The Untamed Moon

by Jenn Stark

  “Just the four of you? That’s good too. Nigel is a man of his word.”

  Nikki and I exchanged a glance.

  “How do you know Nigel?” I asked.

  Emilio turned back to me and placed his hand on his chest, his eyes going to perfect Os as he nodded several times. “He saved my life, nothing less. Didn’t have to. Didn’t need to. Probably shouldn’t have. I owe him for that, and for my entire setup here in Cusco. I would repay that debt by guiding you safely to your destination.”

  “How noble,” Nikki said, with a hint of sarcasm.

  Emilio grinned at me, a little more shyly this time. “You don’t remember me, Madame Justice. But that job in Rio however many years back, I told Nigel it was a job I needed. You were the better hunter, but I had the graver need. I’d made some bad decisions that came back all at once to haunt me. Of course, even with all that, I couldn’t recover the amulet—you did. Nigel saved me from the hunter’s cut after that job. Didn’t have to. Didn’t need to. Probably shouldn’t have.”

  There was no rancor in the man’s tone, but I couldn’t help the pang of dismay deep in my stomach. Artifact hunting was a cutthroat business, meaning that the hunters who failed their clients often got their throats cut for their troubles. It helped thin the herd and keep competition strong, and it also sent a message to potential hunters that failure was not an option. I’d known on many hunts that I hadn’t been the only one looking for a particular McGuffin. I much preferred it when I was, when the artifact was so arcane and elusive that I didn’t have competition. Emilio reminded me that that was not always the case, and suddenly, I considered the other hunters on this expedition in a new light.

  “Someone’s thinning the herd,” I muttered. That added yet another ripple to this process. Was this competition solely for profit, or also for strategy?

  Emilio grinned. “Don’t think I didn’t consider that possibility too, which is why I’m happy to be working for your team on this particular hunt, Justice Wilde. We leave at dawn. I’ll find you.”

  18

  The next morning, it rained. Not the soft, subtle rain of a spring day in Ireland, but a torrential downpour.

  This didn’t stop Emilio from showing up at 6:00 a.m., of course, outfitted with a small knapsack that hung close to his body, and appearing grimly determined to get our show on the road as quickly and quietly as possible. Neither Nigel nor Nikki looked pleased with the idea of heading out, though Simon held his own. There were some added perks to being an immortal Council member, for sure. Either way, it was good that our guide didn’t spend much time on small talk. We headed out in more or less a single file, though only after we’d emerged from the hotel from different doors. Emilio clearly was in no mood to alert his competitors.

  I watched his small, poncho-clad body hurrying forward, and reflected again on the life of an artifact hunter. Had it gotten worse since I left their ranks? And how lucky was I not to have to pay much attention anymore? My responsibilities had changed dramatically over the past few years, without question. I still had my share of problems, but they’d gotten infinitely more interesting.

  The downpour kept chatter to a minimum until we were well out of the city, past the Jeep ride to the head of the trail, and officially on our way to Choquequirao. Even the first few hours of our trek on foot remained quiet, though the tree cover provided adequate protection from the worst of the rain.

  We broke for lunch at the edge of a small clearing. Emilio was careful not to allow any of us to venture into the sunshine, despite the fact that the clouds had finally broken. “You have good wards,” he said, nodding first to Nigel and then to Simon. “I can’t make them, but I have just enough Connected ability in me that I can detect them. Well, no matter how good your wards are, there’s somebody out there with a better set of eyes. Even if you don’t believe it, it’s best to act that way.”

  Nigel grunted, but I couldn’t dispute the logic.

  “Will it really take another day for us to get to Choquequirao?” Nikki asked. “Seems to me we could have done something to shorten the time. You can bet our competitors will be cutting every corner they can.”

  Simon held up a small device he’d been studying, one of the apparently fifty-seven small whozits and whatsos he’d stowed in his very own Simon-designed fanny pack. Slung around his waist the way it was, the pack didn’t look cool, but I suspected it would come in handy.

