Cazadora

by Romina Garber

  Diego drops his fingers from my face and blows out a hard breath. “I’m not interested in labeling you, and that’s not how you should be thinking either. Forget la ladrona lore. It’s their narrative, not yours.”

  “You don’t get it,” I say, shaking my head. “If I’m la ladrona, I’m not me. I’m a footnote in their story, a mistake that never should have been. Then they’ve really taken everything from me.”

  “Manu, you’re not—”

  “How do you know? I spread darkness wherever I go! Look what I got Cata and Tiago and Saysa and their families into! My mom, Perla, Zaybet—I’m a plague, I curse everyone I touch—”

  “Or, you could look at it as you’re just that easy to love.”

  “What?”

  Diego squeezes my shoulder. “You inspire intense loyalty in others because life has been so spectacularly unfair to you, yet your spirit doesn’t dampen. That’s not darkness, Manu. What we’re drawn to is your light.”

  I let him pull me into a hug, and I lay my head against his shoulder, not sure what I would do if I didn’t have Diego by my side. “Thank you for everything you did up there,” I whisper, unable to say more without breaking down. “What happens now?”

  “You’re going to be put through the trials.”

  I leap away from him. “What trials?”

  His expression falls, and seeing him deflate makes my pulse speed up. “Truthfully, I don’t know. That’s as far as I got in my ladrona studies. There was a time when Septimus put brujas accused of being la ladrona on the stand, sort of like the humans’ Salem witch trials. We didn’t kill anyone—but we tortured them.”

  I can’t summon my voice to speak.

  “But that was in the past,” he adds quickly. “In this century, there have only been a couple of accusations. As soon as we get back up there, the trials will begin. You’ll be transported without leaving the courtroom. It’s hard to explain. Whatever happens, however strange, just go with it.”

  “And do what? I have no idea how to pass—”

  “You do,” he says calmly. “You know what to do because you did it before. At your Septibol tryouts.”

  Before I can ask what he means, vines close around me, and I’m yanked up to the courtroom, where everyone is already gathered and waiting.

  Diego is at my side a moment later. But as soon as he appears, Bernardo says, “Your services are no longer needed.”

  “I’m defense counsel—”

  “The trials must be faced alone. Surely as counsel you knew that?”

  A couple of Cazadores step forward, and it’s clear if Diego doesn’t go on his own, they’ll be happy to escort him. My friend looks at me in resignation, and if not for the vines holding me in place, I would shatter.

  He rests a hand on my shoulder and says, “You’re Manu.”

  And as he walks away, it occurs to me that this whole time, Bernardo has referred to me as the accused, but not Diego. He’s been repeating my name, reminding me that’s my identity. None of those other labels are mine.

  I don’t have to claim them.

  Bernardo exits after Diego, and then I’m alone facing the judges, bound in chains of ivy, my face magnified on the screens overhead, with almost a million Septimus watching. The head judge bangs his gavel, and my binds disappear—along with everything else.

  * * *

  I’m not in the courtroom anymore.

  I’m on the golden grass of Lunaris, staring at the black Citadel wall in the distance. Before me is a misty barrier, veiling what lies ahead. The sky above is pastel yellow, pink, and blue, and I stretch my limbs, rejoicing in my liberty.

  Something dark catches my eye, and a grin overtakes my face as my wolf-shadow bounds toward me.

  It runs in circles like a playful puppy, and I hear myself giggle. The sound is so foreign, it doesn’t seem mine. My shadow leads me along at a quick trot, and I’m warmed by its companionship.

  Hurry.

  I don’t so much hear the word as feel it. There’s a timer on this freedom.

  I’ve no interest in going back to the Citadel, so I rush through the mist, and then I’m standing before a wall of colorful crystal colonnades. There’s a black space ahead that looks like a gap between teeth.

  As I enter the pass, there’s something somber and sad about the location, like it’s a mausoleum or a cemetery. My wolf-shadow lopes ahead, and the wall beside me darkens, like a second shadow is taking form.

