There’s a rumbling in the audience, and I look up from the tribunal to the mushroom shelves. Some Septimus are no longer looking down at me, but around at one another.
I remember what Zaybet said before my first demonstration, how the point was to show those who are on the fence that there’s a different way. They have options. Life is never hopeless.
“I want you to know Yamila didn’t capture me,” I say, and rather than quieting down, the murmuring reaches a new pitch. “Catalina didn’t turn on me either. I asked them to bring me in. Others may not understand my reasons, but I know some of you do. You know there are many shades of dead. Your heart can stop beating in so many ways beyond the literal.”
If curiosity is something that must be ignited, I just set off a wildfire. While talking breaks out, I think of Perla, who gave up on herself when her husband was assassinated. I think of Gael, living alone in El Laberinto all this time. I think of Ma’s life and mine in El Retiro. I want to say so much about that life, but I can’t risk circling too close to the topic of my parents. I’m actually shocked they haven’t come up yet.
I also don’t want to get too close to Nacho and how I hitched my ride to El Laberinto. So I keep a wide berth of those details.
“All I’ve ever wanted is to be accepted for being me,” I say at last, once the conversations quiet a little. “To know where I belong. When I stumbled into your world, I thought I finally found the answer, only the reality is so much worse. I didn’t just cross a border into a new land—I stepped into a role you’ve written for me. I’ve been labeled a villain for the crime of being born.
“Whatever you decide, I am a child of Lunaris as much as the rest of you. Can you honestly say you’ve seen evidence in this case that proves I mean you harm? Am I truly the ladrona you’ve been waiting for?”
The head judge leans in. “We are not interested in factualizing some old fiction. This tribunal is built on laws, not legends. Our sole interest here is in discovering whether you are an existential threat to our species, and that is something only we can answer, not you, not Bernardo, not your many colorful character witnesses. All any of you can do is provide us with your truths, and the seven of us will determine their design.”
He bangs his gavel, and a timer goes up on the screen, only I don’t disappear belowground.
The judges gather round to deliberate, and since none of us have our powers, we can’t hope to hear them.
We’re just going to sit here this whole time? I look up to see what the other Septimus are doing. Most are talking in clusters. Some are getting up to stretch their legs. Others are staring intently at me.
Whatever happens next, they can’t unhear everything I said. Even if the tribunal and Cazadores clamp down, there are always more soldiers on the ground than generals. And the Septimus are finally waking up.
I watch a bruja hand her kid a purple apple. A group of older teens are huddled together talking excitedly. A collection of dads engage in debate, while their wives wave to witches they recognize in neighboring shelves. And I wonder again, what if I am la ladrona?
What if they’re right to fear me?
The tribunal, like Diego, doesn’t believe in la ladrona. In my old life, I would have sided with them. Magical realism, superstition, telenovelas—the border between fantasy and reality was always clear, and I had the line down. But what defines reality when it comes to a race of witches and werewolves?
Who determines what’s real?
We are the narratives we tell ourselves. But do we shape language, or does language shape us? Do we define words, or do words define us? If everyone keeps insisting I’m this monster, how soon before I become her?
The timer vanishes from the screens before it’s reached zero, and there’s a rustling in the crowd as the tribunal disbands. The judges return to their rightful places, and there’s no need to bang the gavel because the courtroom is on mute.
My heart races as the head judge stares at me, and the other judges pull back their hoods. The two Septimas are an Encendedora and a Jardinera. I think of what Diego said about colorism being a problem even among Septimus, and I note that only one of the judges is Black.
“This tribunal has come to a decision,” says the head judge. “We have reviewed precedent for cases of known hybrids and found that all such beings have been categorically found guilty and sentenced to death.”
The word sends an icy chill down my spine. I’ve been in mortal danger before, facing imminent destruction, and yet I never felt my death more keenly than I do right now. The calculation and anticipation makes it torturous. I would rather my life end out there, in the fields of Lunaris, facing the elements, than in here, by this tribunal’s cold hand.
“Yet this tribunal takes a more modern approach.”
I blink. What does that mean?
“The accused, while in violation of our laws, is not at fault for her condition. We are uneasy with the prospect of sending someone to death who has not committed a crime, but rather is the result of one.”
My chest inflates with oxygen, and I can hardly believe Diego’s argument worked. I’m not going to die.
“However, we cannot allow history to repeat itself. And while there is no evidence of Yamila’s claim that the accused has special powers beyond the usual, we cannot dismiss the circumstances of her birth.”
Now the head judge stares directly at me. “We cannot allow your lineage to infect our bloodstream. Nor can we allow others to feel emboldened to sire their own hybrid offspring. So while we spare your life, you are sentenced to live it out alone. You will stand apart from the general population, ostracized and isolated, as a warning to anyone who thinks to try this. All future hybrids will not receive this mercy.”
I’m alone.
I’m an exception.
It’s everything I never wanted.
“As there can be no guilt or innocence in this, you will bear a different burden. A label to dissuade anyone who would pluck a human. Not lobizona or ladrona. Henceforth, you are Manuela la ilegal.”
I’m illegal.
Literally.
Permanently.
