“Because I felt the same,” he says. “Come on.”
I take one last look at the desolated jungle then hurry after Manuel, the cold seeping into my bones. And my heart. We’re almost out of the dead forest when someone cries out—in pain. Manuel immediately comes to my side and raises his machete. Ahead a few paces, Chaska whirls around and gracefully drops to one knee, an arrow already notched in her bow.
Her lips part. “One of the guards is missing.”
My stomach lurches. She’s right—the two remaining guards spin, their spears raised as they cry out for their missing companion. In every direction there’s only dense, dusty fog shrouding the dead wood.
“I don’t understand. He was justhere,” I say.
“Shhh,” Manuel says. “Let me listen.”
Chaska remains on the ground, arrow moving steadily, her gaze narrowed. She hisses something in rapid Quechua, but I miss it. We are still and quiet, and I’m painfully aware of my weaponless state. If only I hadsomething—
Pale hands reach from within the fog and yank another guard into the thick mist. The Illari warrior goes screaming. The noise rattles my pulse, makes it leap and race. Manuel takes my hand and drags me away as Chaska shoots her arrow. There’s a loud thwack as it hits a tree. The remaining guard runs after his friend, hollering a war cry.
Everything happens so fast. I don’t have time to think, concentrating only on staying upright as I’m pulled back into the vivid green of the jungle, hot and steaming and completely alive. Long minutes go by, Manuel panting at my side, his weapon raised. We stare into the cold, waiting for our companions. Chaska finally bursts into view, searching frantically for the missing guards.
“Have they come?” she demands.
I shake my head. They have not.
CAPÍTULO
Diecinueve
Chaska reluctantly motions for us to continue our journey. As we trek farther into the lush green land, my skin warms up. I welcome the heat. My teeth stop chattering, and I can feel my toes again. Even the jungle song warms my heart, the trill and chirps from birds filling the air.
But we do not slow, or linger. Chaska constantly looks over her shoulder.
“Manuel,” I mutter. “I don’t understand. What took them?”
He has no answer, and neither must our guide, because she, too, remains silent. We move at a brisk pace, and slowly, the sense of danger drops to a persistent thrum in my veins. It’s hard to remember the frigid cold when you’re sweating profusely. From somewhere above, a monkey follows our trek and occasionally drops fruit in front of my feet. Apples and oranges, a mango. I pick up each and smile up at the generous creature, with its walnut-colored fur and white ears.
I am enchanted.
The first bite of orange makes me groan. The tart flavor bursts in my mouth, and even as the mosquitos flutter in my face, they don’t lessen the enjoyment. I hand Manuel and Chaska a slice, and we eat orange after orange as we walk, the juice making our fingers sticky. The terrain slopes downward and my ears pick up the sound of running water. My stomach lurches. I’ve had enough adventures with water to last a lifetime.
We reach the sandbank, and I immediately search for caimánes. Chaska veers toward a thorny grove of plants with long leaves and stems, and then drags a canoe from within the tangled brush. It’s about as tall as Manuel, perhaps around six feet. There are three wooden benches inside. I help push the boat off the muddy bank, careful not to step a toe in the water. Chaska and I climb in from opposite sides. Manuel pushes us off then jumps inside. There are two oars tucked along the edge of the canoe, and when Chaska attempts to pass me one, Manuel holds out his hand instead.
“I’ll do it,” he says.
She shakes her head. “She’ll never learn if she doesn’t try.”
I take the oar. “I’ve paddled before.”
Chaska smiles. “Then you’ll only get better.” And then she dips the oar into the water, barely skimming the surface. After a few clumsy attempts, I manage to imitate her movements and we glide toward the middle of the river. A large shape leaps up from the depths and lands with a loud splash.
“Look!” I exclaim. Manuel leans outward, his hand curling over the slim railing, to see where I’m pointing as another one jumps out of the water.
“Pink river dolphins,” Chaska says. “Legend says they are the guardians of the underwater city of Encante.”
My jaw drops. “Does such a place exist?”
“Seeing as I cannot breathe underwater, it’s hard to know for sure,” she says wryly. “Those who are invited never return to the land.”
“Then how do you know that’s where they’ve been?”
“Because we have seen the pink river dolphin transform into a man.” She sinks her oar into the water. “The jungle has many mysteries. Now, help me steer.”
