Written in Starlight

by Isabel Ibañez

  “You are needed here.” I smile broadly at him, and for a moment I’m not sure who is the one truly grinning.

  A faint line appears between his brows. “Why are you talking strange?” He spins around, takes in the dead priest. “What’s happened?”

  Kusi stands in front of Manuel, anger radiating off him. His heart is noble—I don’t worry what he will do. But in case he needs the reminder, I whisper into his mind: He didn’t know what he was doing to your cousin.

  Kusi blinks at the invasion, and when he looks at me, I smile. “She will live. She only needs rest as her body heals.”

  The tension in Kusi’s shoulders loosens, and then he nods.

  Manuel glances between us, that line deepening. “Will someone tell me what’s going on?”

  “He will,” I say, nodding in Kusi’s direction. Then I turn away and work my magic on the other corrupted humans, transforming them back to themselves. I sink my hands into the earth and enjoy the satisfaction of seeing it come to life. Green spreads and expands in every direction. Trees are righted, flowers bloom, and while I can’t bring back to life the many animals who’ve died, I’m confident others will once again make their homes in this part of the jungle.

  “It’s Catalina,” Kusi insists. “But also not Catalina.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Manuel whispers furiously. “What’s happened to her?”

  “I think it’s Luna.”

  Manuel sucks in a deep breath.

  I laugh lightly then face the last mortal still locked in his corrupted state. Recognition flickers through me, and the girl nudges me forward, urging me to take his hands. In moments he returns, and confusion sweeps into his face.

  “It’s a very long story,” I say. “It’s Rumi, isn’t it?”

  His lips part, and like the others he sputters and stills when he sees the bodies littering the ground. “Yes, that’s me. Don’t you remember?”

  I smile. “Kind of.”

  The poor mortal appears more confused. Best let him piece together what happened—the girl is impatient to speak with her love. Though he isn’t reverently watching me like he ought to be, there’s respect in his gaze. A calm assurance that I am loved and honored by him. But there’s a question, too.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “Thank you for what you’ve done… .” he says.

  I bow my head. “You’re welcome.”

  “But will you leave her?” He swallows. “Please.”

  I raise my brows.

  “I’m grateful,” he says quickly. “But I need her here with me.”

  The girl in me flushes, and the sensation makes me smile. “I am already leaving.”

  The night in another part of the sky calls me forth. The shine on Catalina’s hands dims until there’s nothing but her own flesh and blood. Manuel tentatively steps forward. I take one last look around, then turn my gaze to the edge of the jungle, to the stars glimmering high above another village.

  I blink at the sudden vastness in my mind, in my heart.

  “Catalina?” Manuel whispers. He slowly reaches for me, but I move his hand away and leap into his arms. He startles and then squeezes me tightly.

  “I thought I’d lost you,” I say.

  He pulls away enough to stare into my eyes. “I’m here now.”

  I hold on to him, needing the strength of his arms, the steady beat of his heart. It’s over, it’s finally over. Manuel looks around, the lines around his eyes tightening. He has questions, but I can’t form the answers right now. Sadness clouds my vision as I stare down at Chaska, her clothes stained a deep red. She sleeps profoundly, her chest rising and falling in even breaths. The goddess didn’t say how long her rest would last, but I trust that when Chaska is ready, she’ll wake.

  “What happened to her?” Manuel asks.

  “Another day,” I say with a quick glance at Kusi.

  He looks over and nods.

  We make our way back to Paititi, and while the mood isn’t exactly somber, it isn’t happy, either. We’ve lost too many people to celebrate. It’s an odd group: strangers bonded over a horrifying experience. Introductions are made quickly, and the night we spend in the jungle is filled with food and cups of bamboo around a roaring fire. No one talks. Kusi and Manuel venture off to try to find Sonco’s body, but the jungle has swallowed him up. Only Manuel’s machete is found. When they return, I hug them both—much to Kusi’s shock.

  We set off early the next day, the sun barely greeting us through the dense canopy.

