Written in Starlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  His back is still facing me. “Lista?”

  “Ready,” I say, trudging after him. His disapproval picks at me like a vulture nibbling on raw flesh. It hurts, more than I’d like, and as I carefully step my way through the path he’s blazing, I try to hold on to my reasons for staying. I’ve failed my people, failed to keep my promise that I’d return their lives to the way they were before the Llacsan revolt. My people lost everything and wanted revenge; they wanted the Illustrian royal family back in power.

  I am the only survivor. Their last hope to reclaim our way of life, our culture.

  If I’m not their condesa, then who am I? I’ve only known one future. Behind closed doors, Ana—Manuel’s mother—trained me to be worthy of the title, and I soaked up her knowledge as if I were a starving plant in the desert. Memorizing history texts, studying geography and the many countries surrounding Inkasisa, categorizing them into compartments in my mind labeled “enemy” or “friend.” I speak the foreign languages of our neighbors passably well, but I’ve mastered the most important one: diplomacy.

  When I turned seventeen, Ana sat me down and we discussed suitable marriage candidates from neighboring countries. Manuel had been gone for two years then, and I didn’t know if I was ever going to see him again. So I paid attention, remembering their names and ranks. And on top of all that, I’ve studied the stars, worshiping our goddess, Luna. I love her as if she were my own mother, even if she doesn’t love me like the dutiful daughter I hope I am.

  Everything I’ve done has been for the throne. For the future of my people, so that our traditions and beliefs will survive the ravages of time.

  I’m nothing if I’m not the condesa.

  Manuel stops abruptly, and I reach out to keep myself from slamming into him, my fingers barely skimming his shoulders. The line of his back stiffens at my touch. I pull away and peer around him, stuffing my hurt deep within me. It has no place in this jungle.

  Manuel thinks like Ximena—wanting to see this Llacsan queen with his own eyes and come to his own conclusion. He might end up being completely fine with having yet another Llacsan on the throne, even though the last ten years have been demoralizing. Barely living behind the fortress, biding our time to take back the throne while we fought starvation and boredom.

  Like my former friend, he doesn’t believe in me either.

  I shove the thought out of my mind. Manuel drops to his haunches, peering around, and eventually finds my pack, half hidden under a tangle of brush, the dagger lying discarded and nearly forgotten next to it. He hands both things to me and stands, frowning at a nearby tree. Something else has gotten his attention.

  “What is it?”

  Manuel takes a step closer to the massive trunk, its timber a reddish brown. “This is a mahogany tree. Take a look, and tell me what you see.” I step closer, inspecting the ragged bark. There’s nothing of note. When I tell him so, he raises a brow. “Try again.”

  It’s painfully hot, the mosquitos are lunching on my skin, and my stomach grumbles loudly, demanding a hearty meal. I’m in no mood for one of his lessons. “Just tell me.”

  He remains still and stubbornly silent, his expression grim.

  I sigh and study the bark again. Deep grooves run up and down the length of the trunk, some curving and deep, others shallow and straighter. I place my fingers into the marks and Manuel snarls. I jump back, alarmed. He maneuvers me behind him in a flash.

  “What did I say about touching anything?”

  “It’s only a tree,” I mutter.

  The sharp hiss is the only warning.

  Manuel slams his machete against the trunk. Something falls to the ground, and he scoops it up using his weapon. On the steel blade rests the trapezoidal head of a snake, brilliant yellow with brownish flecks near its cleft mouth. Surrounding its diamond-shaped eyes are ridges that look like eyelashes. Even dead, the pellet gaze is focused on mine. Its vermillion forked tongue rests languidly against Manuel’s steel.

  “Oropel,” he says. “One of the vipers. I would have had to cut off your hand if it’d bitten you. Never touch anything without looking everywhere first. Understand?”

  I nod.

  “Now tell me what you see.”

  I don’t touch the bark this time. My knees shake, but somehow I remain upright. This time, I finally see what captivated his attention. Along the trunk are faint claw marks that run high over my head and down to my knees.

