Written in Starlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  “She’s abrupt, but I don’t think she’ll hurt us.”

  “I’m not so sure,” he says in a hushed voice. “They’re hiding something. I can feel it.”

  I shiver—from fear or the chilly night, I don’t know. I walk up to Manuel and slide my arms around his waist. He slowly wraps both arms around me, and I smile against his chest. I’ll never get used to this—Manuel without his armor, thinning the wall he’s built.

  His deep voice makes his chest rumble against my cheek. “You asked me what I fear.”

  I pull away far enough so that I can look up into his face.

  “I’m afraid of the day when you’ll need me, and I won’t be there.”

  “Why won’t you be there?”

  “Because I don’t know what’s waiting for us in that city.”

  A shiver tears through my body. He lets me hold on to him as tightly as I need. The thought of neither of us walking back out of Paititi makes my heart thump painfully against my ribs. Manuel watches me silently, and after a long moment his gaze drops to my mouth. He pulls me closer. I reach up and curl my hand around the back of his neck. I forget about where we are and who we’re with.

  “Why do all of my terrible decisions involve you?” he whispers.

  I grin as he dips his head.

  “Travelers,” Chaska calls from several feet away. “We must go.”

  Manuel freezes, a hairsbreadth away from my lips. “Damn it.”

  I open my mouth to tell her to wait just one minute, but Manuel covers my lips with his hand. “Not a good idea.”

  “How did you know what I was going to say?” I ask after I step away.

  “Because I felt the same,” he says. “Come on.”

  I take one last look at the desolated jungle then hurry after Manuel, the cold seeping into my bones. And my heart. We’re almost out of the dead forest when someone cries out—in pain. Manuel immediately comes to my side and raises his machete. Ahead a few paces, Chaska whirls around and gracefully drops to one knee, an arrow already notched in her bow.

  Her lips part. “One of the guards is missing.”

  My stomach lurches. She’s right—the two remaining guards spin, their spears raised as they cry out for their missing companion. In every direction there’s only dense, dusty fog shrouding the dead wood.

  “I don’t understand. He was just here,” I say.

  “Shhh,” Manuel says. “Let me listen.”

  Chaska remains on the ground, arrow moving steadily, her gaze narrowed. She hisses something in rapid Quechua, but I miss it. We are still and quiet, and I’m painfully aware of my weaponless state. If only I had something—

  Pale hands reach from within the fog and yank another guard into the thick mist. The Illari warrior goes screaming. The noise rattles my pulse, makes it leap and race. Manuel takes my hand and drags me away as Chaska shoots her arrow. There’s a loud thwack as it hits a tree. The remaining guard runs after his friend, hollering a war cry.

  Everything happens so fast. I don’t have time to think, concentrating only on staying upright as I’m pulled back into the vivid green of the jungle, hot and steaming and completely alive. Long minutes go by, Manuel panting at my side, his weapon raised. We stare into the cold, waiting for our companions. Chaska finally bursts into view, searching frantically for the missing guards.

  “Have they come?” she demands.

  I shake my head. They have not.

  CAPÍTULO

  Diecinueve

  Chaska reluctantly motions for us to continue our journey. As we trek farther into the lush green land, my skin warms up. I welcome the heat. My teeth stop chattering, and I can feel my toes again. Even the jungle song warms my heart, the trill and chirps from birds filling the air.

  But we do not slow, or linger. Chaska constantly looks over her shoulder.

  “Manuel,” I mutter. “I don’t understand. What took them?”

  He has no answer, and neither must our guide, because she, too, remains silent. We move at a brisk pace, and slowly, the sense of danger drops to a persistent thrum in my veins. It’s hard to remember the frigid cold when you’re sweating profusely. From somewhere above, a monkey follows our trek and occasionally drops fruit in front of my feet. Apples and oranges, a mango. I pick up each and smile up at the generous creature, with its walnut-colored fur and white ears.

  I am enchanted.

