by Megan Derr
She also could not leave Culebra. Alone and in the hands of the enemy, he was worse than helpless: he was at their mercy. She was the one who had unwittingly given both of them to Jorge. There had to be another solution. They just needed to find it.
Leave me, Culebra said. I hold you back. Without me, you'll find a way to overcome all this.
Cortez shook her head. I'm not just leaving you
Better to abandon me when an opportunity presents.
If I slip away, I may be able to get help
There's no saying you'll manage it before they do whatever it is they intend. They need both of us, so one of us getting away is all we need to buy time. But me alone leaves me helpless against them. You alone with them—you stand a fighting chance.
Cortez shook her head, hating that he was right. If she ran, Culebra would be alone and unable to do anything to fight them short of removing his bandages and subjecting them to his fatal gaze. It was too dangerous a power to resort to quite yet, especially when they still knew so little about Jorge.
Where in the world would she be able to lose Culebra that Jorge and his men would not be able to get him back? There was no way to know; they would have to wait for the opportunity to present itself.
In the meantime, she was plenty distracted in trying to grow used to her new powers. She was very carefully not thinking about the fact that she was apparently a piece of a god. How had no one ever known the Basilisk had broken himself—his power—into multiple pieces? How did some nasty refuse pile from Schatten know what the rest of them didn't?
Even just thinking of the possible reason made her shudder. No one had seen or heard of Teufel, the Shadow of Licht, for nearly a thousand years. Why was there suddenly a child off Schatten in Piedre? Cortez had always thought no one could enter or leave Schatten.
She was drawn from her spinning thoughts when the horses were halted and two men dragged them down. Beside her, Culebra shuddered. "Are you all right?"
"I can feel something—can't you?" he asked. "Like walking into a room and stepping on something wet when you know there should be nothing liquid in that room. Then you learn too late that you just stepped in blood."
Cortez frowned, but all she felt was nervous, tense, and afraid—all typical under the circumstances. Jorge approached them, smirking. "You feel it because you are the larger piece. You are almost the entire Basilisk. The woman, the temple, they are only smaller pieces, the violent pieces of your power. She will feel it the closer we get."
"Wonderful," Cortez muttered, and she hoped that an opportunity to slit all their throats arrived sooner rather than later. She watched as they sent the horses back in the direction of the village, her trepidation growing.
There was a rough dirt path in front of them. It started out wide, but she could just barely see where it quickly narrowed so that soon they would only be able to walk in a single line. She was tempted, so very tempted, to make a try for freedom. It would be easy enough to kill them, slit their worthless throats, grab Culebra, and head back toward the village to Fidel and Dario.
But there was no way of knowing if they would get there in time to save them, and if even one part of the plan went awry innocent people would begin to suffer as well. As much as she hated to admit it, she had the feeling Jorge was right about her seeking out the Lost Temple being inevitable. She might not yet feel whatever it was Culebra felt, but she didn't feel right in her skin. Her sense of who would meet a violent end was sharper, stronger. She knew two men in the group were dying slowly of illness.
She knew Jorge had killed a great many people to get as far as he had. So as much as she hated to remain and obey, it was the easiest way to get to where they needed to be—and hopefully by the time they got there, she and Culebra would have devised a plan.
Because if killing herself was what it ultimately took to keep the Basilisk's powers from Jorge, that was what she would do.
It took her a moment to realize the feelings of protest against that idea were not her own. Cortez was absolutely certain she was never going to get used to having another voice in her mind. She really hoped the sensation never became stronger. Did it get stronger with distance? Weaker? What else could affect the bond?
You being dead, was Culebra's dry reply. Cortez laughed before she caught herself. Jorge stared at her, violet eyes sharp, too knowing. "You find your situation amusing?"
Unable to resist, tired of being ordered and shoved around, Cortez replied, "I find your face amusing."
The childish comment earned her the backhand she had expected. What she didn't expect, however, was for Jorge to drag his thumb through the resulting blood on her lip and then lick it away. She did not flinch from the strange action, however, simply glared at him. "One day very soon, shadow child, it will be your blood that spills."
Jorge laughed and playfully patted her sore cheek. "I am not afraid of you, even if you are one small piece of a god. My destiny belongs to another god, one far greater for you. I am carrying out the fate revealed to me at Unheilvol, and not even you will stop me from seeing it through to completion." He smacked her cheek one last time and then turned away, motioning to the men he had brought with him.
Pointing to the nearest, he said, "You will take point, with Prince Culebra right behind you telling you where to go. If any of the old sources are to be believed, the Lost Temple is due east, somewhere toward the top of the center-most peak."
"Yes," Culebra said. "That is the right direction."
"Good. I'll follow behind his highness, another guard behind me, and then the Princesa, followed by the last two guards. Keep your eyes sharp. Don't let her out of your sight, and be careful of the woods. They're dense, and few people ever come this way. There's no telling what's in here that the rest of the world has forgotten."
Culebra's tongue flicked out in that snakelike way, and Cortez froze in surprise when she realized she knew what he was sensing, tasting. "Death," Culebra said. "That's all you'll find here. Many people used to live here, high in the Azul: the priests, their families, the men and women who journeyed here to seek the counsel of the Brotherhood of the Stone Rose. The forests of Azul are filled with blood and bone." The words made Cortez shiver.
