy. Helping someone in this way is humane and selfless.”
Max stared at the floor, nodding and avoiding his eyes. If he knew the real reason Max had volunteered, he wouldn’t call him selfless.
Father Romero unfolded the map on the table. “Here are my recommendations. Don’t leave by way of the village road. Use the footpath behind the ruins, west of the tower. It leads to the riverbank. It’s steep but well covered.” He moved his finger along the river, stopping at one of the small black stars. “I’d rest at the privet thicket tonight. I think she’ll be too tired for much more. And tomorrow night …” He skipped several stars and pointed to one farther north. “I think she could make it to the outcropping. Then depending on how things go …” He tapped three more markings closer to the edge of the map. “Any one of these.”
Max nodded. The little black stars on the map weren’t Buelo’s fishing spots. They were places to sleep and hide.
“Follow the channel but stay away from the water’s edge. You’ll be too easy to spot. The river is a known path to freedom, and when someone is missing and there’s a reward, people sometimes stalk the banks hoping to capture a runaway. No lights or campfires. If you’re questioned, say you’re headed to Caruso. Even though it’s farther east than you are traveling, it’s in the general direction so it won’t sound suspicious.”
Max nodded.
“One more thing. Stay on river right
until …” His finger followed the river north to the last numbered circle in the far left corner. “… this bridge. Then cross over as usual.” He tapped a spot off the map, on the table. “After that, you know the way.”
Max bent over the map and frowned. He didn’t know the way. Should he lie and try to convince Father Romero he’d been there but didn’t remember? He touched the last circle—bridge number 38. How would he ever find what was beyond it?
“She’s waiting,” said Father Romero, straightening and shaking Max’s hand. “Thank you, my friend. Oh, and tell your father I was happy to send the information he requested of me last week.”
Father Romero quickly picked up the bag of supplies, put on his hat, and slipped into the night.
“What information?” asked Max, but he was already gone.
Max stood in the doorway for some minutes, trying to make sense of all that had just happened. He shut the door and went back to the map on the table. Now he’d have to wait for Buelo to come home and confess what he’d done. Buelo would never let Max go and would call a substitute instead.
Max scanned the legend for the corresponding name for bridge number 38.
Max’s heart skipped as the pieces dropped into place.
He did know the way. He’d known it his entire life. Buelo had made sure of it.
He whispered, “In the north, far away and hidden, there is a secret bridge. It is just beyond the Bridge of a Thousand Mallards. Which makes for a lot of quacking. And after that, a dead-end cove …”
A smile crept onto Max’s face.
“Do you know what this means, Lola? It’s more than a legend! It is a true story, just like Buelo always said. It all makes sense now. The secret bridge is the next safe place. ‘A pilgrim, true of heart’ is a password. And the guardabarrera is a guardian. Just like Papá, Father Romero, Buelo, Tío, my aunties, and now …”
Max gulped at the enormity of the task before him. “… me.”
A breath before dawn, Max left Buelo a note and set out from the cottage, following Lola to the fork and up the switchbacks.
He adjusted the backpack he had stuffed full of provisions: another blanket, extra clothes, jam sandwiches, ham tortas—enough to feed Lola and an army—and the map wrapped in oilskin. He pulled the leather cord from beneath his shirt, letting his mother’s compass dangle on the outside. If he got lost, it might help. And maybe it would make him look more credible to the hidden one, as if he’d done this before.
Above them, the peregrine swam wide loops against a watery sky. “Pilgrim bird. Traveler from a promised land,” whispered Max. “Are you my mother’s spirit? Or someone like her? Will you bring me good fortune and magic?” He hoped she would at least bring him safe passage.
The sun peeked out. Last night’s storm had rinsed the dust from the stones at the ruins. Cobwebs glistened and the tower glowed.
He retrieved the key. “Okay, Lola, we want to give the woman fair warning and try not to alarm her.”
Max pulled the outside tower door open and softly called, “Hello?”
No one answered.
Lola darted past him and rushed to the locked gate, sniffing and pawing at the rails.
Max called again, “Hello? I’m here to help.” When there was no response, he unlocked the gate and climbed the stone steps with Lola pressed to his side.
Something shuffled above.
Lola charged into the stairwell and disappeared, relentlessly barking.
Max scrambled after her. “Lola!” On the fourth level, he found her, woofing deep and loud at a young girl huddled on the floor and shaking. He ran forward and grabbed Lola’s collar. “I’m so sorry! Don’t be scared. She won’t hurt you.”
The girl unfolded, still trembling, and clutched something wrapped in Buelo’s old sweater. She looked just old enough for school. Her large brown eyes darted from Max to Lola and back to Max. She smoothed her blue dress. A thick fringe of hair covered her forehead and was trimmed in a straight line just above her brows. One loose braid knotted with twigs and leaves almost reached her waist. There was more dirt on her clothes and tear-streaked cheeks than on her scuffed boots. Had she been sleeping outside? She squinted and blinked several times before crouching and patting the floor until she found a pair of wire rims and put them on, making her eyes look even bigger and more frightened.