  “There,” I say, jerking my chin at the wood. “An animal made them.”

  He nods. “Jaguar marking her territory. Probably the one who hunted you.”

  I shudder. “Why is this important?”

  He points to the large plants surrounding the tree trunk. “It’s not, but those are.”

  After I take a step back, I finally see the entire picture. What wasn’t visible to me when only studying the timber. All the stalks have been cut in half. Deliberately and in plain sight once you know where to look.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It means we’re being hunted,” Manuel whispers. “By the Illari.”

  CAPÍTULO

  Ocho

  I press closer to Manuel, thankful for his presence, and for the blade curled tightly in his palm. He stands with his feet braced apart, his attention flicking to several gaps in the immense green. His chest rises and falls, and I mimic his quiet breathing, straining my ears to listen for any signs of the approaching threat.

  But the jungle song rises around us, making it impossible to detect any irregular movements in the brush.

  “They’ve tracked you before then left you alone, right?” I clutch his tunic sleeve, trying to keep an even tone but failing.

  Manuel shoots me an exasperated glance. “What makes you think they left me alone? I’ve been in hiding.”

  “But—”

  “Quiet.” He slowly turns, machete raised, and peers into the jungle gloom. “They’re waiting.”

  My voice is a soft hush. “For what?”

  “You said we were close to the border, right? A day’s walk?”

  I nod.

  “That’s it then,” he says in an undertone. “They’re waiting to see if we leave. If we do, they’ll leave us alone.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  Manuel’s gaze locks with mine. “Think carefully. The odds are stacked against us. One or both of us will die here. Decide, Condesa.”

  I drag in a deep gulp of steaming air, feel it press against my lungs, and slowly push my breath from my lips until I’m empty. “I have to try.”

  His lips flatten. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

  “Manuel, go home.” My eyes prick with tears, but I force myself not to lower them. “I’ve lost everything, and this is my only chance to get it back. This isn’t your fight anymore. Go.”

  He glances toward the immense trees surrounding us, perhaps imagining taking that first step away from me. My heart cracks. I can’t ask him to risk his life for a cause he doesn’t believe in. I can’t ask him to stay because he pities me.

  Maybe I’m supposed to do this alone.

  “I can’t leave you,” he whispers.

  “Why?” My voice holds one squeeze of lemon, enough to make his shoulders tighten. “Clearly you’re curious about the Llacsans, and why our people have chosen to live alongside them in La Ciudad.”

  Manuel doesn’t refute it. “I made a promise to my mother to keep you safe.”

  I blink. Right, this is his reason for staying. His code of honor won’t allow him to ignore his word. Which means everything to him. But I can’t deny how much it hurts that he would potentially accept an enemy as his queen, and not the friend and sovereign he’d grown up with.

  “Take your pack, keep that dagger close. We have to move.” He steps around me, heading back toward the cliff. I sling the strap over my shoulder, twisting it so the bulk rests on my back and not my hip.

  I look around, staring into the flat green, sure there are a hundred pairs of e
yes looking back. “Manuel.”

  “Move it.” He sets off running.

  A bellowing cry roars to life. The sound is lightning cracking against stone. I bolt after him, my pack bouncing against my lower back. He jumps over tree roots, hacking at dangling vines and enormous broad leaves. Gone is his caution—the Illari are at our heels.

  A sharp whistle is my only warning.

  I instinctively flinch as something rushes past my ear, the gust of air rustling my hair. I scream as arrows smack against trunks.

  Thwack, thwack, thwack.

  Manuel spins, arm already outstretched, reaching for me. The warm clasp of his hand does nothing to settle the frantic beating of my heart. My breath comes out in shuddering gasps. He yanks us behind a tree.

  Someone rushes past, spear raised high. A blur of dark hair, toned olive legs encased in leather sandals, and muscled arms gripping a long wooden spear. The man stops just beyond our tree and whirls around.

