Page 82 of The Lost Guardian

“Yes, but what are they?” Ali asked. “What does it say?”

“No one knows for sure.” Santiago smiled. That was the best part. He felt like he was floating. “So much of Andean history remains to be unpuzzled. Maybe they tell stories or document histories. They could be recordings of songs or dances or poetry.” He tore his gaze away from the stone to look at Ali. “Some people think they’re maps.”

Her eyes flashed, like a lynx spotting prey. “A map would be nice.”

There was no doubt in Santiago’s mind that this was their next clue.

“Can you read it?” Ali asked him.

Santiago shook his head, then moved to shove back his hair when the motion flopped it over his face. Ali caught his arm before he could.

“Charcoal,” she said, fingers curled around his wrist.

The adrenaline of discovery morphed into a different sort of excitement. When Santiago looked down at their hands, Ali quickly dropped his and took a step back.

“Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat. “You’re saying you can’t read the images?”

“I don’t know yet,” Santiago admitted, shaking off the feel of Ali’s skin against his own and returning to the problem of the petroglyphs. “It doesn’t make sense…”

“The images don’t make sense?” Ali asked.

“Not just the images—the entire thing.”

Santiago’s brows drew together, the edge of his mouth sneaking up despite himself. Curious…

“Like I said, we don’t know much about who created the petroglyph walls or why. But most of them are closer to one thousand years old, possibly a product of the Wari culture.”

Ali sucked her teeth. “And for those of us who aren’t in the middle of our doctorates?”

“It means they predate the Inca Empire,” he explained. “And why would a culture that existed hundreds of years before Atahualpa’s death create a map to his grave? I mean, the Quechua on the paper and in the Ransom Room I can understand. Guardianes could have created those clues far after the Inca Empire to preserve the path. But this…” He let his voice trail off.

“You’re saying this would have been made before the Inca? Before Atahualpa?”

“Exactly,” Santiago affirmed. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Ali prodded.

Santiago grinned. “Unless the Guardianes were very, very clever and added this here later. I mean, I certainly can’t tell you how old these are, not without modern carbon dating.”

“You think the Guardianes mimicked earlier writing—or whatever this is—in order to hide the next clue?”

Santiago nodded, scanning the images hungrily.

“Okay, and that would be a good thing because?” Ali asked.

“Because that means I can decipher it,” Santiago answered.

…

It wasn’t long before Santiago’s confidence tumbled down the mountainside. He could practically hear it shattering to pieces miles below them. He buried his face in his palms, the satisfaction of problem-solving crumbling under the weight of his anxieties.

Six hundred million. That was roughly the population of Latin America, nearly all of whom had some Spanish blood at this point. And that wasn’t counting the conquistadores’ descendants back in Europe. Six hundred million people will die if I can’t crack this code.

They’ll die in three. Fucking. Days.

How? Would they all just collapse, eradicated by the curse? Or would they be cut down by more ghostly warriors?

His breaths were shallow, but it had nothing to do with the altitude this time. Already, spots were forming at the edges of his vision. He had to force the thought from his mind or he’d collapse under the pressure.