A few small frailejones began dotting the wilderness as they hiked to higher elevations. The Páramo’s crisp air enveloped them, running a draft through Reina. At one point, Celeste detoured from the worn path, and Reina blindly followed.
“So, before the party ended, the rancher and bounty hunter took the matter to the quincea?era. You see, she wasn’t interested in being their wife, and she was clever and knew the party would soon end, so she announced they should duel in contrapunteo. Her plan was to sneak away during the middle of the singing to avoid the question altogether. She said the one with the best song should have her hand.”
“Contrapunteo?” Reina interjected.
“You’ve never seen it? The ranchers of the Llanos do it all the time. It’s like a verse duel that they improvise to the melody of a cuatro.” Celeste clicked her tongue and rolled her eyes. “And it’s kind of tradition, in their quincea?eras. I’ve seen my fair share… Anyway, the rancher and bounty hunter faced off in the best contrapunteo match of the land. The rhymes were so clever and so entertaining, even city folk gathered around the house gates to listen. There were so many people the girl found it impossible to slip away. But in the end, the rancher had the obvious advantage. When his song finished, even the girl’s father stood up to clap.”
Celeste stopped at a sodden clearing, where the entrance to a large burrow opened for them like a maw.
“His victory was the obvious outcome, because not only did the rancher compete with his bulls, but he also was a renowned singer of contrapunteo, who won many contests in the region. The party attendants said so, and the bounty hunter felt cheated. He whipped out his gun, pointed it at the rancher, and said, ‘The quincea?era cannot choose to marry a dead man,’ and upon the stipulations of their duel, it wouldn’t have been unlawful if his gun put a bullet between the rancher’s eyes.”
Celeste paused dramatically, and Reina indulged her with wide eyes, because she was curious and because it was enthralling to watch Celeste tell the story with such enthusiasm.
Celeste beckoned Reina to approach the burrow. “He pulled the trigger, and a cloud of smoke filled the patio. But once the smoke cleared, there was a great outcry, because the gun malfunctioned （as guns tend to do） and instead the bullet ricocheted right between the tamarind eyes of the quincea?era.”
“Oh.” Reina frowned, and Celeste grinned.
“But as it turned out, the quincea?era’s lover was within the crowd and had seen the tragedy with her own two eyes.”
“Her own two eyes?”
Celeste’s grin widened.
“She was just a girl, not yet fifteen herself, but she was pure valco and descendant of a great bloodline, and she was furious. She swept through the patio and, with her own clawlike fingers, ripped open the throats of the rancher and the bounty hunter in hot-blooded revenge. Then she lived happily ever after. The end.”
Reina yanked on Celeste’s sleeve. “Wait—but what happened to the valco girl?”
Celeste shrugged. “Nothing. The father, who was just as grieved that his daughter had been taken away from him, declared that the men had died from their duels, so there was no murder to report to the authorities, and the valco girl went on to live a very infamous life.” Then she leaned closer to Reina and whispered, “As the mighty Feleva ?guila.”
Reina could imagine it so vividly. The beautiful rage. The bloodshed spurred by violent instincts.
“Mi papá told me that story,” Celeste said, wiping her sticky bangs from her forehead. “He says everyone in that town still talks about it, how my grandmother was just a girl but had been born brave and ruthless, and it was no wonder she accomplished all she did during her lifetime. All things considered, it was a happy ending… the valco way. Mi mamá hates it when I say that, but it’s true. We’re different from humans.”
Reina nodded. Celeste was only a quarter valco, but Reina could tell the bloodlust existed within her as well.
Celeste began descending into the burrow as if it weren’t a pathway to the Void, where nothing but darkness awaited them. From the shadows, she said, “Mi mamá’s being foolish by worrying so much for me. Javier would never seriously harm me. If he did—well, he fears mi papá, and he’d never be able to escape his wrath.”
Reina imagined Don Enrique’s big hands taking hold of Javier’s underdeveloped antlers. He had the strength to snap them in two, if he wanted.
Sudden coolness made her shiver, and she stopped at the foot of the burrow, her muddy boot leaning into it while Celeste descended farther into the shadows. “Wait—where are you going?”
Celeste beamed at her. “To get you your new sword. Don’t you trust me?”
Reina frowned. “I trust you.” Without Celeste, she wouldn’t be alive.
The answer satisfied Celeste. She beckoned Reina to the darkness with an arched brow. A challenge to prove that she did.
They descended the muddy tunnel, where even the walls felt unstable and apt to cave in at any moment. The air was stagnant, heavy with the scent of decayed leaves and dirt. The light of the Páramo left them with every step they took, and Celeste produced a wisp of firelight with a spell of iridio. She cast it by snapping it into existence and tossing it into the air. The light enclosed them in a pocket of orange.
A heavy door of dark wood, hugged by roots and slick vines, met them at the end of the tunnel.
Celeste used the entirety of her body weight to tug the door open. It gave a groan, threatening to pull the ceiling down with it, and allowed them into a candlelit chamber of stone walls and flagstones. Reina took in the room, glimpsing the worktables strewn with open tomes and flasks scattered about. A severed caiman arm and the coiled skeleton of a snake sat on a bookshelf. One wall was bordered by shelf cabinets, which were stocked with too many bunches of herbs, teacups, and rosaries to count. Another wall was completely covered in hanging leather maps of more townships and territories than Reina ever imagined could exist. Her eyes fell on the great stone table in the center of the room, which was surrounded by two engraved standing stones on either side. The sight made her scarred chest itch.
Reina followed Celeste to the staircase on the other side of the chamber. It hinted there was more to this place.
“Welcome to Gegania.”
“Gegania?” Reina parroted, leading the way up the stairs in curiosity.
The landing gave way to a tiled corridor lined with more doors, a doorway revealing a dining area, and the doorway to an entrance foyer. The air was dusty, cobwebs clinging to portraits of black-haired, white-skinned humans on rotting wooden frames. Bewildered, Reina swung open the front door and met green mountains with a view of a conuco and of the setting afternoon sun. A wind buffeted her, ruffling her bangs and chilling her through the openings of her clothes. Waves of hills marked the landscape where the house sat, barren of the firs that surrounded the manor and the burrow. Rather, these lands were dotted with sturdy wildflowers and the occasional frailejón. When Celeste caught up to her, Reina’s mouth hung ajar. This was nowhere near the burrow. “Where are we?”
“It’s mi mamá’s childhood home.”