I resume paddling, and it strikes me that I’ll never discover the many secrets hidden in this place—I won’t be here long enough. The idea makes me unaccountably sad. I shake off the feeling and concentrate on doing my part. Luna’s light slips off the boat’s wooden frame, washing it in a cool glow. The water churns, and I have to fight to keep our canoe straight and true along the current.
“A caimán follows us,” Manuel says calmly from behind.
I whirl around in my seat. “How big?” I don’t know why I ask. If it were only one foot in length, I’d still be afraid.
He keeps his attention focused behind us. “Nine feet maybe.”
“Respect him, and he will respect you,” Chaska says. “Continue paddling, traveler.”
“Catalina,” I mutter, but do what she says. Manuel half turns his head toward me, the corners of his mouth kicking up, and my heart does an odd flip in my chest. The careful boundaries he’s placed between us have melted away. As if he’s realized that things may look very different in the future, and there’s no sense in putting up walls where there need not be any.
We continue on our journey, the caimán following our boat like the long stretch of tail dragging behind a lizard. We make turn after turn on the flat, wide river, curving around bends and floating past smaller inlets that bleed from the main one.
Manuel misses nothing, studying every turn of the canoe with great interest, while keeping one eye trained on the caimán. I’d bet my life he could lead us back to where we first embarked.
Chaska directs me to take a left turn, and the moment we do, a large waterfall comes into view. She maneuvers us closer. The roar fills my ears, thundering loud and constant as it pours into a plunge pool. Rocky outcroppings jut forward on either side of the falls, and moss clings to the thick tree trunks. The waterfall is several feet wide, a frothy, angry wall daring adventurers to come closer. Branches peppered with thick leaves hang above the pool, forming a dense canopy. We draw closer, and the mist slides against my skin, dampening my hair. I try to override Chaska’s movements, but she’s quicker and stronger.
“Straight,” she says. “We go through.”
“Through?”It seems I can never escape the water. What if the boat fills up too quickly? We might sink, and as far as I know, there might be other monsters waiting below.
“I won’t repeat myself.”
Manuel drops a light hand onto my shoulder, and I immediately relax. I might be caught in a whirlwind, but he manages to calm the storm. He’ll keep me safe. I hand my oar over to him as Chaska gives me a reproachful look, then I clutch either side of the canoe.
“I’m not a strong swimmer,” I tell her.
She isn’t surprised, nor does she seem to care. She swivels around on the bench, once again facing forward. We pass under the waterfall curtain and the beating hammers the top of my head, my shoulders, my lap. Water seeps into my shoes, fills the boatandmy ears, slicks my hair to my scalp. When we come out on the other side, I’m spluttering and shaking.
I blink to clear my vision and gasp. We’re in a cave. Ahead, several other canoes bob against the edge of a rocky pier. Two people wait with spears, dressed in shades of dark blue, with long sleeves and gold fringe at the bottom of their tunics. On their feet are leather sandals with straps that climb all the way up to their knees. Thick belts around their hips store slingshots and knives, and strapped to their backs are bundles of feathered arrows.
Neither of them are smiling.
Chaska and Manuel guide us closer to the pier, and the two Illari help attach the boat to a wooden pole with a short length of hemp rope. I climb out, fumbling and wobbly, and without the assistance of either of them. Manuel leaps out—gracefully, of course—and stands close to my side, staring down the men.
Once Chaska is out of the canoe, they turn and head into a tunnel, lit by blazing torches every twenty feet or so. I’m sopping wet and my shoes make a squishy noise with every step. Manuel is drenched too, but his movements are still dead silent. The walls of the cave are bumpy. In every crack, fingerlings of tree roots fight through. Water drips from fissures in the ceiling. The smells of wet stone and spongey greenery coat everything.
The opening of the cave widens, and excitement pulses in my blood. I’m about to present my case to the Illari. I’ll have to convince them to help me reclaim my throne. What will I say? I’ve only thought about surviving, about getting here. I discard one thought after another, praying to Luna that the words will come.
They don’t. My mind is blank—a crumpled-up piece of paper, every line a rotten idea.
Manuel glances over his shoulder and stops when I do. He raises his brow. “All right?”
“I’m going to have to speak to their leader,” I whisper.
“You’re justnowthinking of this?”
“Of course not. Only, until this moment, I hadn’t thought it’d be a reality.”
Chaska doubles back for us. “We must press on.”
Manuel turns to her and says something low and fast in Quechua. She blinks up at him, nods once, then backs away, giving us space to talk.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I told her that you needed help with the language,” he says. “You want to sound respectful to their leader.”
“Oh.”
