Written in Starlight

by Isabel Ibañez

We resume our study of the tracker, who pays no attention to us. She’s done eating, the jaguar regarding us with baleful eyes, and after a moment she resumes her study of the stars.

  “Why does Luna speak to her and not to me?” I swat at a mosquito. “Why does she have moondust?”

  “No sé, Catalina.” He eats his fish, every now and again turning to stare at the girl worshiping the moon. “But maybe if we pass this next test, we can ask what Luna thinks of our mission. She might offer you more guidance.”

  I flinch and squeeze my eyes shut. I have loved Luna all of my life. For her ability to conquer the night, for the way she’s blessed every one of my people with gifts, small and big. She is constant and loyal and true. I reopen my eyes. The woman starts to hum, a soft smile bending her lips, her chin pointed upward, and the moonlight kisses her cheeks.

  When I look down at my dirty clothes and hands, every part of me is tucked in shadow.

  CAPÍTULO

  Dieciséis

  We set off early in the morning as the sun rises over the verdant-green canopy, setting golden fire to each leaf. The woman spends a few minutes staring at the first rays of dawn, and I get the sense that she’s greeting the sun god. Inti wakes up slow and steady and warms everything within his reach. He’s a deity I thought only the Llacsans worshiped—but it seems the Illari are a trifle cavalier with their affections, loving the earth and the sun and the moon, too.

  It feels wrong.

  Greedy, almost, to want blessings from all three of them. My thoughts tumble in my mind, tangling like unruly vines, poking holes in my thoughts. Because even if I think it’s wrong, it clearly isn’t. Luna favors the Illari tracker. Has shone down upon her, communicated with her, and blessed her with an extraordinary gift.

  But not me. My magic barely works. And it bothers me, profoundly and deeply.

  What’s wrong with me, that I can’t be trusted with more?

  Our guide turns away from the water and gathers her things. I do the same, shoving everything back into my pack. Manuel hands me another bamboo cup.

  “You’re not drinking enough water.”

  “I’m not doing enough of anything,” I mutter.

  His brows rise at my mulish tone. “Sleep well?”

  “Terrible. You?”

  He shoots the woman a quick look before returning his attention to me, and I’m astounded to find his smile is rather sheepish. “Last night was the first night I slept soundly since arriving. With her close, I knew I could depend on her to wake me if there was any trouble.”

  My face falls. He can’t let down his guard while with me—not even to sleep well. I’m that much of a burden. A tremendous weight on his shoulders.

  Manuel studies me. “Condesa.”

  “It’s Catalina,” I say flatly. “I thought we’d moved past the title.”

  He gives me a look that’s mired in exasperation. “What’s bothering you?”

  I can’t begin to answer that question. There’s so much my heart is carrying—hopes and dreams for my people, fed by an unquestionable thirst to prove myself. My fear of failure grows heavier every day, weighing me down and wanting to fold me into the hard earth. “Everything feels heavy, Manuel. We don’t need to talk about it; I know we have to keep moving.”

  I turn away—but in a flash, he reaches for my arm and tugs me toward him. Before I know what’s happening, he wraps both arms around me and holds on tightly. “You didn’t think you could swim, but you did. You’ve walked miles, climbed a cliff, and slept in a cave. It was your wits and resourcefulness that got us out of the temple. You may not think you’re a survivor, Catalina, but I do.” And then he presses a soft kiss high on my temple, near the hairline. It happens so fast, in the space of a blink.

  He releases me and averts his gaze, suddenly shy, and it’s a good thing too, because I have to pick my jaw up off the ground. A hopeful flutter sweeps through my body, from the top of my head down to the tips of my toes. The warmth of his embrace clings to my skin. I shiver, trying to hold on to the sensation.

  I’m still standing in the same spot, my fingertips grazing the place where he’d kissed me, and as he brushes past, for a moment I swear, I swear, I catch sight of an amused glint in his dark eyes. I shake my head, trying to remember where I am, what my name is, and what my age is. If someone asked me any of those questions, I wouldn’t be able to answer. Not even if my life depended on it. I hoist my pack higher up on my hip and hurry after Manuel and our guide, my heart thrashing against my ribs.

