The Shadow Cats

9




“LUPITA, you must help me,” I say. “I need you to bind up my ankle as tight as possible.”

“How?” she whispers.

I start untying the stays on either side of my stiff leather vest. “With this. Here, help me get it off.”

Her fingers are more nimble than mine, and her hands shake less. In a few moments, we have it off and the two pieces separated. The front piece is shaped oddly, the rawhide sculpted to my curves, but it has a little more flexibility than the back.

Outside, the Perditos argue loudly. I feel a desperate need to hurry, even if I don’t know my next step.

“Now the sleeves of my shirt,” I say. They are also held on with laces. I wince when Lupita’s efforts scrape at my injured shoulder and breathe relief when she’s done pulling the sleeves off my arms. I tie them together and wrap them crosswise around my ankle. I need three times their length, but it will have to do.

I grab the front half of my vest. “We need to roll this up. Leather armor is not very flexible, so you’ll have to press hard.” I show her what I mean and hand it to her. “We’ll wrap it around my lower leg, as low as we can and as tight as we can, and then we’ll tie it in place. Can you do that?”

“Yes—”

A scream of anguish echoes from below. Lupita’s gaze darts outside; then she twitches toward the deeper part of the cave. She is confused, frightened, ready to go in every direction at once.

“Right here, stay with me, Lupita. I need you to be strong for me. Are you ready?”

Telling someone else to be strong is exactly what I need. When she nods, courage fills my own chest.

I unroll the vest just enough to slip it over my ankle, stifling a groan of pain. I take a deep breath. “Ready, Lupita? Make it as tight as you can. Don’t be afraid to hurt me.”

She presses down on the vest piece, rolling as she goes. “Harder,” I tell her between gritted teeth. “Tighter.”

When it’s as tight as I can bear, I wrap the laces from my vest around it and knot them. I test the brace by pressing my foot against the cave wall. The pain is not nearly as bad as when the ankle was flopping uselessly.

The brace will do little to support it, but I hope it will shore up the exhausted muscles and tendons holding it in place. Maybe, just maybe, I’ll be able to walk on it a little.

Lupita and I crawl back to the lip of the cave and peek outside, careful to keep our faces in the shadows. I wish we had not.

I cover the girl’s mouth, but only to keep myself from screaming. Zito is on his knees, his arms bound behind him. One man holds him by the hair. Another places an arrow, its iron tip glowing red, against his blistering, blackening cheek. A bloody hole in his face marks the spot where Zito’s right eye used to be.

The Perdito shifts the arrow tip to beneath his remaining eye.

“Who was with you, and where have they gone?” the Perdito says.

“It was the queen of Orovalle,” Zito answers, laughing. “And she is a hawk, soaring above all of you.”

The bandit presses the glowing arrowhead into Zito’s cheek, and blood runs down his chin as he screams. Tears stream down my face.

“Look away, Lupita,” I say. Her eyes are wide, and her shoulders shake. I turn her head against my chest and pull her close, then bury my face in her hair. “You should not see this.”

“She is a horse no man can catch, galloping across the desert,” Zito says. “She is—” He screams again.

“Pack everything up, we move out now,” the Perdito says.

“Cut his throat,” comes the animagus’ slippery voice, and his preternatural calm is more chilling than all the rage in the world.

“Do it yourself, Chato,” the Perdito leader answers. “Use him to work your blood magic. But someone was with him, so I suggest you make quick work of it before Paxón’s men hunt us down.”

I dare to peek from the cave’s entrance. The Perdito gestures to the others to leave.

The animagus hisses, catlike, and the sound is so wild and inhuman that I shrink against the rock wall at my back. “The leash holding back the spring must be renewed daily,” he says. “All our work is wasted if we leave now. The land will heal itself quickly.”

“And all our work is wasted if we’re dead,” the Perdito says. Then he and his men melt into the jungle, opposite the direction of Khelia Castle.

The animagus glares after them a moment, then prods Zito with the end of his staff. My steward groans and twitches, and relief fills me.

I scramble backward, dragging Lupita with me. “Are you sneaky?” I whisper. “Are you fast?”

“Yes,” she answers uncertainly.

“Espiritu is dead, and the bad men have gone away, all but that one. We cannot let him escape. I need you to run back to the castle and tell everyone.”

She shakes her head. I understand her fear, but she must do this. I reach for her arm and give what I hope is a reassuring squeeze.