  Exhaustion is a relentless taskmaster, and by the time we reach the waterfall, I can barely walk. We find the boats where we left them, hidden under palm fronds, the new home to snakes. Manuel tucks me inside the canoe closest to us. I sit on his lap, no longer caring if there’s a black caimán following us, or a school of piranhas swimming beneath the wood.

  We glide under the curtain and water pounds the top of my head, pours into my ears. Manuel clutches me tight, and then we’re on the other side. For a stupid moment the word home infiltrates my mind.

  Home.

  I shake my head and stumble out of the boat.

  “Do you need me to carry you?”

  “No,” I mumble, straightening my shoulders. “I can walk down all those steps, no problem.”

  Manuel laughs and scoops me into his arms. “You don’t have to.”

  Rumi glances at us, a slight smile on his face. Kusi and I tell him parts of the story, the ones that aren’t too painful to speak out loud. And we hear his harrowing tale. “We were attacked on the way out,” he says. “One minute, I was walking toward the jungle border; the next, I couldn’t move. Not even an inch.” His voice drops to an angry rasp. “And then Umaq appears in my line of sight and shoves something into my mouth. I don’t remember the rest.”

  “I’d like to know how he survived in the jungle for so long,” I say.

  “Umaq can control the blood running in every human and animal,” Rumi says promptly. “What enemy of his stands a chance?”

  I tuck myself closer to Manuel’s side, the itchy fabric tickling my cheek. “I want a bath.”

  “You’ll get one,” Manuel promises.

  I lean closer, and pull his head lower so I can whisper in his ear. “With you.”

  He pulls away, blushing the deepest shade of red. He gives me a rueful smile right before kissing me hard, his hold tightening as if he never wants to let me go.

  Fine by me.

  Later, after we’ve all bathed and slept, we meet in one of the buildings to eat. It’s just us, the survivors, except for Chaska, who slept through the night, the deep slumber of healing. Being in this room without her is so strange. My conversation with Sonco feels like forever ago. Every and now again my attention snags on Kusi, whose face turns bleak when he thinks no one is looking. There’s a haunted line to his mouth, despair etched into the curve of his cheeks. I understand his grief, and so when he meets my eye, I give him a sad, bracing smile.

  Even though I know it’s not enough—nothing will ever be.

  We eat rice mixed with dried beef, seasoned with a blend of dried herbs and several fried eggs cracked over the top. I have two helpings of everything, and then load another plate full of fruit: maracuya, duraznos, and frutillas. Manuel sits next to me, a haunted gleam in the deep well of his dark eyes.

  His fingers tighten around a clay cup filled with jugo de durazno.

  “What is it?” I ask softly.

  “What if Chaska never wakes?” he whispers, his lips twisting.

  I grab his drink, set it on the mat, and take his clammy hand in mine. “Luna said she will. We need only time and patience.”

  His jaw clenches, but he squeezes my hand and then lets go so he can eat. Chatter hums throughout the meal, subdued, as talk circles around the next few days. There are funerals to arrange, people to mourn, a city that needs to meet and accept their new leader. Kusi bears all the discussion with a stony expression, as if, were he to allow one crac
k to form, all the emotion he feels would pour out.

  He will need help in the coming days, weeks, months.

  When we’re done eating, Rumi sets his clay bowl onto his woven gold-patterned mat then clears his throat. “I’ve been gone from home a very long time. I must get back to La Ciudad.”

  Kusi bobs his head and says, “You will have whatever you need for the journey, as well as an escort out of the jungle. But you’re sure you don’t need to rest for a few days more?”

  The healer shakes his head, briefly meets my eyes. “There’s someone who’s probably worried sick about me.”

  I smile, feeling almost shy. How can I possibly hate him? If I hadn’t been wading through sludge searching for the wrong thing, I could’ve had something better. A life of my own, being what I was called to be. Something truer to who I am. When Luna and I shared the same breath, I realized that I was meant for something great—just not a throne or a kingdom that already has a worthy ruler.

  My decision rings true: I am a seer.

  “Kusi,” I say, and he raises a brow. “You’re the leader of the Illari now.”