  The first bite of orange makes me groan. The tart flavor bursts in my mouth, and even as the mosquitos flutter in my face, they don’t lessen the enjoyment. I hand Manuel and Chaska a slice, and we eat orange after orange as we walk, the juice making our fingers sticky. The terrain slopes downward and my ears pick up the sound of running water. My stomach lurches. I’ve had enough adventures with water to last a lifetime.

  We reach the sandbank, and I immediately search for caimánes. Chaska veers toward a thorny grove of plants with long leaves and stems, and then drags a canoe from within the tangled brush. It’s about as tall as Manuel, perhaps around six feet. There are three wooden benches inside. I help push the boat off the muddy bank, careful not to step a toe in the water. Chaska and I climb in from opposite sides. Manuel pushes us off then jumps inside. There are two oars tucked along the edge of the canoe, and when Chaska attempts to pass me one, Manuel holds out his hand instead.

  “I’ll do it,” he says.

  She shakes her head. “She’ll never learn if she doesn’t try.”

  I take the oar. “I’ve paddled before.”

  Chaska smiles. “Then you’ll only get better.” And then she dips the oar into the water, barely skimming the surface. After a few clumsy attempts, I manage to imitate her movements and we glide toward the middle of the river. A large shape leaps up from the depths and lands with a loud splash.

  “Look!” I exclaim. Manuel leans outward, his hand curling over the slim railing, to see where I’m pointing as another one jumps out of the water.

  “Pink river dolphins,” Chaska says. “Legend says they are the guardians of the underwater city of Encante.”

  My jaw drops. “Does such a place exist?”

  “Seeing as I cannot breathe underwater, it’s hard to know for sure,” she says wryly. “Those who are invited never return to the land.”

  “Then how do you know that’s where they’ve been?”

  “Because we have seen the pink river dolphin transform into a man.” She sinks her oar into the water. “The jungle has many mysteries. Now, help me steer.”

  I resume paddling, and it strikes me that I’ll never discover the many secrets hidden in this place—I won’t be here long enough. The idea makes me unaccountably sad. I shake off the feeling and concentrate on doing my part. Luna’s light slips off the boat’s wooden frame, washing it in a cool glow. The water churns, and I have to fight to keep our canoe straight and true along the current.

  “A caimán follows us,” Manuel says calmly from behind.

  I whirl around in my seat. “How big?” I don’t know why I ask. If it were only one foot in length, I’d still be afraid.

  He keeps his attention focused behind us. “Nine feet maybe.”

  “Respect him, and he will respect you,” Chaska says. “Continue paddling, traveler.”

  “Catalina,” I mutter, but do what she says. Manuel half turns his head toward me, the corners of his mouth kicking up, and my heart does an odd flip in my chest. The careful boundaries he’s placed between us have melted away. As if he’s realized that things may look very different in the future, and there’s no sense in putting up walls where there need not be any.

  We continue on our journey, the caimán following our boat like the long stretch of tail dragging behind a lizard. We make turn after turn on the flat, wide river, curving around bends and floating past smaller inlets that bleed from the main one.

  Manuel misses nothing, studying every turn of the canoe with great interest, while keeping one eye trained on the caimán. I’d bet my life he could lead us back to where we first
embarked.

  Chaska directs me to take a left turn, and the moment we do, a large waterfall comes into view. She maneuvers us closer. The roar fills my ears, thundering loud and constant as it pours into a plunge pool. Rocky outcroppings jut forward on either side of the falls, and moss clings to the thick tree trunks. The waterfall is several feet wide, a frothy, angry wall daring adventurers to come closer. Branches peppered with thick leaves hang above the pool, forming a dense canopy. We draw closer, and the mist slides against my skin, dampening my hair. I try to override Chaska’s movements, but she’s quicker and stronger.

  “Straight,” she says. “We go through.”

  “Through?” It seems I can never escape the water. What if the boat fills up too quickly? We might sink, and as far as I know, there might be other monsters waiting below.

  “I won’t repeat myself.”

  Manuel drops a light hand onto my shoulder, and I immediately relax. I might be caught in a whirlwind, but he manages to calm the storm. He’ll keep me safe. I hand my oar over to him as Chaska gives me a reproachful look, then I clutch either side of the canoe.