  She’s up ahead with her jaguar, leading us again, taking us farther away from the jungle border, even though the way out is long gone by now. I ought to be glad that we have a guide to Paititi, but last night changed things for me, and I can’t help feeling that I’m walking into something I couldn’t have anticipated or planned for.

  Who am I kidding?

  I hadn’t planned for any of this. Not my exile or seeing Manuel again after three years or looking for the lost city. I hadn’t planned on my best friend betraying me, or discovering how useless I am outside of the Illustrian fortress. It’s a painful truth that sits heavily on my shoulders, so immense that I’m sure I’ll fall over from the weight.

  Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice clearing the tree line and almost walk right over a cliff. Manuel snatches my pack and yanks me away from the edge.

  “That would have been tragic,” I say, and laugh.

  He’s not amused. “Quite.”

  Down below is a wide river, roaring thunderously, and on the opposite side is another jagged cliff, at a lower height than ours. It’s covered in trees and thick vines and a riot of flowers in every color of the rainbow.

  Our guide glances in our direction. “Stay here.” She vanishes back into the jungle and returns with a thin liana vine looped around and around her right shoulder. She pulls out one of her arrows and ties the end of the vine to it. Then she draws her bow and deftly lets her arrow fly, streaking across the gulf and smack into a tree on the other side.

  Manuel lets out a low, appreciative whistle. Even I’m impressed, despite myself. The tracker then secures the other end of the vine around a thick tree trunk on our side, pulling it taut. From our side of the river, the vine slopes down at a steep angle.

  Then the tracker drops to her knees in front of the jaguar, pressing her forehead against its neck. I cringe at the sight, knowing the beast won’t hurt her, but I’m scared all the same. It purrs loudly and then scampers off into the jungle with a final look in our direction that I interpret to mean: Hurt her, and I will hunt you, outsiders.

  “Do what I do.” The Illari stands, picks up a branch from the jungle floor, and jumps off the cliff. Holding either end of the bark, she zips down to the other cliff. The tracker lands on her feet, then turns around and waves for us to follow.

  I watch in horror the entire time. Manuel bends and finds two branches, and then uses his dagger to cut off any smaller pieces sticking out.

  Wordlessly, he hands one over to me. “You’re next.”

  My mouth goes dry. “I don’t think I can do this.”

  “You can and you will.”

  I peer over the edge to stare at the churning water below. I’m not afraid of heights, but even so, my knees are shaking. What if the vine snaps? What if I lose my grip and fall? I’ve become a better swimmer, but I’m no match for the hungry river.

  There’s a lump at the back of my throat as I take the branch. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.”

  “I can’t believe half of the things you’ve done.”

  I raise my brows. “What do you mean? Anyone would have done what I did. A dog has that kind of survival instinct.”

  He lowers his chin and levels a hard gaze at me. “Condesa, most people would have given up by now. But you’ve refused to. You are my queen.”

  I can’t muster even a thank-you. I can only gape at him. Then he beckons me over to the vine and demonstrates how to hold the branch.

  “You only n
eed to hold tight,” he says. “The vine and the branch will take care of the rest.”

  I nod and I let his words sink in. Back at the Illustrian keep, no one else knew I was the real condesa, so they couldn’t encourage me. Ximena and Sofía were supportive, but not in the way I needed. They understood the circumstances were inevitable: I was going to reclaim the throne. Perhaps they thought I didn’t need to hear affirmation.

  But I do.

  I grip the branch the way Manuel showed me, and draw close to the edge. The wind tears at my hair, and the river rushes past, snarling. I take deep sips of the warm air.

  “It helps if you jump,” Manuel says from behind me. “Suerte, Catalina.”

  I glance over my shoulder. He’s utterly calm and adorably ruffled with his dirt-streaked clothes and tousled hair. I want to rush into his arms and feel his embrace again. But I force myself to turn around.

  I take the leap.