  Something massive is pressing into the crystal, in slow, watery detail, and at last I see a face. A severe-looking Septimo with fine eyebrows and thin lips.

  As I keep walking, another portrait manifests, of a Septima with a head of red ringlets. More faces begin to fill the walls as I break into a sprint, and soon portraits cram every square foot of the cave, unveiling at the speed of my feet.

  I relish the run as much as seeing each new frame. There must be hundreds of thousands of them.

  When at last I see light ahead, I slow down. The portraits begin to slow too, like the artist has grown tired. I reach the end of the passage, and right as I’m leaving, a final face presses into the last patch of wall space.

  She has brown skin and thick hair and yellow eyes.

  I look into my reflection for a long time. And when I step out into the light, I feel seen by Lunaris.

  My existence has been documented. No matter what this tribunal rules, this is proof I belong. I count.

  My shadow and I run toward the mist ahead, but a bang booms out, shaking the land. Like the judge’s gavel, only more ominous.

  My wolf drops to the ground, ears pinned back, and I turn to see a single face forming across the crystal colonnades. She has metallic eyes and white-tipped black hair.

  Something Pablo said comes back to me. He told me the Septimus know when one of their population passes because their face is gone from the Caves of Candor.

  And as Zaybet fades into the ghost of a memory, it feels like she’s disappearing for good.

  Sadness pierces me like a blade. I bend forward from the pain, and my wolf-shadow tips its snout back and howls a long mournful note.

  I feel something building inside me, like I’m going to throw up. I fall to my knees, as the monstrous thing claws its way up my throat, and then I tip my neck back, and—

  Owooooo!

  * * *

  When at last my shadow and I step through the mist, the day has given way to the pinks, reds, and purples of dusk. I’m on the golden field staring at the Citadel.

  It’s over? I don’t get it. That was the whole trial?

  I step forward, and all at once the sky begins to bruise and swirl. An electric, pungent aroma hangs in the air, and my hair flies around me as a storm blows in.

  I break into a run.

  The wind howls in my ears, pressing against my chest, trying to slow me down. Remembering Tiago’s training, I let go of all my thoughts and give myself over to my body. Until I’m cutting through the bands of air, breaking free of my chains.

  I run at the speed of a lobizona, whatever the fuck that is.

  They want to know if I can keep up with the wolves? Let them wonder if the wolves can keep up with me.

  The Citadel’s black wall grows larger, and I feel a thrill racing down my spine as thunder rumbles. Tiago was right—I relish the rush of adventure. Same way I used to count down to lunaritis.

  It’s funny how I didn’t think I kept any secrets from Ma, and yet I never told her about my monthly dreams. Even if Perla hadn’t been attacked, I’m not sure how much longer I could have waited before I went hunting for answers.

  Ma doesn’t understand why I snuck into Nacho’s truck that night, after she gave up everything to keep me alive. I gambled her sacrifice in one seemingly rash decision. But it was a decision I’d been building to my whole life. It was a part of me I felt compelled to hide from her—and myself—because I was afraid Ma would think I had too much of my father in me.

  Golden lightning webs across th
e charged clouds at my exact moment of understanding, and I scream as the bolt strikes in front of me, singeing the grass. The blast of heat blows me back, and there’s a chill at the base of my skull, like silver frost is infecting the air.

  The gales are growing so powerful that soon they’ll be hurricane strength. I curve against the wind, barely vertical anymore, my shadow leaping and yapping to encourage me. But it’s too much.

  The weather is fueled by our emotions.

  I hear Tiago’s musical voice like he’s here, speaking into my thoughts.

  Lunaris can manifest our feelings.

  It’s a memory. Tiago told me this last moon. If I can’t quell the elements with magic, maybe I can settle myself. Be an anchor through the storm, instead of collateral damage.

  I stop running and try to hold on to the ground, digging my claws in as deep as I can. Then I shut my eyes and focus inward to settle my heart and calm this swell. But it’s Perla’s voice I hear in my head.