  “I’m not a strong swimmer,” I tell her.

  She isn’t surprised, nor does she seem to care. She swivels around on the bench, once again facing forward. We pass under the waterfall curtain and the beating hammers the top of my head, my shoulders, my lap. Water seeps into my shoes, fills the boat and my ears, slicks my hair to my scalp. When we come out on the other side, I’m spluttering and shaking.

  I blink to clear my vision and gasp. We’re in a cave. Ahead, several other canoes bob against the edge of a rocky pier. Two people wait with spears, dressed in shades of dark blue, with long sleeves and gold fringe at the bottom of their tunics. On their feet are leather sandals with straps that climb all the way up to their knees. Thick belts around their hips store slingshots and knives, and strapped to their backs are bundles of feathered arrows.

  Neither of them are smiling.

  Chaska and Manuel guide us closer to the pier, and the two Illari help attach the boat to a wooden pole with a short length of hemp rope. I climb out, fumbling and wobbly, and without the assistance of either of them. Manuel leaps out—gracefully, of course—and stands close to my side, staring down the men.

  Once Chaska is out of the canoe, they turn and head into a tunnel, lit by blazing torches every twenty feet or so. I’m sopping wet and my shoes make a squishy noise with every step. Manuel is drenched too, but his movements are still dead silent. The walls of the cave are bumpy. In every crack, fingerlings of tree roots fight through. Water drips from fissures in the ceiling. The smells of wet stone and spongey greenery coat everything.

  The opening of the cave widens, and excitement pulses in my blood. I’m about to present my case to the Illari. I’ll have to convince them to help me reclaim my throne. What will I say? I’ve only thought about surviving, about getting here. I discard one thought after another, praying to Luna that the words will come.

  They don’t. My mind is blank—a crumpled-up piece of paper, every line a rotten idea.

  Manuel glances over his shoulder and stops when I do. He raises his brow. “All right?”

  “I’m going to have to speak to their leader,” I whisper.

  “You’re just now thinking of this?”

  “Of course not. Only, until this moment, I hadn’t thought it’d be a reality.”

  Chaska doubles back for us. “We must press on.”

  Manuel turns to her and says something low and fast in Quechua. She blinks up at him, nods once, then backs away, giving us space to talk.

  “What did you say?” I ask.

  “I told her that you needed help with the language,” he says. “You want to sound respectful to their leader.”

  “Oh.”

  “Explain what’s happening.” He tilts his chin downward. “You look pale.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “Anyone would be,” he says gently.

  “What happens if I can’t convince them to help me? I’ve been standing here, trying to figure out what to say, and I can’t think of anything that doesn’t make me look inexperienced or desperate.”

  “You are inexperienced and desperate.”

  I glare at him. “Not helpful.”

  “Then what do you want to hear from me, Catalina?”

  “All I want is for our people to have their homes again, with a queen they recognize. An Illustrian who will look after them.” I avert my gaze from his. This next part is hard to say. “I don’t want anyone’s deaths to have been in vain. What will happen if they turn me away?”

  “You will figure out what to do next.”

  “How do you know?”

  A faint smile softens his mouth. “You thought of this scheme, didn’t you?”

  “I would never have gotten this far without you.”

  His smile stretches into a grin. “That’s very true.”

  “Can I ask you a question?”

  Instantly his expression sobers. “What?”

  “Do you really think I’m inexperienced and desperate?”

  He nods, and my shoulders slump. I turn away, but pause when his next words come, in nearly a whisper. “But that’s not all I think.”

  I wait, holding my breath. “How else would you describe me?”

  Manuel ponders my question, the silence stretching between us. I keep my attention on a particularly gnarled root grazing the wall.

  “Brave,” he says at last. “Determined. Intelligent. Unsure. Lost and angry. Sad, too, I think. But you hide it well.”

  I raise my brows. He’s right, of course. I knew I was angry about the exile and the betrayal, but I didn’t realize the weight of my sadness until he pointed it out. I miss Ximena. Not the decoy, or the warrior. I miss my friend.

