The next morning, I’m up and ready before they come to get us. It’s time to meet with their leader. I’m chewing on mint leaves when a loud rap sounds on the door. Manuel waits on the other side.
“Sleep well?” he inquires politely.
His expression is carefully arranged and nonchalant, nothing for me to question or poke. I can’t stand it. “We’re not doing that,” I say firmly.
He takes a step back. “Doing what?”
“It’s all right to show me what you’re really thinking … how you’re really feeling. I can handle your frustration.”
Manuel drags his hand down his face. Peers at me through spread fingers. I can’t discern his expression.
“What?” I ask.
He sighs. “You keep surprising me.”
“Are you unhappy?” I lower my voice into an urgent whisper. “Tell me the truth.”
Manuel lowers his hand slowly. “Yes.”
“Then be miserable with me.” I inhale sharply. “Because there is an us, whether you like it or not. I don’t want to have another conversation until we know what we’re dealing with. Fair?”
“Fair.” He pulls open the door. “¿Estás lista?”
I glance down at my ensemble. I’m still wearing the long tunic from the night before, but my hair is at least dry, my face scrubbed of dirt, my hair rid of tangles. What I wouldn’t give for a hairbrush to smooth it into a polished shine. I leave it long and loose, and it curls in every direction.
Manuel is dressed in a royal blue tunic with gold detailing and embroidery. He looks neat and clean, as if he hadn’t slept on the ground. The Illari have given him leather sandals and a blade to remove his scruff. He looks young and more like the Manuel who left me behind three years ago.
Together we follow Nina and a couple of guards on a path that leads deeper into Paititi. The buildings become numerous, all with white-patched walls, and roofs of russet clay tiles, mixed in with a few solid-gold ones. The stone path splits into several directions, but we remain on the one heading straight to the center of the city. We cross a stone bridge, guarded by a golden statue of a jaguar on one end and a king vulture on the other. Both animals are rendered in motion, ready for attack, fierce expressions on their gleaming faces.
“What are your buildings made of?” Manuel asks.
“We mix white clay with a bit of straw and soil,” Nina says. “When it dries, the material becomes strong. Our roofs are the clay found in the riverbank and the gold from our mountain.”
Their mountain is smaller than ours, but equally majestic. It’s dark and rocky, and while the peak isn’t capped in snow, the rest is covered in handsome trees. A square temple made of black stone juts forward, as if part of the mountain itself. Gold pillars frame the entrance. I hope they’ll let me peek inside one day. I slow down to walk alongside Manuel. His dark eyes flicker from one building to another, to the guards patrolling the market and back down the way we came, memorizing the route, not missing a single detail.
“Have you figured out a way to leave this place already?” I’m sort of joking, but when he nods, my laughter evaporates. “What, seriously?”
“This path will lead us back to the base of the hill.” He points to a smaller path next to the market. “And that one leads to the farmlands. I imagine we can make a run for it from there.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“Because it ends at the market. How else will they transport their produce?”
“Is this how you think? All the time?”
“It’s how my mother trained me to think.”
At the mention of Ana, I reach over and place a soft hand on his sleeve. “I miss her too.” Nina glances at us and urges us to hurry. My stomach twists at the thought of meeting Sonco—I still haven’t thought of what to say. All I have is my truth, and I pray to Luna that it will be enough, or else my stay in Paititi will be very short.
Now that I’m here, I don’t want to return to the jungle.
Once we’re on the other side of the river, the path takes us to a large square protected by woven cloths hanging above and filled with wooden stalls. The cloths come in every color and I’m immediately drawn to the bright ambiance of the market. Everywhere people are dressed in a variety of tunic styles and leather sandals, and they mill around, selling produce and pottery, blankets and llama poop. A few call out to us as we pass, and while I long to explore, I keep up with our guide.
“We have many artisans here,” Nina explains. “Tanners and weavers, butchers and dyers. But we also have farmers, each specializing in a different produce.”
“How many people live in the city?” I ask.
“Enough,” Nina says. She leads us off the main path toward a building, larger than the rest but just as white, the golden tiles gleaming in the sunlight. I step inside after her and squint against the sudden dimness.
There are dozens of people crowded in the room, clamoring to be heard. They’re shouting, asking questions in Quechua, but it’s not anger I hear threaded in their voices. It’s something else, and it taints the room.
Fear.
Manuel and I press closer, trying to move forward through the crowd. Someone taps me on the arm, and I turn to find Chaska at my elbow.
“Stand over there.” She gestures to the curved wall. “And listen.” Then she disappears into the crowd.
I pull on Manuel’s sleeve and guide him to the spot she indicated. There’s room for both of us, provided we stand very close to each other, our hands almost brushing. He clears his throat and tucks his hands into his pockets. I survey the room, trying to peer over shoulders to see the Illari leader. A young man stands in front of the crowd, his hands in the air pressing downward as if trying to instill calm energy into the room. He’s dressed in a red tunic that reaches his knees and a necklace made of hammered gold. On his fingers are bands of rings in the same style.
This must be Sonco.
Directly behind him, another man is propped up against the wall—one leg extended straight, the other bent at the knee, his bare foot slapped against the surface. His arms are folded across his broad chest. He’s dressed in a plain white tunic—I say white, but there are more dirt stains than what’s appropriate at a gathering such as this. He might be Sonco’s personal guard. He certainly has the face for it.