  Tranquila, Ojazos. Hasta el sol se cansa de brillar. Cerrá los ojos y respirá ondo. Relax, Ojazos. Even the sun gets tired of shining. Close your eyes and breathe deep.

  I focus on my breaths, until the oxygen I inhale brings Perla closer and closer, and my exhales push the tribunal and this trial farther and farther. My hair stops whipping my face as the winds settle, and when at last I open my eyes, the storm is gone—but the sky is purple.

  A wave of silver is aging the grass, and I spring forward, my wolf-shadow at my side, as I race toward the moonstone doorknob.

  I’m not sure what any of this just proved, but I hope it’s at least clear that I didn’t use any special abilities—

  My shadow lunges right as a spear vaults for my head, and I roll out of the way in time to see a green vine.

  While my wolf snaps and claws at the ivy that attacked me, another vine rears up, and I’m weaving between their strikes.

  I wonder if the tribunal wants to see how I gained access to the Citadel in the first place. It’s a private rite of passage, but nothing in my life is mine. I guess that’s why those who love me try to keep me hidden. I can only belong to them in secret.

  I dodge another spike, and then I grip the ivy as it rears, the thorns digging into my skin, and I swing myself forward, landing in front of the door. I feel a paralyzing chill as all the light in the sky vanishes, and my fingers close around the cool white stone.

  I twist, and at last I’m in the Citadel.

  It’s nighttime, and the sky is littered with stars. Only I’m still not safe. Four Septimus box me in, hooded robes concealing their faces.

  They’re all wearing black, but since there’s four of them, I get the sense they must be brujas of each element. I just don’t know which is which.

  I turn in a circle from one to the next. They don’t move or make any sound, which only makes my pulse pound harder.

  The first trial proved I’m a descendant of Lunaris, and the second one showed I accessed the Citadel with my wolf strength, not bruja magic or some secret ladrona ability. So this trial—

  I scream as fire scorches my leg, and I drop to the ground.

  The earth beneath me starts shaking, and I try to leap up using my good leg, but a blast of air blows me onto my back.

  The ground pummels at my spine, and I spring up just as a frozen finger stirs my thoughts, or that’s how it feels when the brain freeze torments my mind.

  I try rushing at one of the brujas, but a force field shoves me back.

  I bend my head down and charge at another, but a wall of flames lights up, and my face feels like it’s been scorched. I screech and taste blood in my mouth as I fall to the quaking ground, patting my cheeks, expecting my skin to peel off. But it doesn’t. The pain is all internal.

  These aren’t brujas.

  They’re gods.

  I’ve never seen anyone command magic like this. I charge the hooded figure in front of me, then at the last instant I spin to attack the bruja next to her. An ivy vine uncoils and swipes at my arms, and I slice it with my claws.

  The plant retreats to nurse its wound, and there’s a hissing sound behind me. That must be the Jardinera.

  My feet start to burn, and I jump from one leg to the other, the ground like hot coals. I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I’m jumping off each foot like I’m trying to generate energy.

  Something hard and sharp knocks into my head, and my whole skull burns from the pain. I get pelted again and again, and I see that chunks of ice are falling from the sky, directly over my head. Wherever I try to run, a force field pushes back, like padded walls. It’s maddening.

  The pain is making me nauseous. I think I throw up. I can’t tell. I’m about to pass out.

  My body is in searing agony. There’s water blurring my sight and blood clogging my throat, and I don’t understand how any one Septimus—bruja or wolf—could survive this. It’s impossible.

  I see something snakelike shoot at me, and as I reach for the vine, I suddenly feel the magical connection linking it to the Jardinera controlling its attack. Somehow, I sense that I can sever that control, loosening its hold and freeing the vine from the spell.

  I concentrate, casting around for the feel of the magic—

  Then I remember what Diego said. He told me to do what I did at my Septibol tryouts.

  I’m not supposed to pass this trial.

  If I defeat the brujas, I’m la ladrona. It’s what they fear, why I pose a threat—my power. So to pass, I have to fail. I have to be powerless.