  His expression made of stone and hard earth never falters. He nods.

  “Umaq mentioned he’d been working with the king of Palma, promising him gold from the lost city of Paititi. Luna shared a vision with me—one day Palma will invade Inkasisa, searching for your home. They’ll destroy everything in their path.”

  “This will happen?” Rumi asks, his voice hoarse.

  I nod. “One day.”

  “What must we do?” Kusi asks, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

  “When the time comes, we must all work together to save Inkasisa.”

  Kusi studies me silently. “I will fight alongside you, sister.”

  “There’s one more thing,” I say shyly. “Sonco said that I was welcome to stay here. I don’t want to assume—”

  The new king of the Illari places a firm hand on mine. “Sister, stay as long as you like.”

  My gaze flickers to Manuel. He winks at me and then asks the Illari leader, “Does that include me as well?”

  “If it must,” Kusi says dryly.

  Rumi stands, wiping his pants of any crumbs. He’s grown paler and thinner since that day when he’d left me to fend for myself. I’d been angry and scared, filled with resentment and bitterness. But now, looking at him, I feel only concern. “You should have another egg. Or three.”

  “I need to get going.” He hesitates and then blurts out, “Would you like me to take a message to her?”

  I set aside my clay cup and plate and slowly stand. “I’d like to come with you. If you’ll let me.”

  “You’re leaving?” Kusi asks. “I thought you were staying.”

  “I will come back, but there’s something I have to do first.” I gaze out the window, in the direction of where I think La Ciudad lies. Manuel eyes me shrewdly and chuckles quietly to himself. He turns me around, ticking my arm to another window.

  “It’s this way to Ximena.”

  EPILOGUE

  Three Weeks Later

  The castillo looms ahead, at once familiar and terrifying. Blindingly white and austere. Memories flood my mind—of playing with my father in the main courtyard, running around and getting the hem of my skirt filthy. I’d been royalty then, someone respected because of the family I’d been born into. And now I arrive without a title, without family. But with friends, and an ability to read the stars.

  More than enough for me.

  The tall iron gates stand before our small party, forbidding entry. No visitors unless approved or invited. This is a terrible idea. She won’t want to see me—I didn’t even say goodbye. If I remember walking away from her, she certainly will.

  I could have said goodbye.

  Manuel leans forward, tightening his hold around my waist. “It’ll be fine. I promise.” He digs his heels into the horse’s side, and we gallop forward until we’re a few feet away from the great walls.

  Several guards dressed in bold red tunics peer down at our upturned faces. “State your name,” one of them calls down.

  Rumi lets out a sharp whistle, high and then low. The minute they see the healer, they give a great cheer, and the iron bars groan as they lift, one slow inch at a time. The sound of the chain rattling disturbs the quiet, and I concentrate on that instead of on my racing heart, battering my ribs.

  Manuel clicks his teeth and our party lurches forward into the main courtyard. A brightly-hued llama peers at us, lips smacking indolently. This isn’t any kind of llama I’ve ever seen. Vibrant red strands of wool are woven throughout his hair coat, along with shimmering glimpses of moon thread. I’d know Ximena’s work anywhere. Manuel takes a step back, eyes widening.

  Rumi throws us a wink. “Careful, he spits.”

  As if to prove his point, the llama takes a step toward us and lobs a hairball at Rumi, who’s only response is to send the animal off with a fond smile.

  Manuel dismounts, then helps me down. When my toes skim the ground, he leans forward and presses a light kiss on my temple. “Remember when you flew between two cliffs?” he asks. “This is going to be much easier than that.”

  “So you say,” I mutter. “I’d rather face a caimán.”

  “Don’t exaggerate.”

  “I never exaggerate.”

  Manuel snorts, then clasps my hand in his. The rest of our party dismounts, and a stable hand comes running, the fringe of his poncho swinging around his skinny legs. I’m unsure of where to go or what to ask for. My throat is dry, and I’d like a pitcher of jugo all to myself. Rumi marches past other wooly creatures—a slow moving sloth, a fierce looking jaguar, and an anaconda curled around an ecstatic bunny—toward a pair of great wooden doors. They suddenly fling open, and a girl bursts through.