It’s been through war.
Three jagged scars slash downward from his left temple, the outermost line nearly running against his full bottom lip. His nose has been broken at least twice, and his hair is shorn close to the scalp—which also displays more ragged scars.
I avert my attention away from the Illari guard and pay attention to the young man dressed in red, who has somehow managed to quiet everyone. His tone is soft and almost soothing. There’s a quiet power to his voice, despite how he appears to be only a few years older than I am.
“I know you’re all frightened,” he says. “As your leader, I promise I’ll find a way forward. But we must work together. This latest news is alarming—”
“What’s your plan?” someone asks.
“How do we keep our people safe?” another cries.
“Where is my husband?” a woman says. “It’s been days.”
“I mourn their loss,” Sonco says. “And I’m hopeful they’ll be found. For now, I ask that everyone remain calm. Turn to our gods for comfort. They will provide it, I assure you.”
I hear the regret and sadness entrenched in every syllable. Manuel and I exchange glances. They must be referring to the parts of the jungle that are dying.
“However, we cannot be caught unaware. If the corrupted area grows, we must send more scouts.”
“Another mission?” someone balks. “Didn’t you lose good people bringing the strangers into our city?”
Several people turn to glare at us. I shift my feet and drop my gaze.
“This will be a different objective,” Sonco says smoothly. “The group will only venture there to observe and report back their findings.” He hesitates. “That’s not to say it won’t be dangerous.”
“What about the dark magic?”
The hairs on my arm stand on end. I go up onto my tiptoes, trying to find who’s asked the question. Manuel nudges me and points.
It was Chaska.
I look at Manuel and mouth, Wow. He nods, then his gaze flickers back to her.
“Did you hear the way some have died?” Chaska asks. “Their bodies torn apart. Arms and legs pulled from their sockets. That isn’t the work of a wild animal. This is a monster the likes of which we’ve never seen. This threat is too close to the city entrance.”
Sonco’s jaw locks.
“If you send out another group, I’ll be going as well,” she demands.
But the Illari leader is already shaking his head. “It’s much too dangerous. We cannot lose someone with your immeasurable talent. You’re our only seer.”
She stills. And then, incredibly, her head tilts and half turns toward where I’m standing. Manuel positions himself closer to me, frowning.
“She can’t mean …” I breathe.
He scowls. “She absolutely does.”
Sonco continues his reassurances. “This time we will send our finest trackers to learn more about the area affected. The more information we have, the better we can plan.”
I nod along with him. It’s a sensible strategy.
“Who will go?” he asks quietly. “I need five. Perhaps six people.”
Chaska immediately raises her hand. Sonco shoots her a disbelieving look. “I said no.”
She drops her arm.
No one else indicates they’re willing to risk their lives for the mission. Dark magic? A monster capable of ripping limbs? I don’t blame anyone for remaining quiet.
Then comes a gravelly voice from the front of the room. “I’ll go.”
For a moment no one says a word. Sonco’s shoulders tense, then he halfway turns to the man behind him, leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. I honestly thought he’d been asleep.
“You’ve only just returned.”
The man shrugs. His eyes are still shut. “You need men. I’ve gone before and at least know what to expect.”
“Brother,” Sonco says. “No.”
The man’s eyes fly open. This is the only part of his face that has any real beauty: His eyes are large and luminous, the color of golden amber, framed by thick black eyelashes that could be raven’s wings.
Sonco must see something there because he angrily turns back around. “Will no one go with him?”
Manuel twitches next to me and I shoot him a sidelong glance. His sense of honor and fairness are on full display. His hand is up to his waist.
“Don’t even think about it,” I whisper.
He scowls. “They need volunteers.”
“That doesn’t mean it has to be you.” I nudge him with my shoulder. “Who’s going to keep me safe among these strangers if you’re not here?”
Manuel immediately drops his arm.
A few more people’s hands shoot upward, including the man standing next to me. He’s older, and the frowning woman at his side is none too pleased. But his face tells me everything—he stares proudly at Sonco’s brother, admiring and a little in awe.
Sonco acknowledges the three volunteers then once again turns to the man behind him. “Is that enough, Kusi?”
“It will have to be.” He pushes away from the wall. “To the people coming with me, we’ll leave tomorrow at dawn.”
He resumes his position on the wall. Sonco gazes at him fondly, but there’s something else in his expression too. It’s the same way I looked at Ana every time she left for a mission into La Ciudad, searching for food or information—a perfect blend of pride and fear.
“Thank you for your time,” Sonco says. “I ask that you return to your homes and for only the council to remain. We have guests I need to meet.”
Kusi’s gaze unerringly finds mine through the crowd. His attention catches me by surprise, and the only thing I can think to do is smile at him. I hope I look confident.
His face remains remote.
Everyone else shuffles out, glancing at us curiously. Many others frown, and I remember they’ve never had strangers among them. We’re the first—perhaps in centuries—who’ve made it to Paititi. The remaining ten people sit on the floor in a circle. They leave two empty spaces for Manuel and me.
Together we sink to the floor and face the Illari.