Father Romero hadn’t said that the woman he was to escort was traveling with a child. Before Max could ask where she was, the bundle in the girl’s arms wriggled, and a kitten peeked from the sweater.
Lola strained toward it.
“Sit!” Max commanded.
The dog whimpered but obeyed.
“This is Lola,” he said. “She’s harmless. She wouldn’t have cornered you, except for the cat. She’s a Portuguese water dog and large for her breed. But she’s very gentle, at least with people. I promise.”
The girl’s lips quivered. Still, she said nothing.
“I’m Max. I’m the guardian. I’m here for the hidden one. Who are you?”
The girl’s eyes narrowed and she backed away.
“Don’t be afraid. My father was supposed to guide someone but he’s away. And Father Romero said she must be moved at once.” He stood taller. “I’m to say, ‘I am a pilgrim, true of heart.’”
Her face relaxed a little.
Max looked around the room. “I need to talk to someone named Isadora. Do you know where she is?”
The girl swept a wisp of hair from her eyes, took a wobbly breath, and pointed to herself.
He frowned. She was Isadora? She was the one he was to escort? But she was so young! How could he care for such a small child? Could she even make the journey on her spindly legs? “You’re alone?”
She hugged the kitten and looked as if she might burst into tears again.
Max put both hands on his head and walked in a circle. The only little children he really knew were Chuy’s sisters. All of his complaints about them echoed. They threw tantrums when they didn’t get their way. They didn’t do as he asked. They were loud or whiny or annoying.
The kitten mewled, interrupting his thoughts.
And why hadn’t Father Romero mentioned the cat? A cat could be a problem. What if it ran off and Isadora chased it into a ravine or became hysterical? What if it meowed while they were hiding?
“I’m afraid we will have to leave the cat here.”
Isadora’s face wrenched and she emphatically shook her head. Tears streamed down her cheeks but she didn’t make a sound.
No one had prepared him for crying! He knelt on one knee in front of her and said gently, “Please trust me. What if Lola and the kitten don’t get along?”
She held out her small hand toward Lola, who inched forward, sniffing.
Within seconds, Isadora was stroking her head and neck. She set the kitten down in front of her.
Lola lowered her big body to the floor and crawled forward, nudging the kitten with her nose. It pawed at Lola’s head, backed away, and pounced forward, playing. Carefully, Lola licked the kitten’s back, like a mother cat.
Isadora swiped her cheeks, her eyes pleading.
Max sighed in resignation. “All right. Where are your things?”
Isadora crossed the room and started up the stone steps.
Max and Lola followed her to the top of the stairwell. There were no stones with markings this high up in the tower, except for one.
There was that word again, Mañanaland. If Isadora’s sister was there, just like Max’s mother, then it must be a safe haven. But where and what kind of place was it? he wondered. As if she had heard him, Isadora waved him to the landing and into the tower room.
Beneath the domed ceiling, a mural wrapped the walls. The paint was faded and cracked in some spots, but it was still a magnificent panorama. The first scene began at the landing, where a tiny church sat in the midst of burned-out buildings, street fires, and broken glass. People fled with their belongings while soldiers shot bullets over their he
ads.
Isadora stood in front of the scene, biting the corner of her lip.
“Abismo,” whispered Max, following her to the next section. There, a vast countryside was dotted with houses, barns, stables, and thickets, some tagged with a black silhouette of a peregrine—its head, open wings, and splayed legs like the points on a star—black stars.
Max touched one. “The sign of the falcon … safe places to hide.”
Farther on, the wall became a tightly packed forest, every tree a person, the limbs like arms reaching for one another.
“People hiding in trees,” said Max.
She closed her eyes. Her body shuddered.
What had happened to her on her journey here?
Isadora stepped aside to where the trees gave way to the citrus orchards and grape fields surrounding Santa Maria. Río Bobinado, Our Lady of Sorrows, and Max’s bridge were all there, and on the cliff’s edge, the tower and the ruins.
After the village, a scurry of clouds—white, purple, and gray—streaked across the wall. Lightning sprang from some, rain from others. Then the mural burst into a lush, sunny landscape: blue skies and green hills, bougainvillea, bushes laden with berries, trees ripe with fruit, waterfalls spilling into large pools, and arcs of rainbows.
Painted above it was the word Mañanaland.
Isadora stopped in front of the paradise, and for the first time, Max saw a timid smile.
A swath of sunlight shined through a loophole and the room brightened. Still in awe, Max slowly turned, taking in the mural again. No wonder Tío wanted to preserve the tower.
Isadora reached out and gently touched a rainbow.
Max could feel her optimism and longing as she gazed at the beautiful scene.
Her sister was waiting for her in Mañanaland.
And hopefully, Max’s mother was waiting there, too.
“We better get going,” said Max.
The blanket he’d sent last night was spread in the middle of the room. On top of it were the leftovers of the bread and cheese and a small wooden box the size of a fist, the lid carved with an elaborate tree. Isadora picked it up and slipped it into the pocket of her dress, then stuffed the blanket and food into the market bag.
Mañanaland Page 7
