“I don’t hear anything.”
He turns away from me, grabbing another bamboo stalk, and calls over his shoulder for me to follow him. The jungle’s heat clings to my skin, irritating the wounds across my shoulder blades. I can barely catch sight of Manuel as he darts through the forest, leading us down and away from camp. But then the trees spread farther apart, and at last Luna and all her glittering companions finally make an appearance through patches of wispy clouds. When I hold my hand up to my face, I can actually see it.
There might be a way for me to help, after all.
I call out to Manuel. He immediately stops and looks over his shoulder. I rummage in my bag and pull out my dented telescope. A smile breaks through Manuel’s grim features, like the dawn rising free from the horizon. He thinks I can finally be of some use.
Unease flickers through me.
He’s betting on me being a capable seer. But I’m not even that. I try not to let my dismay show—maybe by some miracle Luna will reveal her whole self to me, the stars perfectly aligning and staying in place long enough for me to interpret them. Manuel keeps away from me, giving me space to relax and empty my mind.
How many times has he watched me read the constellations? Watched me fail at nearly every attempt? The hope sparking in his gaze fills me with dread. He must think I’ve improved in the three years since he’s been gone.
I don’t want to disappoint him.
I drag in sips of warm air, and somehow it tastes sweet and clean. My breath fills my lungs, gently stretching and pulling, and then I exhale, releasing my worries. Slowly, I tilt my head back, my chin greeting the open sky, and I lift the telescope to my right eye. The magic pulses in my veins, wanting to connect and latch onto a current only I can see. It glides upward, riding the wind, searching for the faint lines between each glimmering star.
A scrambled word appears, then transforms into another and then another, shifting and changing, like curls of smoke coming from a burning candle. I want to lower the telescope in frustration, but I’m keenly aware of Manuel’s hopeful presence. Waiting for me to come through. To contribute and do something right.
My gaze remains on the heavens. Until, finally, my shoulders slump. I stuff the scope back into my bag, fingers shaking. I sense him take a step toward me.
“Well?”
I force myself to meet his eyes. They’re guarded once more, already shifting to our surroundings, as if remembering that he alone is responsible for our fate.
“Unclear,” I say, miserable.
His gaze flickers to mine. His voice is unfailingly kind. “It’s fine.”
It’s not the least bit fine. I know it, and he knows it. I’m the reason he’s here, and I can’t even lead us in the right direction.
“I can try again.”
“Let’s catch dinner.” He turns away, but not before I see his face. Worry is carved into his features, in every line, down to the set of his jaw. I want to hurl the telescope into the flat darkness, but I can’t make my fingers let go.
We’re lost in the jungle.
There’s nothing I can do about it.
I follow after him and the stream finally comes into view, Luna’s watery portrait glimmering on the surface. Manuel stops at the water’s edge and plucks his dagger from within his boot. He carves the end of the bamboo, shaping it into a sharp prong. I peer into the water, but because I have only Luna’s light, I can’t make out anything in the depths. Manuel’s vision at night is a whole other story.
“I can’t see the fish,” I mutter.
“Just because you can’t see them, doesn’t mean they aren’t watching you.”
He takes the dagger’s blade and slices his forearm—the cut is shallow, but I wince anyway. Then he wades into the water, staying close to the bank. He holds out his arm over the stream and blood drips into its depth. Next, he grips the bamboo with both hands and stares intently into the water.
Moments later the water churns, bubbling, and little fins splash the surface. The swarm of fish swims closer to Manuel and I hold my breath. With poised alertness, he lifts the bamboo high, prong side angled down, his feet spread apart, and then slams the stalk into the water. He leaps backward, coming out of the water and hurrying up the bank.
Something definitely writhes on the end of that bamboo stalk, the fish stabbed through the center, probably about a foot in length, maybe a bit more. I step closer as Manuel draws near. He’s caught a piranha. Moonlight glints off its shiny scales, and even in the dim ray of light, I can make out its teeth, each one shaped like the tip of a dagger. It snaps weakly in my general direction before it’s carried off by my companion.
We reach the campsite, my stomach growling. Manuel hands me the bamboo, the scary fish finally dead, and settles into starting the fire. I hold the stalk with one hand while I rummage in his pack for the pan, every now and again checking to make sure the piranha isn’t moving.
Manuel keeps the fire small and manageable, and I hand over the fish and the pan. He points to a rock close to the pit. “Have a seat. It will only be a minute.” He glances around, surveying our surroundings, his eyes a soft pearlescent glow. I’ve always envied his ability to see clearly in the dark, and even more so now that it’s keeping us safe. “There should be a lemon in my bag.”
I dig around and produce a naranja. He looks over and says, “That’ll work.”
He makes quick work of gutting the fish, ridding the bones and the skin. Then he drops it into the pan, where it promptly sizzles. “Remember how my mother made this amazing salsa to go with fish? Papaya and mango, thin slices of the locoto pepper. She likes everything spicy.” His expression clouds. “Liked. My motherlikedeverything spicy.”