  “Emilio, my man, you’re absolutely right on eyes beating wards,” he said. “It’s way easier to see something than to keep from being seen. To that end, you’ll all be happy to know I bugged the hunters who were at the bar last night, which wasn’t all of them, of course, though it was a damn good bar. We’ve got two teams in the area, but their angle is off ours by a significant measure. I don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but I’m going to vote for a good thing.”

  We all turned to Emilio, and he shrugged.

  “There are many ways to get to the lost city of Choquequirao, but only one is truly out of the rain. There’s a cave system not far from here that provided access during particularly troubled times. It’s not the easiest passage, and to be perfectly clear, I myself have never traversed it. But the source who gave it to me, I trust with my life.”

  “Somebody else who owed you?” I asked, “Or somebody you owed?”

  Emilio flashed me a quick, tight smile. “Someone who owes me, and who knows that even in the event of my untimely death, especially in the event of my untimely death, that debt must be paid.”

  “I don’t know if I think all that much about y’all’s line of business,” Nikki said drily, her gaze sliding from Emilio to Nigel and then to me. “It seems like you base a lot on debt collection.”

  “It’s definitely a game of who you know, as much as what you know,” Nigel agreed. “And as your current clients, Emilio, it might be helpful for us to know who you got your information from.” He stared pointedly at our guide.

  Emilio hunched over his bowl of soup, thinking for another long minute. “Your question is fair and sound, and the information is mine to share. I am the one who is owed the debt, not the other way around. This underground system was shared with me by Jorge Metier.”

  I shot a glance at Nikki, but she shrugged, the name meaning nothing to her.

  Nigel, however, straightened with a frown. “Argentinian black market barterer,” he explained for our benefit, but he kept his gaze on Emilio. “He sells his information to the highest bidder. What makes you think he won’t sell you out? I suspect your lien on his services wasn’t so high that he couldn’t find a way to profit on this information somehow.”

  Emilio grinned smugly. “Your concern is well-founded. In fact I would not at all be surprised if he did betray me in this way, but as a wise British man once told me, it’s always best to have two sources, not one. And the second source, a shaman of a local tribe in Cusco, gave me the additional information I would need to keep Jorge honest.”

  “And how do you know he won’t rat you out?” Nikki asked.

  Emilio shook his head. “It’s a she, and as to the rest, there are layers upon layers, contracts upon contracts. It is how business is done among hunters and among the people we serve.”

  “You’ve got another assignment,” Nigel guessed. “You’re running a side hustle—for the shaman, I bet.”

  Emilio didn’t deny it, and I found myself oddly warming to the guy. He was a rat, there was no doubt about it, but he was a straightforward rat. And a man with a second hustle would not want to die before he could get paid.

  “How far to the opening of the caves?” I asked, and Emilio stood, pouring the rest of his soup down his throat, then stepping out into a fresh fall of rain to clean the bowl.

  “Closer than you think, and farther than you’d imagine,” he advised, with what I was quickly coming to understand was his typical patter for those he guided. Useless, and not terribly encouraging. We set off again.

  We reached the cav
e system opening about three hours later, just in time for yet another downpour to come streaming through the canopy of leaves. Without Emilio’s guidance, we would have missed the opening to this cave, which I supposed was a good thing. But I couldn’t help feeling a little unnerved as we stepped into the shallow indentation. Mainly because for the first time since we’d set out, Emilio looked nervous.

  “Well, if we’re heading to Choquequirao, then Choquequirao is one seriously magical place,” Simon said, staring down at his handheld device. “My readings are leaping off the chart.”

  “But I thought Choquequirao was just some place where the Incas holed up after some kind of failed battle with the Spaniards, right?” Nikki asked. “And they didn’t do such a great job of that, if I recall correctly, so how magical a place can it be?”

  Nigel snorted. “That is an exceptionally good point. Another is this. You don’t think we’ll find what we’re looking for, do you, Emilio? Even though you’re taking us to where we want to go.”

  I blinked, but Emilio shook his head.

