Page 99 of The Lost Guardian

Santiago coughed lightly. “We should keep going,” he said, turning to hide the blush creeping up his cheeks.

Ali grinned at him, not fooled for a second. Then she stepped back—

And was gone.

30

“Ali!” Santiago screamed, falling to his knees. He hadn’t seen the edge of the mountain, not through the fog. He couldn’t believe they had been so close to it the entire time.

“Aliiiii!” he screamed again, gripping fistfuls of dirt in his palms. What was he going to do? What could he do? He couldn’t see how far the drop was.

Ali could be injured; she could be bleeding. She could be dangling from the branches of a tree, having broken her arm as well as her fall. She could be crumpled and draped over the top of a boulder, her spectacular light dimming by the second. She could be suffering. She—

No. His hands shook violently. No, she couldn’t be dead. She couldn’t be gone.

“Ali,” he tried again. “Please…”

His forehead hit the ground, his body rocking back and forth as panic tore him from the inside out.

What am I going to do? he thought. How can I help her?

His body jerked upright and he knelt, fists clenched at his sides. This wasn’t the time to cower. If Santiago was going to step up, it was now or never.

He backed away from the edge, upending his pack. Packaged food, extra clothing, a first aid kit. Abuelo Manco. Then he found it.

Climbing Kit, the small bag said in Spanish.

“Thank you, José,” Santiago whispered.

Inside the kit was a length of durable, dynamic rope; two carabiners; a descender; and a harness. He stepped into it.

“Santiago, focus,” he mumbled, repacking. “First, find an anchor point.”

Luckily, the Peruvian rainforest had nothing if not immense and ancient trees, deeply rooted into the heart of the land.

He looped the rope around a tree trunk, tying a figure-eight knot to his harness with shaking hands and taking too long to adjust the straps. He would be of no use to Ali if he fell. When he was satisfied, he passed the rope through his descender and took a deep breath. He pulled on everything—hard.

It held.

Santiago was careful, moving backward on hands and knees toward the edge of the mountain. When he felt empty air behind him, he knew it was time.

Santiago allowed no pause for second-guessing or regret. He simply reminded himself that he could do this. Just like the rock wall back home.

And he almost believed it.

He gripped the edge of the cliff and swung his legs over, teetering for a breathless moment. Then he inched his body down, bit by bit. When most of his weight dangled, he clutched the rope firmly. It held. He let himself slip over the precipice.

She’s still alive, he promised himself. She has to be.

Santiago lowered himself, finding an occasional foothold against the mountainside to support his weight. At one point, his hand slipped, sweaty and damp from nerves, and he fell about two feet. Santiago’s legs flailed, kicking through open air until he slammed back against the mountain, tightening his hold on the rope. He gasped panting breaths, struggling to suck in air.

The lower he went, the more nervous he became. She had fallen a long way. This wasn’t anything like his daydreams.

At least the cloud forest dissolved around him. Santiago saw the world with greater clarity, including a patch of dense bushes that looked like something had smashed into them recently. Or someone.

“Ali!” he tried calling out again. “Can you hear me?”

Only the rush-tyrant birds answered him.