  Manuel shoves me out of the way as the spear comes barreling at us. I land on the ground, full of terror, and suppress a scream. My fingers dig into the dirt, my knees sink into the thick padding of decaying leaves.

  The Illari warrior charges with a ferocious war cry.

  Manuel steps forward with his machete raised, drawing his attacker away from me. The clash of their weapons rents the air. Birds caw and swoop away from the fight. I scramble onto my feet, back away until I meet the solid strength of the oak tree. I hunch my shoulders, trying to conceal myself under the low-hanging branches.

  Manuel fights with every inch of his body. Every jab of his weapon lands—until his opponent bleeds from wounds on his hip and stomach and forearm. Manuel’s feet never stop moving until he disarms the Illari. I look away as he uses the butt of his machete to knock out the Illari fighter.

  Someone grabs my arm, screams unintelligible words into my ear. They hold my wrist in a tight snare. A man’s voice speaks Quechua, but I’m too rattled to understand a word of it. My captor drags me away from my hiding spot, and I stumble.

  “Let go!” I shriek.

  Manuel bends and yanks out a dagger hidden in his boots. He launches the blade and it somersaults through the air. The weapon sinks into the belly of my assailant, and the force catapults him off his feet. I dash to Manuel, my bag smacking against my hip.

  He takes my hand. “Run!”

  More arrows fly. I let out a small cry. Embedded in the muck is a long wooden arrow with black and white feathers stitched at the end. How many of the Illari are there? I pump my legs, my arms swinging wildly, expecting to feel the sudden smack of an arrow. But it never comes. The Illari’s yelling grows louder, and the sound of rustling leaves rings in my ears. We reach the cliff’s edge and Manuel runs alongside it. He slows to a jog, peering down the other side.

  Thunder blasts overhead.

  Damn this wet season.

  Manuel continues searching for something. He stops at a sparse area as water pours from above, pounding everything in sight with a great watery fist. He wraps both arms around me, tucking my hands against his chest, and walks me backward to the cliff.

  “What are you doing?” I cry over the bellowing storm.

  “Trust me!”

  We’re at the edge, my heels in the air. The water softens the dirt and it gives. “Manuel!”

  The jungle floor turns to sludge and we slide down, mud splattering our faces. He tightens his hold around me as we follow the muddy current. Trees zip by on either side, and I scream. This is madness. We’re going to hit one.

  We slow toward the bottom and Manuel uses his feet to push us away from a jagged rock at the foot of the hill. Then he yanks me upright, both of us covered in brown muck. The rain is relentless; I can barely see a foot in front of my face. Manuel urges me forward, toward the black river.

  Manuel mutters a curse under his breath and half turns, surveying the strong current, the corners of his mouth deepening. “We can’t go back up—they’ve surrounded us.”

  He pulls me behind him, facing the hill that envelops the craggy cliff on either side. Trees punctuate the soggy jungle floor, and while I know the Illari are close, I can’t find a single one of them through the pouring rain. But I can’t trust my eyes in the forest. I swallow hard, afraid to stare into that hill, afraid of what I’ll find. Any moment I expect a group of Illari warriors to burst through the tree line. But the seconds stretch into minutes, even as my heart continues to batter my ribs. Only the growing murmur of birds in the distance disrupts the silence.

  “What are they doing? Why don’t they attack?” I ask. I don’t know how long we stand there, at the base of the hill, the river at our backs. But no one comes. There’s no more yelling. Only the splattering of heavy rain and the croaking red frogs jumping happily in puddles. Probably poisonous, every single one of them. The birds’ murmuring grows louder and louder.

  Manuel narrows his gaze. “Something’s happened.”

  “What—”

  Loud cawing drowns out my voice. I turn to face the water, and in the distance, I catch sight of a massive billowing cloud. It shifts erratically, the bulk moving up and down. It takes me a moment to understand: I’m not staring at a cloud.