  “The lost city you seek is a tourist trap, albeit for tourists of a slightly higher caliber than those who are satisfied with Machu Picchu. A beautiful place as well, but a place that now caters to tour groups and dilettantes, not true spiritual warriors or even advanced hikers. Choquequirao is a cut above, but only for that latter group. Its spiritual value is no greater than Machu Picchu’s. Some would say it has less.”

  “Uh-huh,” Nikki said. “And yet—you’re taking us there?”

  “I am. It’s not what lies above, but below, that’s important, the shaman advised. To me, that means the caverns are what is magical, not the city itself—there’s no other possibility. Perhaps I’m wrong—perhaps I’m right. Either way, we shall see what there is to be seen.”

  Nikki made a face. “Okay, let me hit you with this, then: tourist trap or not, something’s definitely tripping Simon’s magical Geiger counter up ahead, and I can’t imagine all that is benevolent magic. What trouble’s waiting for us down here in these caverns?”

  “No trouble. Not here anyway,” Emilio said hurriedly, though not with the fervor of a man trying to keep a secret, more with the determination of a man who wants to believe what he’s saying. “The shaman would not betray me like that. She knows I would be back to haunt her if she did anything to get me killed. I asked her quite specifically what magic we would encounter, what creatures. She was steadfast in her belief that we would face no danger on our journey. We will have more difficulty with the other hunters seeking out this place than we will any natural guardians.”

  “And why is that?” I asked. Something wasn’t adding up here. “If there are guardians of Choquequirao that roam these caverns, why would they be willing to let us through with open arms? That’s not how things usually work.”

  Across the cavern, Nikki snorted. “Believe me, we’ve had our share of subterranean guardians who take issue with our exploration. That, at least, makes sense. Guardians standing aside for us to stroll past doesn’t.”

  “Maybe,” Nigel put in, sounding thoughtful. “Then again, we don’t know who these guardians serve. We know only that we’re looking for the Moon. If these guardians work for the Moon, who now wishes to be found, she would arguably order them to stand down. And if we are working for someone who wants us to find the Moon, to release her from her hiding place, then perhaps they have already cleared the way for us. There’s too much we don’t know.”

  “All right, so now what?” I asked, glancing at our guide. “Even though you’ve never taken this path, I assume you’ve got some indication of how we should proceed? I mean, we’re not going to be relying on the roll of a twenty-sided die here, right?”

  Nikki snorted, but Emilio shook his head, pulling out his own small device. “The map is here and on paper, should batteries fail us later in the search. My GPS unit is very basic, I assure you.”

  “Let me see that,” Simon said, and I watched with keen interest as he approached Emilio. If the guide was up to no good, he wouldn’t be too keen to let his secret map become public knowledge, but Emilio turned his device over to Simon easily enough.

  Beside me, Nigel huffed a soft laugh. “I wondered about that as well,” he confided. “But while no one is entirely trustworthy, Emilio takes his obligations seriously. I did save his life; he does owe me. That matters. He wouldn’t knowingly betray us—though he might unknowingly do so. But that’s a risk on any hunt, no matter what quarry we seek.”

  Nigel was right on that last score, for sure. It had been a while since I’d taken on a hunt like this, and I was beginning to remember the less enjoyable bits of it. Nostalgia only went so far.

  “It’s pretty straightforward to start out,” Simon said, his voice echoing around the chamber. “Things get dicey a couple of miles in, but it’s not bad, and if this map is to be believed, we’re going to be cutting off a solid eight hours of hiking…somehow. We’ll make it there before morning if we hoof it. There’s no need to camp because it’s all protected. Catch a few hours shut-eye maybe, and that’s it.”

  “Then let’s roll,” I said. “Nigel, you stay up alongside Emilio, Nikki right behind, Simon back with me to start.”

  We set out anew, once again falling silent. The path angled downward quite distinctly, but it was dry and soft underneath our feet to start, before giving way to rock. With every step, I felt the walls closing in around me, not an uncomfortable feeling, but a distinct one.