  It’s her.

  Dark hair flying behind her, her eyes fixed on the healer. She wears loose-fitting trousers and a billowing tunic stitched with big florals in vibrant shades of purple and red. She doesn’t carry a weapon, and her feet are bound in leather sandals. No more boots with hidden daggers. Rumi spreads his arms wide, and I expect her to hug him tight, but instead she smacks his stomach.

  He lets out a grunt, and then laughs, bending over to scoop the furry sloth into his arms. He makes soothing noises, and the wooly animal slowly raises his arm to Rumi’s cheek.

  “Where have you been?” she demands. “I’ve been worried sick! A week, you said. If it wasn’t for Tamaya—”

  “Reina Tamaya,” Rumi corrects, his lips twitching. “Por Dios, show some respect.”

  “Don’t you dare be cute,” Ximena says, aghast, but her eyes dance in merriment. “Why are you so thin?”

  The healer winces. “The situation in the jungle got a little out of hand.”

  “Rumi, what happened? You’ve been gone for weeks!” she says, wrapping her arms around his waist, careful not to squish the sloth. “And tell me about Catalina. Is she—”

  I step forward, half wanting to save Rumi from further scolding, and half because I’m impatient to see her up close. I’ve never seen her this happy, this free. She carries herself differently, less stiffly, as if she’s comfortable in her own skin now.

  “Hola, Ximena.”

  She abruptly stops talking. Her eyes widen, and she slowly turns around. Manuel squeezes my hand then lets go. I swallow hard, taking in the sight of her. The wind teases her hair, and her tunic billows around her like a flag. Some of the old tension returns, her back straightening, her shoulders tensing.

  Behind her, the door opens again and Reina Tamaya steps out into the sunlight, squinting in my direction. She’s just as beautiful as the last time I saw her, despite the long scar following the curve of her cheek. I swallow hard, my lips going dry. Should I bow or kneel? I’m frozen to the cobbled stone, unsure. For some reason, she doesn’t seem surprised to see me. She drops her hand, and a knowing smile stretches her lips. I dip my chin, the slightest inclination of my head.

  Then t
he reina winks at me, as if she already knew I’d survive the jungle, that I’d somehow make it back to this same castillo that houses so many of my old memories.

  Ximena looks between us. “Catalina?” she whispers, cataloging the brightly woven Illari tunic I’m wearing, the gold jewelry around my neck, the gift from Sonco. Across my body I carry a leather satchel, and her attention snags on my dented bronze telescope. “You look different.”

  I’m suddenly aware of my travel-stained clothes and limp hair. “I must be a sight.”

  She waves her hand impatiently, in a gesture so familiar that tears gather in my eyes. “No, I mean—” She clears her throat and laughs awkwardly. “I meant, you seem different.”

  “I am.” I clutch my hands tightly together. “I’d like to explain how much.”

  Her smile grows—hesitant, a bit watery. She takes another small step toward me.

  And I meet her halfway.

  Acknowledgements

  Sometimes I still feel like this is all a dream. That I didn’t just have another one of my stories published, and I’ll wake up to work on that query letter once again. But thankfully I have so many wonderful people in my life, reminding me that this is real.

  A ginormous hug to my agent, Sarah Landis; I’m so glad we found each other. Here’s to many more stories together. I can’t wait! <3

  So many heartfelt thanks to everyone at Page Street Publishing. To my editor, Ashley Hearn, who knows exactly what this story needed and for her deep love of Consuelo. It figures your favorite character would be a murderous butterfly. Many hugs and thanks to my publicists, Lauren Cepero and Lizzy Mason; editorial assistants Franny Donington and Tamara Grasty; copy editor Kaitlin Severini; managers Marissa Giambelluca, Hayley Gundlach, and Meg Palmer; publisher Will Kiester; and the wonderful sales team at Macmillan. Huge thanks to Meg Baskis for helping me bring the cover to life.