Page 65 of The Lost Guardian

“You’re the historian!” she exclaimed, throwing up her hands. “And the Guardian!”

Before Santiago could remind her that he was completely and utterly out of his depth, their server returned with two heaping plates of lomo saltado, a Peruvian stir-fry. Steam curled upward in appetizing tendrils.

“You are American?” the server asked as he set the food in front of them. Santiago’s stomach grumbled, eager for the flavors that rich smell promised him. They hadn’t eaten since breakfast, and it was nearing sunset.

“Something like that,” Ali answered vaguely.

“Wonderful! Welcome you to our city,” the boy said in broken English. “You are here to tourism?” he asked Santiago.

“Yes, we’re tourists,” Santiago answered, only partially lying. He certainly felt like a tourist, awestruck by the tapestry of rich history the city had to offer.

“You go to the Inca baths, yes?” their server continued. “Very good for illness. Good for muscle!” He flexed his own string-bean arms.

Santiago brightened, turning to Ali. “Thermal baths with volcanically heated water,” he said, his voice betraying his excitement. “The location where the Spanish first found Atahualpa. C—”

“I’m sorry, Rios.” Ali answered the question he was about to ask. “We don’t have time.”

Santiago’s shoulders slumped. Of course they didn’t have time. He was there to lay his grandfather to rest, not bathe in heavenly, sulfuric waters.

No matter how much he wanted to.

“And Cumbemayo, of course,” the server continued, as if they hadn’t spoken.

Something prickled in the back of Santiago’s brain, and he looked at the boy.

“Cumbemayo?” he repeated. Why did that word sound so familiar?

The kid nodded furiously. “Em, how you say…” He hesitated. “The stone forest!” he finally cried out. “Very beautiful hike around the river.”

“River?” Ali perked up. “What river?”

“Sí, sí,” he replied, nodding again. “Very nice hike, stone and river.”

The hostess called to him from the front of the restaurant, and he motioned to them.

“I’ll be back to check on you soon,” he told them, reverting to Spanish.

As he left, Ali’s and Santiago’s gazes snapped together. They stared, wide-eyed, at each other and smiled.

“I remember where I’ve heard ‘Cumbemayo’ before,” Santiago whispered excitedly. “It’s an old archaeological site.” He squinted into the distance, brow furrowed in search of a memory. “With petroglyphs, if I recall. And there was definitely a river up there.”

“You think the riddle is about Cumbemayo?” Ali asked.

“I know it is,” he said, lifting his chin. Satisfaction swept through him—like solving a difficult problem at the climbing gym. “I wouldn’t have remembered if the boy hadn’t said anything, but that’s where we need to go.”

“How can you be so sure?” Ali asked him.

“Because the word ‘Cumbemayo’ means ‘narrow river.’”

“Holy shit,” Ali breathed. “You’re right!”

“So that’s where we need to go. Back up the mountain.” Not the same one they’d crossed to reach the city, though. “And from there, who knows?”

“Probably not back toward civilization,” Ali guessed. “It was smart of José to go get us supplies. I have a feeling Atahualpa’s tomb will likely be off the beaten path.”

Santiago didn’t disagree.

“Eat.” Ali motioned to his food with her knife.