I’m a head on a pole in ancient times.
“You have run from us before, which shows you can never be fully trusted. Therefore, you will be placed under constant supervision. You will not interact with others or keep in touch with old acquaintances.”
I barely hear him.
My heart is slowing down in despair. He might as well have killed me. This is worse. To watch the world but never be part of it. To never speak to anyone I love again. To be forever a spare.
I’m so far from the moment that I don’t immediately realize the head judge has stopped speaking. Everyone above me looks as confused as I feel, but the judges seem to be in deep concentration.
They’re listening to someone.
I furrow my brow and use all my focus to try summoning my power to hear the speaker. A pain flares in my temples, but I push past it until I pick up on a whisper. I think I hear the word arma. Weapon.
The head judge turns to confer with the others. What just happened? Someone made an interjection, and now they seem to be reconsidering something. Their ruling?
Is the death sentence back on the table—?
I stare at the head judge’s bushy gray beard as he faces me again. “As we were saying, given that you will require constant attention, and you cannot form any attachments, the most pragmatic approach is for you to work in the employ of the Cazadores.”
“What?”
I can’t hold back my reaction. It didn’t sound like that’s where my sentence was headed before. What would make them change their minds?
But my question is drowned out by an unintelligible shriek, and everyone looks around for the Septima who made the sound.
I already know who it was. I just dealt Yamila a fatal blow without lifting a finger. Only I’m too numb to celebrate.
“As your counsel so eloquently argued, you have not comm
itted a crime,” the judge continues. “Unless—or until—you break the law, we would rather not lock you up preemptively. Though we can, if that’s what you prefer.”
I shake my head.
“All Septimus must contribute in some way to the wider community. You will use your unique skill set to assist our agents in whatever capacity is required. You will be surrounded by law enforcement, so no more disappearing acts. Prove yourself to be trustworthy, and you will live out a comfortable life of service, with real purpose. So what will it be—Cazadora or prisionera?”
I swallow, hard. My family. Friends. Tiago. Our future. Gone.
I can hardly breathe. I feel more corpse than alive.
But I am alive.
That’s the point.
I’ve been given an exception no other hybrid has or will experience. And if I give in to despair, I’ll have wasted my chance to make a difference.
I promised Enzo that even when I stop fighting for myself, I’ll fight for Zaybet. Just because I didn’t get the verdict I wanted today doesn’t mean I stop here. I have to prove to them that I belong just as much as they do.
Among law enforcement, I can help others who need it. After all, Fierro himself was—is—a Cazador.
“I’ll join the Cazadores,” I say, and my stomach flips as I announce it because despite all their rules, I’ll still be part of something. A fraternity. It may take me a while to endear myself, but I managed it with Cata, so what’s a few thousand officers?
“You will report to Bernardo,” says the judge, and I deflate a little. “You will be provided lodgings, food, and other provisions, but you will not receive any semillas for your work. You may only speak when spoken to, and you are not to forge any sort of bond with anyone beyond the professional. You will be escorted by a Cazador or Cazadora at all times. Are these conditions clear?”
“Yes,” I say, the feeling of slow death back.
“Then this case is adjourned. You are hereby remanded into the custody of the Cazadores.”
He raises his gavel, but before bringing it down, he adds, “Your first assignment is to bring in your parents for their judgment.”
35
With a bang, I’m whisked through an exit behind the tribunal by a pair of burly officers.
Outside, the day is starting to dim for the third time. Once it goes fully dark, we’ll have to catch a portal back to Earth. My trial lasted our entire visit.
I’m still processing the last words the judge spoke to me as I’m marched into white mist. On the other side are the sand dune dwellings where Tiago and I first got together last moon, and I’m led into a cave that’s glowing gold like it’s occupied.
Bernardo is inside.
“Stand guard by the entrance,” he says to the Cazadores flanking me. “Don’t let in anyone without a badge.”
I’m not cuffed, so I have full access to my powers. Yet for all his grandstanding at trial, Bernardo doesn’t seem afraid to be alone with me.
“When we return to Kerana tonight, you will be brought to headquarters. You will do exactly as you’re told. Understood?”
I nod, then I say, “Yes.”
“To gain access, you will need this badge on you at all times. And for this badge, you will need to swear an oath of loyalty here, in Lunaris. This realm will hold you to your word.”
I feel a chill inside me, like Lunaris is listening.
“Repeat after me. I, Manuela la ilegal, hereby swear to honor Lunaris, to serve the Cazadores, and to defend and protect the Septimus from all threats—including humans.”
It sounds like he added that last part just for me.
My throat feels dry as I gather myself to utter my new name. “I, Manuela la-la ilegal”—tears burn my eyes—“hereby swear to honor Lunaris, to serve the Cazadores, and to defend and protect the Septimus from all threats. Including h-humans.”
He tosses something silver at me. When I catch it, the blade slices my palm.
“Ow!” Blood drips from my hand, down the silver blade.
“Now stick the dagger in the sand,” he instructs me, and I do as he says, stabbing it into the ground. The cut in my hand heals, and the blood on my fingers and the handle vanishes.