"If I recall correctly, they all died because you lost your temper," Jorge said and gave Culebra a rough shove. When Cortez snarled a curse and tried to move to help him, Jorge shoved her back. Cortez tripped, fell down on her ass, and the men all burst into laughter around her.
Ignoring them, she awkwardly gained her feet again. Still laughing, Jorge motioned for the men to fall into line. Hefting and settling their bags, the men obeyed, and the entire group vanished one by one into the dense dark of the Azul Mountains.
How long they walked, Cortez wasn't certain. The forest really was ridiculously dense, the trees growing so close together that the worn footpath they traveled was literally the only way through. It was stifling and claustrophobic. She'd been in overcrowded cities and maze-like whorehouses that were less oppressing. She was not even certain if it was still day, or if night had fallen; they had not travelled far before they'd had to stop to light torches.
She did not realize just how exhausted she was until Jorge abruptly called out, "Find a good place to stop and rest."
"Yes, boss," said the guard in the lead, but they still walked for what seemed like ages before they finally spilled into a clearing. Not that it was much of one, given that the canopy above them did not break. She still could not tell the time of day.
The guards fanned out, and Cortez was surprised no one was watching her more closely—but then the exhaustion really struck her, and she realized that nobody cared because they were all too tired to do anything.
How long had they been walking? Why was she so tired? Stumbling over to Culebra, she sat down next to him on a rotting log, reaching out to take his hand despite the awkwardness of having their hands bound.
"There's something seriously wrong with this forest," one of the guards mutter
ed. "I can barely light a fire, and I feel like I ran across the entire country and back again. We can't keep going like this."
"We can and will," Jorge said shortly. "Do not let the forest get to you."
"Why is the forest like this?" another guard asked. "It's like the place really is cursed."
"It is cursed," Culebra said. "I told you: thousands died here. The exhaustion and anxiety weighing you down is the presence of their trapped spirits. For nine hundred years they've been trapped on the mountain, waiting for the day they'd be set free to be reborn."
"Why are they trapped?" The guards struggling to build a fire asked.
Cortez surprised herself when she answered, "Betrayal. Many betrayed the Basilisk after he died. They killed their own kind, left others to die when the world began to shake and the mountain became a death trap." Memories like shadows flitted through her mind, distant screams muffled by time and the limitations of her mortality. "The trees hold them prisoner, and their trapped spirits hide the way to the Temple of Solace."
"So if they're hiding it, why are we bothering?" the last man muttered, kicking irritably at the earth. "I don't like this place; it makes my skin feel as though it's cover in insects. I feel cold all the time."
"Yes," Culebra said coldly. "Why are you here? You are children of Piedre, stone children. Your loyalty belongs to me, to the Basilisk who guards you even in death. Why do you side with a shadow child? Licht has been Lost. A shadow without light is only darkness, and darkness cannot be trusted."
"The Basilisk gave up on us," said another guard, and Cortez eyed him thoughtfully. "He nearly destroyed Piedre with his actions, and he did not even stay to face the consequences."
"It's hard to stay to face anything when one is a victim of murder," Cortez said. "You speak like a true brother."
"You're a sister, Black Princesa," the man snarled. "Your beliefs are the same!"
Cortez laughed coldly. "I joined the Brotherhood to survive, because I was paid good money to kill those who needed to die. It never mattered to me whether or not we committed suicide or were murdered. You still have not answered our question: why have you sided with Schatten to betray your own god?"
"Because they know when to leave behind a weak god and side with a strong one," Jorge replied.
"So strong that he was forced to steal power to obtain his goals," Culebra said, voice soft but full of power, and Cortez did not think she was imagining that the ground trembled ever so faintly. "Teufel is only a being made from the power of Licht. He will never be a god, never be anything but a shadow."
"You know nothing about it," Jorge snapped.
"Your real name, what is it?" Culebra asked abruptly. "Jorge is a Piedren name."
Jorge hesitated a moment, but then lifted his chin, violet eyes flashing defiance as he said, "I am Jürgen, acolyte of the Temple of Unheilvol, child of Schatten destined to restore it to glory."
Culebra laughed, cold and mocking. Even Cortez flinched hearing it. "True destiny cannot be seen without the light of Licht."
"You are not a god yet," Jürgen snarled, standing up and yanking Culebra to his feet, shoving aside and then kicking Cortez when she tried to pull Culebra away again. "What would a fallen god know when he chose to die? Holy Teufel is the only god remaining, the only one who stood by his children this entire time while the others gods were Lost. I stood in the Temple of Unheilvol, and it was the High Seer himself who told my fortune."
"A Seer without Light can see no better than I," Culebra said. "But it is your fate to understand or not."
Jürgen threw him to the ground and then rounded on the men. "We've lingered long enough. It's time to press forward."
Though it was obvious nobody wanted to resume the hard traveling, they were all wise enough not to protest. Cortez slowly picked herself, wincing at all the aches and bruises she sported.
