Page 77 of The Lost Guardian

Two hours and one bandaged arm later, the sun chased away any wispy remnants of the early morning fog. They were well enough into the wild expanse of the Andes that even the memory of modern civilization was well behind them.

Despite that, they hadn’t seen anything resembling the first waka. Santiago’s fingers itched to take out his sketchbook and check the drawings for the sixteenth time—but by now he had memorized the image. Five circles, spiky with lines, arranged in a crescent.

They just hadn’t found it.

Santiago had yet to get used to the elevation, but he stopped trying to hide his heavy breathing, so at least their progress was steady, if not quiet. The adrenaline that had heightened his strength and senses at the sacrificial stone had evaporated hours ago, leaving his muscles weary with near-death exhaustion.

A dip in the Inca Baths would be great right about now, he thought to himself.

Guilt immediately knotted his stomach. He had left José in a battle to the death, and he was lamenting over a sore body.

Santiago sighed.

“Let’s take a short break,” Ali suggested, setting down her backpack and sitting on a moss-covered boulder.

He sat next to her, rolling out his ankles.

“Have some water,” she ordered, motioning toward his canteen. She sipped from her own. “Dehydration doesn’t go well with altitude sickness.”

“I’m fine,” Santiago grumbled, but did as he was told. After his panting breaths, the water did feel nice in his dry mouth.

They were quiet for a long moment.

“I take it you haven’t done much hiking or camping before?” Ali said.

Santiago stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, inexplicably defensive.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know I may look like a huge nerd,” he said, parroting the words he’d heard for most of his life. “But I actually do love the outdoors. I told you I did as a kid. And I rock climb now, indoor and outdoor, to be prepared for when Dr. Silva decides to take me on a dig. I also kayak when I can, in case the expedition ends up in the Amazon.” Santiago huffed.

“No, I really didn’t mean—” Ali started, but he waved her off.

“I’m sorry.” He deflated just as quickly. “I shouldn’t have reacted like that. I’m stressed about José.”

“I just didn’t think that a city boy would have a lot of opportunities for camping, that’s all,” Ali said, and he hated that he had made her meek. “But it sounds like you’ve always been outdoorsy.”

Santiago fiddled with the water bottle in his hands.

“Not always,” he admitted. “When I was ten, my father tried to take me fishing. Probably because TV told him it was what American fathers and sons did.”

“I take it by your tone that it didn’t go well?” Ali asked.

Santiago laughed ruefully. “I hated it. Sitting on the boat might not have been so bad, but I wasn’t even allowed to read while we waited for bites. I wasn’t allowed to speak much, either, as it would ‘scare away the fish.’ We had to just sit there, staring. When, by pure accident, I actually caught something, my dad was so excited that he took over reeling it in for me. Which was fine.”

Santi winced at the memory, and at his choice to overshare it, but he was in too deep to stop the story now. “And then—because neither of us knew any better—we didn’t put the poor thing out of its misery. Instead, we watched as it slowly suffocated.”

The image had haunted Santiago for years. Even now, decades later, it filled his heart with regret.

“It took a while before I got back into it all again.” He shrugged, feigning that the moment didn’t still bother him. “But then I fell in love with the outdoors, with being in nature. I even became an Eagle Scout, remember?” He chuckled, throwing up the salute. “Though I never did go fishing again.”

“I promise not to make you go fishing,” Ali swore solemnly, mimicking the salute.

That drew a more honest laugh from him.

“If it weren’t for the altitude, I’d really be enjoying this,” he said. “I used to love hiking, before Trish.”

“Who’s Trish?” Ali cocked her head at him.