Every single one of them.
“What just happened?” I ask, clutching Manuel’s arm.
“Shhh,” he says, tilting his head. We listen for signs of the Illari’s approach, but there’s nothing. No more yelling, or the whistle of arrows. The gradual song of the jungle returns.
“I think … I think they’ve gone,” he says. “Maybe to investigate the birds?”
“What could have killed them all?” I ask. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Whatever it was, it most likely saved our lives.” Manuel studies the river. “Can you swim?”
The Illustrian fortress is surrounded by mountains at the rear, and an abysm several hundred feet deep at the front. No water anywhere. Even if I wanted to, there’s never been enough to drink my fill, let alone swim in. I shake my head.
“Can you float?” he asks. “It’s easy—just flip onto your back, keep your arms outstretched, and position your body parallel to the water. Your head is half in the water, chin lifted up—”
“I don’t know how to do it.”
“Fine,” he says. “Can you cook?”
I glance away, a flush rising to my cheeks. I can boil water and eggs, but that’s it. Every attempt leads to burnt bread and tasteless mush. Somehow I don’t think he’d like any of that. “No.”
“Well, we have your telescope,” he says, brightening.
I nearly crumble. What will he say when he learns that I’m not much of a seer? Yet another thing I can’t do. Shame climbs up my throat, spreads across my cheeks, and makes my eyes burn. My education didn’t prepare me for the jungle—or basic survival.
“We’re stuck here. Want to learn how to cook?”
“What?Now?”
“The sun will set in the next hour and we need to build a shelter to spend the night. We can’t be anywhere near the river during dusk.”
“Why not?”
“Caimán feeding hour. And the piranhas.” He reaches for my pack, and I hand it to him. “I’ll hunt for food.” He flips the machete, handle in my direction. “Take it and cut down thin liana vines for me to use.”
I take the weapon, my hand dropping automatically because of its weight. “What if there are more of them out there?”
But Manuel shakes his head. “We’d be dead if there were.”
The rain is a soft patter now. I swallow hard and avoid looking at the water where stingrays live buried in the mud, and schools of bone-scouring fish hunt in the depths. “Are we going to cross the river?”
“We have to in order to find Paititi.”
I squint into the gloom. “Do you think we’ll make it to the lost city?”
His expression turns stony. “I told you, the odds are stacked against us, Condesa. Cut those vines, I’ll be close. Scream if you need me.” Manuel turns, but pauses for a moment. “Remember to look carefully where you touch. Only the liana. And stay around here, on the bank.”
I nod.
Then he bounds up the bank, vanishing behind the trees. No arrows come. I shudder at the sight of all those birds falling from the sky as one. What kind of monster could have killed so many at once? What else is out there? Terror makes my skin crawl. I want to yell Manuel’s name the moment he disappears from my line of sight. The churning water roars in my ears, and somewhere close by the monkeys begin their howling. Mosquitos swarm around me, happy now that the rain has let up. Steaming fog curls around the tree trunks, hissing softly.
I hate this place. Hate how the ground slithers, how the lethal water runs like veins throughout the jungle. But I won’t let it defeat me—I can’t fail again. I can’t be as weak and useless as they all think. I take a step forward and another, until I’m close to the end of the bank. Vines hang from nearly every branch, or lie spooling on the ground. The machete is awkward in my smooth palms, nothing like the slim daggers I’m used to. I squint into the green darkness and catch sight of thinner vines. I’m close enough to inspect nearly every visible inch of the plant, and seeing nothing threatening or with sharp teeth, I swipe at several all at once. They plop onto the ground. Manuel didn’t say how many he’d need, but this has to be enough.
I scoop up the vines, and half carry, half drag them back toward the bank. I’m several feet away when something shrieks, the noise slicing the air. A mewling cry follows.
Whatever it is, it isn’t human.
I don’t think.
