Ridge looked at him in awe. Centuries. A legacy handed down from generation to generation. What an awesome responsibility, and what room for treachery.
“Once you see the city, you will realize why it is impossible that any of my brethren could betray their duty,” Juan Miguel said as if he had plucked Ridge’s thoughts straight from his mind.
“You seem rather confident that we will reach Pagoria.”
Juan Miguel smiled. “It is as if you have trodden this path before, no?”
Ridge froze. How could the Spaniard know of Ridge’s memories, the images that haunted him, the uncanny sensation that hehadtraveled this way before?
Juan Miguel nodded his head forward. “There is the village just ahead. We will stop and rest before you continue your journey.”
Ridge followed Juan Miguel’s gaze and saw the outline of cottages, a church and several small buildings nestled in the sloping hills leading to the base of Mount Orion.
Juan Miguel’s words, of the village providing protection over Pagoria seemed amusing. Indeed, it looked more like Mount Orion loomed protectively over the village, guarding her inhabitants like a loving mum.
His eyes skirted over the terrain, beyond the village and to the mountain. Where could Pagoria lie? The country looked forbidding. Inhospitable. The village provided the last civilized layer to the rugged mountains that scraped the skyline.
His chest pounded a bit more at the thought of what lay ahead. An eternal city who despite insurmountable odds had stayed hidden from mankind for an indeterminate amount of time. Perhaps for all of time itself.
It stretched the parameters of his mind.
As they drew closer, India rode up beside him, her face a myriad of conflicting emotions. Their arrival sparked interest among the villagers as several came out of their cottages to stare at the group of travelers.
They rode farther into the center of the tiny town, and more of the inhabitants filtered out, their expressions wary. The women were similarly adorned as their English counterparts, but the men all wore dark green tunics and black trousers.
But more noteworthy were the identical tattoos found on each of their arms. Just like the one Juan Miguel sported and the man who had approached them in England.
He glanced over at India who had also viewed the tattoos, and his surprise was mirrored on her face.
“This is your home,” India said softly.
“Si,” Juan Miguel replied.
“How long have your people been guardians?” she asked.
Ridge looked expectantly at Juan Miguel, but the Spaniard merely smiled.
“How long we have is not as important as how long we will.”
They rode up to a modest, whitewashed cottage and Juan Miguel dismounted.
“Come, have dinner in my home and we will pray for your safe journey to the city.”
Ridge looked at India who shrugged and slid from her horse. He climbed down and allowed a young boy who scampered up to take his mount. Robby shuffled forward, his features strained. Ridge’s heart sank. The journey had been too much for his brother.
A smiling young woman met them at the door, and Juan Miguel bent to kiss her. He turned back to Ridge, India and Robby.
“This is my wife, Rosario.”
“Welcome to our home,” Rosario said, her dark eyes flashing with warmth.
“Papa! Papa!”
Shrieks of joy resonated throughout the house as two small children ran head long into Juan Miguel’s legs.
“Ahh my little ones, it is good to be home. Have you been good for your mother?” Juan Miguel said as he stooped to gather the two boys into his arms.
“Si, Papa!” they chorused, their heads bobbing up and down.