“You can sneak down on the shadowed side, hiding between the rocks. And then you must race back to the castle and tell your tía Calla everything.”

“I’m scared.”

“Of course you are. So am I. And Lady Calla is scared for you too. And your grandmother and grandfather. But I cannot run back to the castle, not with my ankle. You’re the only one who can do this. You must save your aunt by warning her about the Perditos.”

I should hate myself for manipulating her this way, but I don’t. I watch carefully as the fear on her face transmutes into something else. It’s that same steely look Elisa gets when I’m about to scold her.

Not sullenness, I understand suddenly. Bravery.

Together we crawl to the lip of the cave. Zito sits in the center of the meadow, curled up on himself, panting. Around him, the animagus traces lines in the earth with the glowing end of his staff, a task that requires all his focus. I nod at Lupita and push her out of the cave. She freezes for just an instant, then turns and slips over the boulders as quietly as the moonrise.

I watch her go, ready to leap out after her if the animagus notices her, but she disappears into the jungle. I exhale relief, but it is short-lived. The animagus circles Zito as if in a trance, chanting as he drags his staff through the lines he drew, over and over again. They begin to glow with bluish light, and I feel sickness rise like a miasma from the earth. When it is done, I will have lost my chance to save my steward, however small it might be. My heart kicks in my chest.

I ease out from the cave and crouch among the boulders. My fingers close on a rock, the only weapon at hand. My ankle screams at me to stop, but I creep forward over the rocks as quickly and as quietly as I can. Gravel clatters down the slope. Surely he will hear. Surely he will look up.

I am not quick enough. The chant slows. The light in the animagus’ staff blinks out. The glowing lines fade.

I’ve reached the meadow, but I’m too far away as he puts the knife to Zito’s throat. I burst into a sprint, every stride an arrow of torment up my leg. But I will not falter. I will not fail.

The animagus whirls, eyes wide. He raises both staff and knife to defend himself.

I scream like the jaguar, raw and anguished, like a predator that will not be denied, and he freezes for the merest instance.

I leap and smash the rock across his head.

He falls, and I fall on top of him. I pound his head, feeling the bones crack underneath, until red and gray splash with each blow. I toss the bloody rock away, and grab the staff from his still-tight grip. I snap it across my knee, and throw the pieces into the underbrush.

Gasping, I hold my hands up to the light, shocked at the torrent of violence that flowed so easily from them. My knuckles bleed, and my right palm is scraped raw. I look down at the animagus’ broken form, sickened at the mess I have made. And I watch, half in terror, half in relief, as his body shrivels before my eyes, like a piece of fruit left too long in the sun.

All the sickness and decay that flowed out of his ritual moments ago rushes back like a tide, flowing over and around me, until I am swimming in it. I fall to my hands and knees and vomit long past the time my stomach is empty.

The sickness fades, like mist dissipating in the warming sun, leaving the scents of rich soil and moist bark and morning glory blooms. They are good scents. Clean scents.

“Zito,” I say, crawling toward him because I cannot stand. “Zito.”

“Alodia! What happened?” He turns his face to me, but the angle is not quite right, like he’s looking at someone behind me.

I reach for his tied wrists. “Stop moving so I can untie you.”

“Alodia,” he whispers. “Just let me die.”

“We’re going back to the castle.” His bonds are soaked in blood. My fingers fumble as I work the slimy knots.

“Without my eyes, what am I? Even less of a man than I was before.”

I want to slap sense into him, but I am done hitting things today. Tears roll from my eyes. “Idiot. None of my guards are half the man you are. I can’t make it without you.”

“Alodia—”

“Shut up.” My hands are shaking hard, but I finally untie the knots that bind his hands. “You’re my best friend, Zito, and I need you.”

“You don’t need anyone,” he says, rubbing his wrists.

“I need you,” I repeat, wiping my nose on my bare arm. But such a declaration is too raw for me, no matter how true, so I add, “I can’t walk on my own. I need you to lean on. Once we get back to the castle, you can crawl off and die.” I find his spear on the ground and thrust it toward him. “So stop whining and get on your damn feet.”

I can’t tell if he’s laughing or choking, and I don’t care. He leverages himself up, then runs his hands along the length of his spear, as if getting to know it all over again.

He holds out his arm. “I can’t see the way, Alodia,” he says. “I suppose we need each other right now.”

Half a dozen inappropriate replies jump to the tip of my tongue, but I keep my mouth firmly closed. We link arms and hobble back the way we came.