  “Ah…are we traversing through Hell at any point during this trek?” I asked Simon quietly. He slanted a glance back at me, and I could tell from his expression he knew why I was asking.

  “Yeah, the Magician told me that he juiced me up on the sly, and that might unlock some doors that would ordinarily remain locked to me. I don’t feel any different, though. So I guess we’ll have to see. I can’t say I mind having my brain amped. MCT oil goes only so far.”

  “He doesn’t know if it’s permanent—but it could be,” I offered and Simon chuckled.

  “Everything is temporary to the Magician. He wouldn’t be able to do what he does otherwise.”

  Something in his words touched off a worry deep inside me, buried so deep that I couldn’t quite place it. “So you’re good if we end up in Hell?”

  “You always take me to the nicest places.” The Fool smiled, and the glow of his tech illuminated the eager twinkle in his eye. “But I’m good if the world suddenly goes devil shaped. I didn’t think I’d ever get to see Hell, though. Goes to show, you just can’t plan too far ahead in this job.”

  19

  We trekked on, and—to my surprise—didn’t encounter any creatures in the subterranean passageways, supernatural or otherwise, humans included. The first hour passed, then the second. I couldn’t seem to put off the nagging feeling that something was wrong, out of place. Missing, maybe. It took Nikki leaning against a cavern wall during our dinner break to point it out.

  “You know, there’s no sound down here at all,” she observed. “We don’t have anything scurrying, dripping, or moving at all in any direction that I can pick up. That’s weird, isn’t it? That seems weird. This is a natural cave. It should make noise.”

  Emilio frowned at her, then gusted out a soft breath as he leaned against the cavern wall, the faint hint of words mixing in with the sigh. A prayer, I thought. The guy was praying. That didn’t necessarily make me feel any better.

  “We got no movement, that’s for sure, not underground,” Simon confirmed, fiddling with his handheld device. “And I’m not doing any outreach up on the surface right now. It’s too risky. Anyone trying to protect themselves would feel the push.”

  “But why?” Nikki asked. “Why aren’t there animals screwing around, or spiders, or any of that? Was there ever? I mean, this is some nice real estate. It seems to me that somebody should be enjoying it.”

  Nigel turned toward our guide. “Well, we’re in here far enough, Emilio. We’re not turning back. You can go ah
ead and tell us the rest.”

  Emilio gave a credible job of looking confused. “The rest of what?”

  But Nigel wasn’t having any of it. “You were warned against taking this risk, weren’t you? It’s cursed. That’s why there’s no sound. Cursed and possibly booby-trapped. You mollified this shaman, I suspect, only with the explanation of who your traveling partners would be and that we could handle ourselves. Either that or this shaman has real skin in the game, and her urgency overrides her caution. Was Roland her hunter originally?”

  I stared at Nigel for a hard second. The Brit had played this one close to his vest, but I didn’t begrudge him that. A cursed path wouldn’t have stopped us, which he well knew. But now that Emilio had gotten us this far, he needed us more than we needed him. At least if he wanted to get back out.

  “It—it’s not like that,” Emilio stammered.

  Nigel lifted a canteen full of tea toward him. “You’ve got quite the captive audience. What is it we need to know that you haven’t told us?”

  “Nothing. That I swear,” Emilio said, seeming almost too relieved at the specific wording of Nigel’s question. “Yes, you are right, Roland was known in these parts, had gone on several hunts for minerals the shaman used in her practice. On one of those hunts, he came up with a chunk of labradorite and several small moonstones, which are not native to the area. The shaman isn’t stupid. She may be a simple woman with simple needs, but she appreciates money as much as the next Connected. She sold what he found, and sold it at quite a profit, then sent him down for more. Then came the time that she needed her plunder more quickly. She told him about these caves, and he walked these paths, telling her about the curse but giving it scant attention. Only then, she had a vision of a ring of great worth. She had to have it, so she sent him running again. She wasn’t the only one. This time, however, Roland didn’t come back.”