  I let the vine swipe my shoulder with its shark-sharp thorns. Branches and stones and other debris fly at me, and I lift my arms to defend myself, until they’re too bruised to hold up anymore. And the last thought that crosses my mind as I crash to the ground is how strange it is that it’s this hard to be yourself in life.

  I’m not getting back up.

  The pain is delirium, and part of me wants to say fuck it all and dig deep into my true well of power. To defy their magic and their rules. But it’s too late—they’ve broken me.

  My bones, my mind, my heart. I can’t tell if I’m hot or cold, if I’m moving or still, if I’m screaming or silent. The torture isn’t even torture. It’s nothing. It’s numbness. I can’t feel.

  But I endure, for Ma, for my friends, and for myself. Because I deserve a real chance. Like Diego said, there’s no shame in wanting to fit in. To belong.

  The shame is that I have to pretend to be less than I am to be accepted.

  The courtroom comes back into focus, and I’m not sure what’s going on. I’m standing upright, the vines holding me in place again, as though nothing happened.

  I can’t feel any of my injuries, but the memory still stings my mind, phantom pains I can’t erase. They will leave their own scars.

  I’m standing before the tribunal. No Bernardo, no Diego. The whole population is in the mushroom shelves, watching the screens. I don’t know how much of what just happened they’ve seen. All I know is they’re remarkably quiet.

  My shoulders slump forward.

  I’m tired.

  “We are ready to deliberate on your legal status,” says a voice in Spanish.

  I look up in shock as the head judge pulls back his hood. He has a bushy gray beard so thick it looks like fur, and he speaks in such a low voice that he makes the million-strong chamber feel small and intimate.

  “Is there anything you would like to say in your defense before we begin?”

  My mouth opens, but no words come out.

  Diego was worried Bernardo would call me to the stand because my aura could expose all the secrets I’m still keeping. Not their contents, but their existence—Ma’s location, Gael’s identity, Cata and Saysa’s relationship, my ladrona abilities … And my cloudy halo would only make me seem less trustworthy.

  And maybe I’m not trustworthy.

  After all, I’ve been a secret my whole life. I’ve never known any other way.

  “If there’s nothing, we will proceed�
��”

  “Wait.”

  There are gasps above me, and I hurry to add, “Sus señorías. I would like to say something.”

  34

  Day breaks through the dark covering overhead as the head judge nods for me to go on.

  “I’m Manu.” My eyes flick to the screens to see in what color my aura glows. But nothing happens.

  I don’t have a halo like the others.

  Something about it makes me feel empty, and I realize I should have stayed silent. This must be a sign I’m not one of them—

  “You are not on the witness stand,” says the head judge, still speaking softly, though with a bite of impatience. “That is why you do not have an aura. The trial is over. Your words carry no official weight. All I am offering you is a simple courtesy.”

  My stomach clenches, and the emotional appeal I was about to make crumbles to dust. I can cry about my unjust lot in life all I want, but they don’t care. I’m not part of their pack.

  “This is all just a simple courtesy, though, isn’t it?” I ask, my throat like sandpaper. I feel a violent impulse in my hands, like I want to flex my fingers. I want to break something.

  “Go on,” he says.

  “The trials are inconclusive. They prove nothing, which I’m sure you know, since you intend to spin this any way you want. You can claim my face showed up in the Caves of Candor because I forged it with my dark magic, or that I accessed the Citadel like a wolf because I stole your power, or that I got my ass kicked by the brujas on purpose. You weren’t going to give me or Lunaris control over my narrative anyway. You were always going to decide what you wanted.”

  He doesn’t interrupt me, so I take it as my cue to keep going.

  “You think I’m different. That I don’t fit in anywhere. I thought that too. But over the past month—moon—I learned I’m not all that unique. As Diego put it, I’m not alone in my loneliness. There are so many of you who are caged in your bodies, same as me, only you have slightly better disguises. But you’re still just as unhappy and afraid and in danger. You can’t live the life you choose or love the one you want or be who you truly are. It’s to you I speak now.”