No. That was … Ofelia, wasn’t it?
I shook my confusion off of me.
“There is not much time, Xo,” Lito reminded me, still shuffling alongside us. “You can’t wait.”
“I know,” I said. “I’m almost ready.”
He went quiet, shuffled through the dirt, and we crossed La Reina. Whenever I looked back, he was there, moving along at the same pace, his body bloody and torn apart. At the other side, the next pass waiting for us, Emilia cleared her throat. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
One last look behind me.
Manolito had followed us, but now, he could cross no farther.
“Tell her,” he said.
He was whole again. For a moment, he was the Lito that I loved. His boyish face, his mustache, that glow that resonated from his kind eyes. He had appeared like this before, on the first day of my journey, and I smiled at him.
But it did not last. I did not tell her the truth.
We kept going. I knew what I had to do, but I still couldn’t find the courage. I focused on the journey, tried to quell my racing heart. But each movement forward brought me closer to the inevitable, closer to the truth I could not ignore.
The pain returned. Reminded me. Tormented me.
I had to push on.
Our ascent was long, and the sun was dropping out of the sky. It was faster than on foot, and our horse did not complain as she carried the two of us up, up, and up. I hung on to Emilia with one hand and used the other to pull out a water bag for us.
We did not say much at all, and neither did the guardians. They formed a line behind us, snaking down the trail, and it was the only time I got a sense for how many of these gorgeous creatures were following me. I couldn’t see the end of them. They stretched far behind us, a procession of power and mystery.
We crested the hill in the late afternoon, and the drowsiness brewed behind my eyes. My stomach rumbled. Was it hunger? Nerves? Were they awakening again?
They had been quiet since La Reina, and I don’t know if that comforted me, or if it unnerved me.
Maybe it was both.
La Reina shone brightly behind us and I shielded my eyes as I looked upon it. It was so small from here. I dismounted and walked to the edge again. Was Manolito still down there? Would I ever see him again?
His story shuddered in my stomach, sending a wave of revulsion through me. Why had he cheated on his—?
No.
No, that was Omar.
Definitely Omar.
The nausea twisted my gut, and I bent over again. Emilia ran her hand over my back. “Are you well? How bad is it getting?”
I brought myself upright, breathed in deep. “Estoy bien,” I said. “Just a quick rest.”
I needed more than that, but … no, I couldn’t do it.
Not much longer now.
It hurts so much, Solís. Please, listen a little bit longer.
You were disappearing. We descended.
It sat in the distance, and it was odd seeing them from this side: a smaller rise, then, farther in the distance, Obregán. I remembered that first night, upon la montaña, and how enormous Obregán seemed. It was still so far away, but la ciudad burst up from the earth, beyond the other ridge. It was a sign of hope that we were even closer to home.
What would that home look like? Would Empalme seem different because of my absence? I remembered the morning I left, how mi aldea had taken a new shape, twisted by what I had seen and what I had done. It couldn’t be the same, could it? The miles and miles of tunnels underneath the ground … would they look any different?
Our horse made good time down la montaña, as she was far more comfortable descending. Emilia had to work hard to keep me awake; I kept leaning into her, and my eyes were so heavy.
“Not yet, Xochitl,” she said. “Tell me.”
“What do you want to know?”
“Tell me about your friends. Someone. Anyone.”
I told her about Rogelio first. I don’t know why I thought of him, but that led to Doro, led to Ana and Quique, and I asked Emilia if we could find them someday. El Mar first, then Obregán. I wanted to see them again.
Would they want to see me?
Then I told her about la señora Sánchez, about el guisado she loved to cook, and how I would help her offer it about at our celebration because of her bad arm.
“Her bad arm?” Emilia said, leaning back into me.
“Sí,” I said. “You know, since she hurt it in Obregán.”
Emilia bristled, but did not explain it.
I imagined my return to Empalme. The look on Raúl’s face. Papá gazing up from his book and acting as if I had been gone for only a few hours. Mamá, with her braids draping down the front of her, asking me if I had found what I was looking for. That’s all I wanted: for them to accept me as I was, nothing more. To ask less of me—to let me be my own.
And then the stories awoke again. There was no complicated shape to them. When I reached down, ran my fingers over my stomach, I could feel it. A hard mass, something solid and horrifying and not my body. It had grown, hadn’t it? It had gotten bigger, had fed off my fear and shame. Just like Lani’s. Why had she read Julio’s mensaje? Why had she disobeyed him?
Emilia sensed something, and she squirmed in front of me. “I have an idea, Xochitl,” she said. “Can I give you something? Something to help?”
“We will reach Obregán soon,” I said. “And then it’s not much farther.”
“It’ll only take a moment,” she assured me.
I leaned into her back, used our connection to tell her that I trusted her.
She gave