“Blood has sealed your oath,” says Bernardo, and as a warmth buzzes in me, I register that I just chose sides between my two halves. Not that it matters, since there’s no war between Septimus and humanity that I know about.
“You are now ready to receive this.” He takes out a bronze badge that’s heptagonal and looks somewhat familiar. “You’ll have to learn how to assemble and disassemble it, but for now just keep it with you at all times.”
This is the bronze key Yamila had. I take the warm metal in my hand and pocket it. It’s heavier than I expected.
“Won’t I need some kind of paperwork?” I ask. “Like a Huella?”
Bernardo stares at me like I just spoke a different language.
“Your identity was ruled illegal. That means you remain undocumented. You only continue to breathe thanks to the mercy of the tribunal, but you do not belong. Is that distinction clear?”
I can’t nod.
I can’t accept it.
Just then, three Cazadores spill inside.
At the sight of Gael, I grow simultaneously calmer and more anxious. His face is so drawn, his features so pale, that I worry about what he’ll say.
“This is a fucking joke!”
Thankfully, Yamila’s theatrics keep Bernardo from looking too closely at Gael. “She can’t actually join us—”
“Calm down,” says Bernardo. “You’re making this personal.”
Are you okay? My father’s voice speaks into my mind.
No! I’m not okay! I shout back. I messed up, Dad. I should’ve never turned myself in.
His eyes soften, and I don’t know what I said that eased him.
It’ll be okay, he says, his voice so tender, it doesn’t sound like him. I won’t let anything happen to you, hija.
When he calls me daughter, I realize I referred to him as Dad.
“Keep her hidden until the portals open,” says Bernardo, instructing the three of them. “Just in case her friends get any ideas.”
“I’m telling you she’s got other powers!” snaps Yamila. “We have to go back in there and tell the tribunal to change their ruling—”
“You need to calm down,” says Bernardo.
They told me I have to turn you and Ma in, I say into Gael’s thoughts in a panic.
Believe it or not, he says calmly, I have experience creating false trails and evading the Cazadores from the inside.
“You need to wake up!” Yamila is shouting. “She’s our greatest danger, and now we’re just going to reward her with our highest honor? Some of us trained our asses off to get here! She’s barely got one moon of schooling done!”
Nacho nods, like he’s also annoyed I’m skipping the line.
“I’m not saying you’re wrong,” says Bernardo, “but this is out of our hands. Even I can’t do anything—”
“Of course you can! Go back in there and—”
“That’s enough.”
Bernardo’s voice is so icy, he sounds like Jazmín. From the stunned look on Yamila’s face, I doubt she disappoints him often.
“First, you suspected there was a lobizona, and you didn’t say anything,” he says to her. “Then you revealed you knew she was a hybrid all along. And worst of all, you waited until the trial to tell me she dodged your magic!”
By now he’s shouting, and he turns to Gael, his anger taking new aim.
“You’re acting just like your mentor here! He too was on top of the world once. His ego got so fat, he forgot he was part of a pack and decided he’d capture Fierro alone.”
My uncle looks at his brother-in-law with open dislike. I don’t see any trace of Cata in her father. His voice seething with restrained rage, he tells Gael, “Just because the tribunal saw fit to reinstate you doesn’t change anything between us.”
“You’re damn right,” says my dad.
Their eyes are so fiery, I worry they’re going to transform.
“Since you were instrumental in discovering her,” Bernardo tells him, “I’m assigning you to babysit the lobizona.”
My heart inflates with so much hope that I feel my muscles relaxing for the first time. My jaw hurts, like it’s been clenched for a while. Even Dad’s face lightens, and we stare at each other.
“Yamila and Nacho will supervise you.”
Now my heart is weighted down with a ballast, and it plunges.
“Who better than you to show Yamila the error of your ways?” Bernardo asks Gael. “See that she doesn’t go down your misguided path.”
Yamila points to me accusingly. “There is no way I’m working with that fucking freak—”
“Leave. Now.”
Bernardo doesn’t raise his voice, but there’s a lethal edge to his words. He looks at Nacho. “You’ll be my liaison for now, since you’re the only one who’s shown any good sense.”
Nacho’s gaze drifts to me, and I know it’s a warning to keep my mouth shut. He wouldn’t want Bernardo to know it was he who brought me into their world unawares.
“Make sure they keep their distance until we’re back in Kerana,” he tells Nacho. “I can’t deal with more hysterics today.”
Nacho turns to his sister, and her eyes light up like she’s daring him to touch her. Then she spares me a nasty glare before leaving, Nacho marching after her. I’m going to have to keep an eye on him and make sure he’s not a threat to Perla.
When it’s just the three of us, the cave feels like it’s gotten smaller. Bernardo is looking between my dad and me like he’s deciding who he dislikes more when a new contender enters the ring.
His wife.
“What are you doing here?” he asks her in greeting. “I told them to let in Cazadores only—”
“I’m your wife. Or have you forgotten?”
“I’m not the one who changed my name,” he says with a low growl. “Or our daughter’s.”
“That was Catalina’s choice,” says Jazmín with chilly disdain. “I didn’t make it for her.”
Cazadora Page 33