Treasure of the World by Tara Sullivan (best romantic books to read txt) 📗

César’s voice can reach? I wonder. How will they know to get out in time?

By the time we make it to the main tunnel and zone one, our ant line has swollen to almost twenty shuffling men, with one miserable girl in the middle. The noise of our breathing and the clinking of our gear is the only sound.

When we finally break out into the harsh clear light of midday, I want to sob with relief. The sky! The sky stretches above me, no rock pressing down. The air I breathe is thin but pure, and the light comes from the sun, not some miserable gas flame on my forehead. A muffled boom makes me glance over my shoulder, and I feel a rumble under my feet. The miners count the number of explosions aloud, to make sure they all detonate. When they get to ten, the men break into smiles, saying how good a sign it is that the Tío didn’t withhold any this time. About half a minute later, a puff of dust comes out the mouth of the mine, driven through the tunnels by the force of the blast.

I look up at Victor’s house, perched on the edge of the cliff above El Rosario. I wonder if they can feel the blasts through their floor when they’re at home.

The miners share coca, tea, and a cigarette if they have one. I see Papi among them, seeming relaxed, but he doesn’t come over to me and I don’t feel brave enough to go bother him. I sit away from the group and drink some water. Victor crosses the wet silt to join me.

“Enjoy the break while you can,” he says. “We’ll be back at it soon enough.”

I nod, exhausted.

“Chew some coca,” suggests Victor. “It’ll help you feel better.”

“I gave it to the Tío.”

Victor seems uncomfortable when I say that, though whether it’s because he believes in the devil or doesn’t, I’m not sure. Either way, he reaches into his sack and hands me a fistful of dried green leaves. I thank him, shove a few in my cheek, and put the rest in my pouch for later.

“The miners took me to the Tío on my first day too,” Victor says.

“Yeah?” The bitter taste of coca floods my mouth, and though I do get a mild boost of energy, it isn’t nearly enough to combat the fatigue of the work I’ve already done.

“Yeah. Old Francisco told me the story—how we think we’re just calling him ‘uncle,’ but really, the Spaniards put the statues in the mine tunnels when they forced the Inca to work in them. They told them the statue was a god—a dios—that would kill them if they left early. Over time that word—dios—came to be tíos.”

“That’s messed up,” I tell him. I bet Abuelita knows that story. I wonder if she believes it. I wonder if that’s part of the reason she’s so mad at me right now.

“I know, right?” says Victor. “At least we can come up here and take a break without thinking some god is going to kill us for it. The Spaniards made them work in the mine for months at a time, and they never saw the sun.”

That makes me shiver.

“I know it’s just a statue,” he says softly, as if he’s afraid of being overheard, “but it still gives me the creeps.”

“Me too,” I admit.

Though, to be honest, the devil statue was only one of many things today that has creeped me out. I feel the other miners’ eyes on me as they talk in voices too low for me to hear. Determined to make the most of my short time aboveground, I ignore them and stare at the sky.

Too soon, César is walking among the miners, getting everyone on their feet for another six-hour shift. When he gets to us, he pauses. He jerks his head, indicating that he wants Victor to get a head start.

Victor gives my hand a reassuring squeeze and hustles to join the line of miners reentering El Rosario, pulling his helmet on as he does so. I stare after him. I hadn’t noticed he was holding my hand.

When the rest of the crew has cleared out and it’s just the two of us in the entry lot, César crouches down in front of me and meets my eyes.

“You could go home,” he says quietly. It’s a statement of fact. Not a criticism; not a command.

I lift my chin.

“I could,” I say, “but I’m not going to.”

César considers me for another minute, then nods.

“Okay,” he says, and gets to his feet.

Standing to follow him, my muscles ache from the unusual work. But the pain in my back and arms is nothing to the pain in my soul as I walk toward the dark mouth of the mine and push myself into the shadows once again.

We’re working away when, with a rattling groan, the air compressor dies. So far, the space we’re in has been filled with the constant noise of the humming motor and the shush of the pressurized air through the hoses.

Victor waves a hand over the opening.

“No air,” he confirms.

César grunts in annoyance. “Come on,” he says, and turns up the tunnel.

We fall in behind him again, retracing our steps to the outside. No one wants to stay behind in a section that’s not being ventilated. I wonder if it’s my imagination, but it already feels like there’s less air to breathe; that it’s hotter; that our flames are duller than they used to be. I tell myself it’s my imagination. But all the same, I hurry behind César and Victor.

When we get to the main entryway to El Rosario, I immediately scuttle out of the way, back to where I was sitting earlier. I’m glad to have any excuse for a bonus break and I sink down gratefully in the sunlight. I expect Victor to join me, but instead I see him head directly to the compressor with the