“Pachamama does not.” Chaska gently sweeps aside a thick vine blocking our way. “There is no control here, outsider. Only balance. Everything is carefully weighed. We all have a place. I did not think you belonged—you cannot bear the heat, I suspect you are a bad runner, and you’re unable to take a deer or even a rabbit. But the vulture king says you’re worthy. We shall see.”
“I would appreciate it if you called me by my given name.” I have nothing else to say. Every word is true. I want to remain angry—for her putting us through those tests, for pointing out my shortcomings—but I can’t blame the Illari for defending themselves. Not when my family couldn’t maintain our people’s safety from the Llacsans.
I chance a look behind me. Manuel follows along in our wake, his weapon in his hands. He meets my gaze and jerks his chin to the right. I look to where he’s indicating, but all I can see are more mammoth trees tucked side by side like books on a shelf.
¿Qué?I mouth.
Manuel rolls his eyes. “Watch where you’re going.”
I turn around in time to catch myself before stumbling over a massive root.
We continue on the pathless green, and my mind circles back to the spirits Chaska mentioned. I think about the bloody butterflies and the sorcerer by the river who transformed into a caimán. Every incident felt like a defense against our presence. We are not wanted here—and yet the vulture gave his permission for us to stay.
Why?
Chaska guides us through a valley of branches and bark and rainbow-colored flowers. Hummingbirds shoot past, and spiderwebs glimmer high over our heads, draped across the branches like mosquito netting. Butterflies tangle in the sticky web, and I shudder as I pass. Chaska points to a large rubber tree covered in sap. At the base is a colony of inch-long black ants. Their sharp, squeaky noises make my skin crawl.
“The izula ant,” Chaska says. “Careful of that one. The worst pain I have ever known. Lasted a full day before I got my mind back.”
I quickly step away from the tree, and she laughs.
“They are guardians of the jungle. We use their poison against our enemies.”
I raise my brows. “Do they obey your command?”
Chaska shoots me a pitying look. “We do notcommandthe creatures of the jungle. But we know what they can do and hope they will act in the way Pachamama made them to act. That is the best we can hope for.”
“I’m still confused.”
“You do not listen,” she chides.
I’m about to respond when a sudden blast of cold wind slaps my cheeks. It’s frigid, and a chill skitters down my spine. “Did you feel that?”
Chaska nods. “It comes from the dying part of the forest.”
Manuel narrows his gaze. “The area we saw from the hill—we’re close?”
She raises her brow and beckons for us to follow. We do, if a little grudgingly. I don’t think I’m going to like what she has to show us.
As we walk, we’re bathed in a golden light with a greenish hue, our clothes cast in the same color, as if the jungle has enchanted us. The wind turns colder, and at first I welcome winter’s touch—let it kiss my mouth, dust my eyelids, and tousle my hair.
But then its kiss turns into a feral bite.
I fold my arms across my chest, trying to shield my body from the blast. Under my feet, the jungle floor turns brittle white. I blink a few times, not understanding or believing what I’m seeing.
It’s utter and complete desolation.
A massive oak tree has fallen over and taken down several others with it. They lie broken and frozen across one another, locked in a frigid embrace. My teeth chatter as we follow Chaska past the cemetery of giants. Beyond, the decay stretches out, killing anything in its path. The jungle may not be a friend of mine, but I’m devastated regardless. It’s only after a few more steps that I finally notice what’s missing—other than the heat and the color green.
“Why is it so quiet?”
“Nothing lives here,” Chaska says.
She’s right. I haven’t heard a single hoot or croak or roar since we crossed into this eerie plain. I study the terrain and pick up a handful of the white-smudged dirt. I expect it to be freezing, but it’s not. Only the howling wind is. The ground feels gritty like coarse sand, almost silver in color, and gives off a subtle shimmer. It reminds me of something, but it’s so cold, I’m having a hard time thinking straight.
Even the Illari guards tremble. They gather around us, alert and watchful. I can sense they’re uneasy with our distance from cover. The wind lifts the dust beneath our feet and thickens the air, blurring our vision. We can hardly see ten feet in front of us. I tip my head back, frowning. It’s a clear night, but because of the swirling dust, it’s impossible to catch sight of the stars or Luna herself.
“Diosa.”Manuel walks over to the fallen trees. “They’re dead, and covered in the same dust as the ground.”