  My stomach swoops as I fall for half a second before I’m jerked upward as the vine keeps me from falling straight down. I zip across the wide river, feet kicked up and my fingers clutching the rough bark. I let out a cry—but it’s not one of terror. It’s something between a laugh and a yell, and even to my own ears, the sound is a happy one. The wind teases my hair, and my tunic flutters behind me like the tail of a beautiful bird. Much too soon, I reach the other side, and I veer toward the large tree where the other end of the vine is secured. At the last moment, I let go and drop to the soft jungle floor, rolling until I come to a stop.

  The tracker looms above me, a speculative gleam in her eyes. “You enjoyed that.”

  It’s not a question, but I nod anyway. I more than enjoyed it. I want to repeat the entire experience over and over again. My body thrums with barely contained energy, and every beat of my heart against my ribs is joyous. I scramble to my feet and watch Manuel’s crossing. His face is set, matter-of-fact, and when he lets go, he lands on his feet at a run. When he doubles back, he glances over at me, as if to make sure I didn’t break anything. And when his gaze lifts to mine—he winks at me.

  I am breathless.

  Our guide motions for us to follow, tucking herself into the jungle, embracing its song. I follow after her, and Manuel brings up the rear. We travel single file for most of the day, though it’s impossible to tell the hour under the dense canopy. The heat coats our skin, and sweat dampens every inch. My clothing smells disgusting; there’s no other word for it. I want to bathe, but I’m afraid to go in the water, afraid of the creatures waiting for prey. Every mile or so, we stop to drink. The Illari woman disappears and returns with large nuts, ripe bananas, and several avocados. We eat and drink our fill and continue the trek deeper into the jungle. Or perhaps we’re already as deep as we can go. Perhaps we’ve arrived at the heart.

  We hike up a small hill, and when we reach the summit, the view forces me to still, demanding to be enjoyed. The jungle is immense, stretching in every direction for miles and miles. The noise is deafening from up here, monkeys howling at the top of their voices, birds calling to one another, and insects buzzing. It is an amazing, humbling sight. I glance at Manuel, who stands at my elbow, arrested by the scene.

  “Is it weird that this place is starting to feel like home?”

  He answers without looking in my direction. “Yes.”

  I can’t help but laugh. Somehow this dangerous place has forced its way into my heart. The magic it hides, deep within its belly, the vibrant colors and glorious river, and the stern mountain in the center, lording over it all. My gaze snags on a stretch of white forest. The trees glint silver, as if sprinkled by moondust.

  “Is that snow?” I ask the tracker.

  She looks at me carefully. “No, no es nieve.”

  “Then what is it?” But as soon as the words are out of my mouth, a memory comes rushing back. We found a similar stretch of silvery leaves surrounding an equally silvery flower.

  “You would know, outsider.”

  “¿Cómo puedo yo saber?” I ask, baffled.

  Her hands curl into tight fists. “That part of the jungle is dying.”

  I return my attention to the affected area. For some unfathomable reason, she’s implying that I’m responsible. “I don’t understand.”

  Manuel steps closer to me. “Speak frankly, Illari.”

  The tracker straightens her shoulders, lifts her chin a fraction of an inch. “It’s this way.”

  She marches from us, down the other side of the hill. I pull my brows into a swift frown. “What do you think that was about?”

  “No idea.”

  “But she seemed angry.”

  His expression turns grim. “Furiosa.”

  CAPÍTULO

  Diecisiete

  The Illari tracker takes us to a massive statue of a vulture, made entirely of stone and painted the purest white. It’s double the height of the temple, hidden at the base of the hill and surrounded by a moat with the darkest water I’ve ever seen—the color of night without Luna’s twinkling companions. A single wooden-slat bridge permits entry. I’m suddenly reminded of the Illustrian fortress. We, too, had a bridge, enchanted by Ana. What kind of protection will this bridge have? I turn to Manuel, but his attention is on the swirling water. He clenches his jaw.

  “I never thought I’d see it again,” he says.

  Realization dawns. Oh. This is the bridge he’d hinted at earlier. The one he refused to talk about.

  The tracker steps forward and points to the wooden platform. “You must cross here. No one will shoot.”

  “Why am I allowed to cross this time?” Manuel asks.

  She jerks her chin in my direction. “We are interested in the stunted seer.”

  I glance at Manuel and mouth, Stunted?

