Mañanaland: Chapters 17–25

He pulled the leather cord from beneath his shirt, letting his mother’s compass dangle on the outside. If he got lost, it might help. And maybe it would make him look more credible to the hidden one, as if he’d done this before.

Lola charged into the stairwell and disappeared, relentlessly barking.

He frowned. She was Isadora? She was the one he was to escort? But she was so young! How could he care for such a small child? Could she even make the journey on her spindly legs?

Max sighed in resignation. “All right. Where are your things?”

Beneath the domed ceiling, a mural wrapped the walls. The paint was faded and cracked in some spots, but it was still a magnificent panorama.

There, a vast countryside was dotted with houses, barns, stables, and thickets, some tagged with a black silhouette of a peregrine—its head, open wings, and splayed legs like the points on a star—black stars.

Then the mural burst into a lush, sunny landscape: blue skies and green hills, bougainvillea, bushes laden with berries, trees ripe with fruit, waterfalls spilling into large pools, and arcs of rainbows.

Then the mural burst into a lush, sunny landscape: blue skies and green hills, bougainvillea, bushes laden with berries, trees ripe with fruit, waterfalls spilling into large pools, and arcs of rainbows.

A swath of sunlight shined through a loophole and the room brightened.

They left the tower and descended single file down the steep, narrow path to the river, hidden between thick foliage and bottlebrush.

He exhaled. It was probably an animal on a nightly forage.

A few weeks ago, Max would have wished to go to the fútbol clinic, or for a pair of Volantes, and to make the village team. Today his life was muddled.

Her face fell and filled with dread. She dropped the flowers, picked up the kitten, and backed away from Max, her body cowering.

Lola stayed at her side and hung her head, as if she was being reprimanded.

As the morning wore on, she had only momentary lapses when she paused to watch dragonflies or collect a feather for her pocket.

The sky was growing dusky when Max came upon the enclave of boulders that Buelo had marked on the map.

Max slept fitfully, dreaming of pursuers who stalked the banks with fire torches and guns.

Lola sprang into the water and landed with a splash, legs churning and head straining toward the floating stick. When she returned, Max threw the stick farther out. “Once more, Lola. Then you’ll be tolerable.”

Gathering his courage, Max peeked over the crest, hoping he wouldn’t be looking down the barrel of a rifle.

How far could she travel today before she was too tired to go on? Or before it grew dark? The weight of what he’d undertaken pressed in on him.

Isadora kept up, stoic and determined.

“Yes. The next day the cook came from the church and said the priests needed us to sew vestments because they heard we were good with the needle."

Something fierce and expansive mushroomed inside him—something bigger than his search for his mother—like enormous protective wings, beating with the resolve to deliver Isadora to safety.

Rafts of ducks paddled in the water and huddled on the grassy knolls surrounding the banks.

Lola dashed back and forth to the river’s edge, whining and begging to retrieve. Max clipped her to the leash, but still the ducks erupted into the air, quacking and rasping.

Max opened the flap on the backpack and Churro sprang from it, clawing at Max’s neck and head. He grabbed the kitten by the nape and held him above the water.

They slogged out of the water onto the narrow beach.

Within the leafy bushes, Max could no longer see the shore. They pressed on but still couldn’t find the inlet. From the bridge, it had been easy to spot, but now Max was disoriented.

She wore a plaid blouse and a printed apron over a skirt that came to the tops of her large, incompatible boots, one blue, and the other yellow.

The yeasty smell of baked bread wafted into the stairwell.

“Now, when we get into the cavern, don’t be alarmed,” said Yadra. “It might seem a bit overwhelming at first. I like to call it my garden of the miscellaneous.”

Yadra nodded. “Thankfully, others saw me and recognized I needed help. Guardians helped me figure out who I was and where I would fit into the world. One of them told me I didn’t have to endure hardship by myself. Isn’t that the most comforting thought—that there is always someone to help and you don’t ever have to struggle alone?”

When she opened them, she said, “You see, Maximiliano, not everything is findable. The road of life is littered with lost things—papers, people, answers, the other half of a pair...the truth. And remnants of someone’s happiness can’t always be recovered.”

Yadra slowly poured more tea in their cups. “I sense you are motivated by goodness, Maximiliano, and that your heart is true. But it is a difficult journey with hours of rowing.”

She studied him. “Please understand that you may find nothing you are expecting and everything unforeseen.”