Page 21 of The Lost Guardian

“Yeah, it is,” Santiago agreed, the slightest smile pulling on his lips.

“But what does any of this have to do with you or her?” Brooke asked, jutting her chin out toward Ali.

Santiago winced. He noticed his hands were sweaty, and he wiped them over his shorts.

“That’s all the history, but it’s not the end of the story…” he said, trailing off into silence until Brooke’s brows knit together in confusion. “Abuelo Manco said that the Guardianes de la Tumba, or just ‘los Guardianes,’ have been guarding Atahualpa’s tomb across generations since his death. He also said…” He hesitated again.

“He said?” Brooke urged.

“He said that we were the descendants of those followers. He said it meant that we were also Guardianes,” Santiago finished.

In his letter, he said I was the last of them. This was one step too far for Santi to utter aloud. Too important for a plain guy like him.

“You never told me that!”

He rubbed a hand over his chest as a swift, stabbing pain bloomed beneath his ribs.

“I was really excited about it,” he explained softly. “And I went to tell my dad what my abuelo said. He was so upset. He told me they were just stories, that I shouldn’t be spreading that sort of stuff around. He and Abuelo Manco fought…and by the time I got home from school, Abuelo was gone.”

Brooke made a sympathetic noise in the back of her throat.

Santiago shrugged. “I didn’t know why it upset my dad so much that Abuelo made the stories feel real, but it was enough to send him away. I guess after that, I never really wanted to talk about it.”

Brooke leaned forward to pat his arm.

“I think I kind of get it now, though,” Santiago confessed. “I told you he sent me a letter, right before he died?”

“Yeah, but you didn’t tell me what it said.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ali look toward him for a split second, intrigued. Quickly, he recited the note by heart.

“He seemed to think it was real,” Santiago finished. “All of it. All of the stories. Maybe that’s why my dad didn’t want him talking to me about it; he didn’t want to feed into his father’s delusions?”

“They weren’t delusions,” Ali argued, just as Brooke spoke.

“What would be the harm?” she asked.

“Well, Abuelo Manco said that once a Guardian dies, their remains need to be laid to rest at the lost tomb,” Santiago explained. “He used to say that the tomb was protected by magic—it’s hidden until the death of a Guardian and then visible only long enough to lay that person to rest. Then it disappears into the jungle again. He told me that he’d show me the way someday, like his grandmother had shown him.”

Santiago winced, hearing how unbelievable his words sounded. “Which is why I said earlier that the place Abuelo Manco would have wanted me to go doesn’t exist. It isn’t real! I would need to find a nice alternative location to spread his ashes, because I can’t find the lost tomb of the last Inca emperor.”

“It is real,” Ali insisted again. “You’ve spent your life believing Manco’s words were nothing more than children’s bedtime stories, but they’re not. The Guardianes are real. So is the lost tomb.”

Santiago shook his head, a headache pressing on the insides of his temples. “That’s ridiculous,” he whispered.

“It’s not,” Ali replied, voice as hard and cold as steel. “It’s the truth.”

“My abuelo was an old man,” Santiago replied softly. “He got confused. There are no Guardianes. Atahualpa’s tomb has long been swallowed by the jungle, and not in a magical way. The first part of the story is true, of course. But there’s no evidence to suggest that his followers stole the treasure in addition to his body, let alone that generations of Guardians have protected it.”

“I didn’t know your grandfather well,” Ali said, paying him no mind. “But I do know the stories are true. I may not be a Guardian; my family is not of that lineage. But we have been close to the Guardians for centuries. For many reasons, they often need a network of trusted allies to help them protect the tomb. Those allies are usually called Espadas.”

“Swords?” Santiago translated, his forehead crinkling with half-forgotten memories. “Oh.” He recalled Abuelo Manco’s stories. “Las Espadas de los Guardianes—the swords of the Guardians?”

Ali nodded. “Precisely. Before he was killed, your grandfather reached out to us. He suspected that he was in danger.”

In danger.

Killed?