  “You’re not coming too?” Manuel asks, his voice deceptively calm. He inches closer to her, as if readying to attack should he not like her answer.

  “Both of you first.”

  There’s no room for argument in her tone. I stare at the statue with its outstretched wings lowered to a spot on the ground, the fierce expression carved into the face of the stone. “This is the last test?”

  The tracker nods. “If you pass, I will have no choice but to take you to Paititi.”

  I walk to the bridge—it gently sways over the river, perhaps ten or fifteen feet above it. The fall won’t kill me, but the caimánes might. There are three of them, lounging in the water, patient and trusting that food will come their way.

  I lift my foot to take the first step, but Manuel stops me. He glares at me and gently sets me aside so he can go ahead of me. But I don’t let him.

  I grab onto the sleeve of his tunic. “It has to be me.”

  I’m not made of porcelain. This is the farthest I’ve been from home, and I’m still alive. Much to everyone’s surprise.

  Even my own.

  Manuel studies me carefully, and I meet his assessing gaze without flinching. His face shifts, and he beams back at me, full of pride. A warm glow spreads throughout my body. Then he moves away from the bridge, and I walk forward, head held high.

  “Be careful,” he says.

  I hold my breath for the first step—it wobbles beneath my weight, and I fling out my arms to grip the ropes on either side to help my balance. They’re rough under my palms. I walk forward as the bridge swings wildly. Through the cracks of the wooden boards, I catch sight of something long and black peeking through. When I’m halfway across, I look down at the water below. The caimánes have gathered underneath my feet. I freeze, noticing for the first time how old the wood looks. Nearly rotted through, some planks. The next one might give under my weight.

  “Keep going,” Manuel says at my heels. “Slowly.”

  Shuddering, I force myself to move forward, skipping the next board, and as I do, the monsters follow my movement.

  “We’re almost there,” he says. “If you fall, I’m coming after you.”

  I take another step. “Is that supposed to make me feel better
?”

  “Well, at least you won’t be lonely down there.”

  His tone is almost teasing. Manuel never teases. I look at him in shock. “You’re in a good mood for someone mere feet away from a black caimán.”

  He stares uneasily at the creatures in the dark water. “Or maybe I’m trying to distract you from the danger.”

  One of the monsters leaps, jaws snapping loudly, and then falls under the surface with a loud splash. My fingers tighten on the rope. “Your plan isn’t working.”

  “Just keep moving, Catalina.” He points to something over my shoulder. I spin around, surprised to find that we’re only a few steps away from the end. I walk forward, bending my knees to keep myself in rhythm with the swaying bridge. It’s a mercurial dance partner.

  Five more steps.

  Below us, the caimánes snap their teeth. A soft whimper escapes my mouth and drifts down. The next wooden slat looks as if it might disintegrate with a gust of wind. I step over it and bring my other foot forward, breathing a sigh of relief, but then—

  The slat beneath my feet shudders and cracks and disappears.

  I fall through, barely snatching onto the next plank. My fingers dig into the wood, my feet swinging frantically beneath me. I let out a sharp scream as the rope snaps and the wood strains against my weight. The caimán leaps, clearing the water and aiming for my feet. Its jaws slam together, just missing the toe of my boot. The creature smacks the water with a roar. Another leaps and I jerk my legs up just in time.

  Manuel darts forward, using the rope to keep balance as he leans forward, his palm extended toward me. “Calm, Catalina. Reach for my hand.”

  The wooden plank beneath my hands shudders, and there’s a loud tearing noise.

  “Ahora,” he says firmly.

  I reach with my right hand as the plank cracks and splits. Manuel grasps my hand as the slat drops and I sway forward, my legs careening against the underside of the other wooden slats with a loud thud.

  “Other hand,” Manuel says.

  I do as he says and he yanks me up and over to the other side, closer to where we need to be. He hauls us both onto our feet and swivels me around. I’m shaking as I continue walking, but this time Manuel keeps ahold of my hand. Every move costs me an hour of my life. At one point I don’t think I can move another inch; I’m so terrified of falling through again. He bumps me from behind. I take another step and then another. When I reach solid ground, I let out a ragged sigh of relief.