Page 58 of The Lost Guardian

Santiago tried to stay awake, he really did. He wanted to keep Ali better company on the long trip, feeling guilty that she had done all the driving thus far. Unfortunately, the late night, and the giant day before it, caught up to him. The soft notes of a charango over the cracking radio and the car’s gentle rocking lulled him to sleep.

When he awoke, the scenery had shifted once again. The plain desert fields had given way to jagged foothills. Mountains jutted proudly from the earth, reaching defiantly toward the sky, as if trying to touch the very heavens.

The Andes, Santiago thought. He had always longed to see them in person.

Their vastness was indescribable, each snow-capped peak stamped farther out into the horizon. As they drove on, they approached the very edge of a rock face, twisting around the mountain’s bulk in a winding, pale ribbon.

The more they climbed, the narrower the trail became. On one side, the looming cliff caged them in; on the other…nothing but precipice. Santiago squeezed his eyes shut as Ali took a narrow turn, wheels dangerously close to the escarpment.

The car creaked and moaned through their ascent, and Santiago imagined the tired old engine was complaining.

The air grew cool and thin as they rose. Soon, the weight of their meteoric height pressed against his chest. His breaths shallowed—though Santiago couldn’t be sure if it was the altitude or his own mounting anxiety over the driving conditions.

He could see from her pinched expression that even the unshakable Ali wasn’t enjoying them.

Rocks and gravel propelled down the side of the mountain, ejected from their tire treads with startling force.

This is where I die, he thought to himself.

And then the mountains released their hold, inviting them into the long and tranquil valley below. In the center of this natural cradle sat a city, larger than Santiago had expected.

Cajamarca.

Santiago inhaled deeply, the scent of pine and earth a welcome change from the stuffy car interior. With their destination well in sight, he could at last appreciate the haunting tranquility of the mountains.

A tapestry of deep emerald forests embraced them on all sides. They drove slowly, savoringly, Santiago’s body melting with relief against the car’s interior. Even Ali visibly relaxed, her shoulders gradually sinking back to their normal position.

A dark silhouette caught his eye, and he craned his neck to watch a condor fly in lazy arcs over the Andes highlands.

As their journey neared its close, the road branched into several paths, zigzagging across the plains like ancient scars carved into the skin of the earth. A calming eucalyptus joined the pine scent of the trees.

And then they reached the city, the bustle of civilization contrasting sharply with the gentle tranquility of the mountains. Santiago could admit he was glad to be back on what felt like solid ground—and cell service. They paused long enough to search the route to their destination.

“Ready?” Ali asked him.

No, he thought.

“Yes,” he said, willing it to be true.

18

“The Ransom Room is up ahead,” Ali said.

Excitement blossomed in Santiago’s chest, and the tips of his fingers tingled. He couldn’t believe that after so many years, he was finally here!

“Maybe we can go to the Baños del Inca after?” he suggested, unfastening his seat belt and exiting the car. “You said you went with your sister, right? Did you hear they predate even the Inca? In fact, the story goes that that’s where Atahualpa was when Francisco Pizarro and his men arrived.”

Together, he and Ali walked up the street.

“We have several different accounts from the Spanish of that meeting, of course,” he continued. “They claim that Atahualpa’s eighty thousand men were no match for their scant two hundred. And that the more ‘primitive’ army was easily overtaken. But during my dissertation research, I was able to speak to some Indigenous folk whose families have lived in this region for centuries. They tell a very different story.”

“Rios,” Ali said, but Santiago barely heard her.

“They say that the Spaniards were actually terrified of Atahualpa.” He’d always loved this particular story. “That Pizarro sent one of his men, Hernando de Soto, to confront the emperor at those very baths. But that Atahualpa seemed totally unaffected, and his nonchalant attitude deeply unsettled the conquistadores.”

“Rios,” Ali repeated.

“De Soto, intimidated by the lack of response, made his horse rear up, inches from Atahualpa’s head. ‘Close enough that the beast’s spittle landed on the emperor’s cheek,’ they claim.”