"Are you all right?" Culebra asked softly.
Cortez laughed and said teasingly, "No need to worry, little brother. I've endured far worse than what these men are doing. It will take more than slapping and shoving and kicking to dishearten me. Patience is everything, and patience I have."
"Patience," Culebra echoed. "That is what Dario is always saying. Even Granito, his brother, admired Dario's patience. Granito and I, we were never as patient."
"Shut up and get moving," Jürgen interrupted, grabbing them by their arms and throwing them toward the other soldiers.
The walking resumed, every step more wearying than the last. Cortez thought that if she was going to be a peace of a god, then she should have been immune to the horrible, oppressive feeling of the forest.
We feel it more because it's to us they're crying out, Culebra said.
You seem to be taking to this better than me, Cortez replied.
I've spent my whole life being told I'm a god. It feels like ... well, like something was missing and now it is not. The more time passes, the easier it becomes. Open up to it more; you'll see what I mean. You're still acting like you're mortal.
I am mortal.
No, you're the mortal incarnation of a god. You are thinking of yourself as a bread knife when really you're an entire armory of weapons.
Cortez shook her head, wishing she could just avoid all talk of being a god. The mind-talking and their immediate predicament were more than enough to deal with for the present.
She wished, suddenly and with a deep ache, that Fidel was there. He always knew what to say, when to smile, when to laugh, when to be quiet. He had always been the only one brave enough to give her a hug. She would give anything to be that close to him, to smell his cigarettes, his earthy scent, the faint hint of honey from the candies he devoured rabidly whenever he could get them.
Was Fidel all right? What if Jürgen had ordered them killed the moment they departed? But there was nothing she could do about it at present, even if that was the case. She would have to practice the patience she had only just bragged about and hope her fear and anger did not finally get the better of her.
A strange sound drew her from her thoughts as it got louder and louder. It was a rushing, thundering sound, sort of like a river, but far more powerful than that. The air around them grew cooler, wetter, almost misting in places, but she still did not deduce the reason for the now near-deafening sound until the path abruptly turned, led out of the trees and gave over to the open night: a cloudless sky with sharp, bright stars and a sliver of moon, shining down on the water rushing over the edge of a cliff in an enormous waterfall.
Cortez's heart jumped into her throat when she realized the path continued on across it by way of an ominous looking bridge. She did not dare think about how high up they were—how far they would fall. "We are not crossing that."
"We have no choice," Jürgen said. "It's held this long, it will hold a little longer. We simply must be careful."
"It's half-green with moss and soaked through with water. It's rotted!" Cortez snapped. "If we go across that bridge, we will die!"
Jürgen stopped, turned, shoved aside the guard between them, and jerked Cortez close. He slapped her face and then dragged her to the bridge, shoving past all the others. "Why don't you lead the way, Princesa?"
"You need me alive to do whatever you're planning," Cortez replied, even as a sudden, horrible idea came to her. "Unless I am mistaken, you need you to be alive as well. Surely there must be another way across. We must have missed a fork in the path."
The guard who had been leading the way stepped forward and said, "No, this was it, and it matches what the locals told me. If we want to go higher, this is the only way."
"You continue leading the way, then," Jürgen said. "Same order as before. Keep a careful eye on them."
They fell into line, and Cortez fisted her bound hands to try and still their trembling. But the bridge was terrifying, and she knew that she and Culebra had thought up the same idea.
There's no guarantee you'll survive.
But everyone else will. It's the only way I ca
n find.
Well, survive, because we have not come this far to die now.
I'll do my best.
Cortez supposed that was all she could ask. It was both terrifying and sweet to suddenly have someone who felt so much like a sibling though she'd never had a sibling in her life. Better that Culebra escaped in the hopes of stopping Jürgen's plan. If he died in the attempt, at least Jürgen's plans were truly ruined. They had died once to save the children of Piedre, and they would continue to die until the day came that all was finally set to rights.
One by one they all stepped onto the bridge, and Cortez, for once, was grateful for the hand that held fast to her arm, granting her the balance she lacked with her own hands still bound in front of her.
The moldy, severely rotted wooden bridge was even more treacherous than she had feared. Cortez had crossed bridges, even high ones, more times than she could count. Stone, wood, rope: all of it, while she traveled every corner of Piedre and a few portions of Verde.
But that rickety, dying bridge over the great waterfall inspired true terror. The bridge, however, was not why tears stung her eyes.
No, her tears were for Culebra, for her little brother, as he suddenly threw himself over the edge, vanishing into the mist while the forest echoed with Jürgen's rage.
Chapter Fifteen: Lovers
His patience was about to pay off. Dario could sense it. The men who had been left behind to watch them were bored, which was the worst possible thing for a guard to be if he could not master that boredom.
It was useful for him, however.
Poor Fidel did not look to be doing so well. Dario suspected the food they'd been eating had something to do with it; poisoning it on purpose might have been kinder than simply giving them food that was either spoiled or very close to it. But an impervious stomach was only one more thing he had acquired while taking care of Culebra. It was impossible to travel the world without developing a strong stomach. Being aboard ships for months on end was all it really took to develop one.