  I swallow hard and slowly face him. “You see all of that, huh?”

  Manuel nods.

  I draw closer, and his warm brown eyes darken with an emotion I recognize because I’m feeling it too—longing. A sharp wisp of desire pierces my heart. He slowly dips his head, his attention solely on my mouth. Finally. Three long years of hoping and wishing for this moment. His lips are whisper soft against mine. The slightest brush of his mouth.

  He pulls away, and we stare at each other in amazement. I stand on my tiptoes, wanting more, but he stiffens at the sound of approaching footsteps, his gaze flickering over my shoulder. Chaska comes back into view. I hastily drop my heels back onto the ground, my cheeks flushing.

  The corners of her mouth turn downward.

  Manuel draws away from me, a little line forming between his brows. The Illari tracker stares us down, holding herself rigidly, not even attempting to hide her disapproval. A flare of annoyance spreads within me. I shoot Manuel a quick, puzzled look. I can’t understand the Illari seer’s reaction to us.

  He gives me a reassuring smile, and then addresses the Illari. “Lead the way.”

  Chaska nods once, and gestures for us to continue following the long, curving path of the cavern. As we brush past her, she says, “I’d like a word with you, ranger.”

  Manuel stops, his brows rising. “With me?”

  Another swift nod.

  I pause, unsure. But Manuel urges me forward gently. “I’ll be right behind you, Catalina.”

  Reluctantly, I press on, but I glance over my shoulder right before I turn a corner. Chaska has her feet spread apart, hands on her hips. Her lips move in a furious whisper. With every word, Manuel’s countenance loses all warmth. His shoulders tighten, his jaw clenches. Then he slowly folds his arms across his chest as his face turns stony and resigned.

  What is the Illari telling him?

  One of the guards beckons me to continue. My footsteps are heavy as I follow him, questions swirling in my mind. Perhaps I’m not wanted here after all. Maybe they’ll turn us out without hearing my case. My mouth feels dry as worry seeps into my bones.

  The tunnel is long, and the damp smell of mushrooms and we
t rock assaults my nose. Somewhere behind me, Manuel and Chaska’s approach grows louder and louder. I want to demand answers, but we’ve reached the end of the path. At the cave entrance, I stop, unable to move another step. The view is incredible. Hundreds of torchlights line curved paths, dotting hills and neighborhoods. Moonlight glows down into the sprawling city below, and I can see some of the buildings spilling outward in a decadent display. They are all white, and the roofs glint golden against the guttering fires. Dividing the city in two is a curving river. I can hear the water even from where we are way up on the ledge. There are people milling around, heading to their homes, sitting around various campfires that look like giant flaming stars set against the dark curve of the hill.

  Paititi.

  CAPÍTULO

  Veinte

  Chaska jerks her chin toward a dirt path leading down toward the city. We follow the Illari, and the path turns to cobbled stone under our feet. Manuel stays behind me, and though I can’t hear him, I can feel his presence. His steps are in tune with mine. Torches guide us. We descend stairs made of solid rock, continuing on, following switchback after switchback, until we reach the bottom of the hill. The city bobs into view.

  It looks nothing like I imagined. I pictured people eating off golden plates, living in solid-gold dwellings. The roads were supposed to be cobbled with gold too. How silly of me! This place is breathtaking in its organized simplicity. Functional, protected, and hidden. It has to be, if there truly is gold to be found within.

  There are more people waiting for us by a cluster of white circular buildings with golden roofs and handsome doors. They’re made of wood paneling and arched at the top. One of the Illari steps forward, a girl close to my age.

  “I am Nina,” she says in Quechua.

  “Mi nombre es Catalina Quiroga,” I say, choosing to speak in Castellano. “This is my friend Manuel.”

  “Bienvenidos a Paititi,” she says. “Our king regrets being unable to welcome you himself, but he sends his regards.”

  Since she doesn’t offer the king’s name, I don’t ask for it. He might be vain and expect me to know it already.