  Hundreds of birds soar above the canopy of trees, shrieking as one. The sight is extraordinary and terrifying all at once. I slap my palms against my ears to deafen their panicked call. Manuel lowers his weapon, and his jaw loosens. Without knowing how or why, I know that we’re all gazing at the sight. The Illari have stopped attacking us because of the unusual noise coming from the birds, the bizarre flying.

  A second later the sound stops. The birds cease their flapping, and fall to the earth.

  Dead.

  Every single one of them.

  “What just happened?” I ask, clutching Manuel’s arm.

  “Shhh,” he says, tilting his head. We listen for signs of the Illari’s approach, but there’s nothing. No more yelling, or the whistle of arrows. The gradual song of the jungle returns.

  “I think … I think they’ve gone,” he says. “Maybe to investigate the birds?”

  “What could have killed them all?” I ask. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “Whatever it was, it most likely saved our lives.” Manuel studies the river. “Can you swim?”

  The Illustrian fortress is surrounded by mountains at the rear, and an abysm several hundred feet deep at the front. No water anywhere. Even if I wanted to, there’s never been enough to drink my fill, let alone swim in. I shake my head.

  “Can you float?” he asks. “It’s easy—just flip onto your back, keep your arms outstretched, and position your body parallel to the water. Your head is half in the water, chin lifted up—”

  “I don’t know how to do it.”

  “Fine,” he says. “Can you cook?”

  I glance away, a flush rising to my cheeks. I can boil water and eggs, but that’s it. Every attempt leads to burnt bread and tasteless mush. Somehow I don’t think he’d like any of that. “No.”

  “Well, we have your telescope,” he says, brightening.

  I nearly crumble. What will he say when he learns that I’m not much of a seer? Yet another thing I can’t do. Shame climbs up my throat, spreads across my cheeks, and makes my eyes burn. My education didn’t prepare me for the jungle—or basic survival.

  “We’re stuck here. Want to learn how to cook?”

  “What? Now?”

  “The sun will set in the next hour and we need to build a shelter to spend the night. We can’t be anywhere near the river during dusk.”

  “Why not?”

  “Caimán feeding hour. And the piranhas.” He reaches for my pack, and I hand it to him. “I’ll hunt for food.” He flips the machete, handle in my direction. “Take it and cut down thin liana vines for me to use.”

  I take the weapon, my hand dropping automatically because of its weight. “What if there are more of them out there?”

  But Manuel shakes his head. “We’
d be dead if there were.”

  The rain is a soft patter now. I swallow hard and avoid looking at the water where stingrays live buried in the mud, and schools of bone-scouring fish hunt in the depths. “Are we going to cross the river?”

  “We have to in order to find Paititi.”

  I squint into the gloom. “Do you think we’ll make it to the lost city?”

  His expression turns stony. “I told you, the odds are stacked against us, Condesa. Cut those vines, I’ll be close. Scream if you need me.” Manuel turns, but pauses for a moment. “Remember to look carefully where you touch. Only the liana. And stay around here, on the bank.”

  I nod.

  Then he bounds up the bank, vanishing behind the trees. No arrows come. I shudder at the sight of all those birds falling from the sky as one. What kind of monster could have killed so many at once? What else is out there? Terror makes my skin crawl. I want to yell Manuel’s name the moment he disappears from my line of sight. The churning water roars in my ears, and somewhere close by the monkeys begin their howling. Mosquitos swarm around me, happy now that the rain has let up. Steaming fog curls around the tree trunks, hissing softly.

  I hate this place. Hate how the ground slithers, how the lethal water runs like veins throughout the jungle. But I won’t let it defeat me—I can’t fail again. I can’t be as weak and useless as they all think. I take a step forward and another, until I’m close to the end of the bank. Vines hang from nearly every branch, or lie spooling on the ground. The machete is awkward in my smooth palms, nothing like the slim daggers I’m used to. I squint into the green darkness and catch sight of thinner vines. I’m close enough to inspect nearly every visible inch of the plant, and seeing nothing threatening or with sharp teeth, I swipe at several all at once. They plop onto the ground. Manuel didn’t say how many he’d need, but this has to be enough.