The Inheritance of Orquídea Divina (96)

But as hard as they fought, Bolívar was still stronger. He ripped free from his bindings and lashed out, twisting his signet ring to draw from Lázaro’s life force. He shouted Orquídea’s name. She remained unmoving, clutching her moonstone child, as her family fought to protect her soul. Her children formed a barrier around her, the rhythm of their hearts so fierce, the whole valley could hear them beat.

Bolívar lunged for Ernesta first, but Juan Luis swung his bat. There was the crunch of bone. Bolívar’s jaw snapped out of place, but he popped it back with a low rumble. Enrique swung the shovel. It lodged in Bolívar’s side, but he only yanked it out.

“Don’t you see?” Bolívar said. “You are fighting the infinite.”

He pulsed with blinding light, expelling a force that knocked everyone down.

Marimar coughed up mud as she pushed herself to stand. She thought of her dead. She thought of Quilca in his river, so ancient, so close to being forgotten. Her father was on the ground, a spark of light pulsed fainty in his heart. And she knew, nothing was infinite, not truly. Not even the stars. She reached for her power, the network of veins and sinew and chaos that connected her to these people. She used it to guide the flooding river in a wave. It crashed over Bolívar’s head until he stopped moving.

There was a brief moment when Marimar felt a wash of relief, but even mortality couldn’t stop Bolívar Londo?o III. He rose from the sodden earth and relished the mud, the rain. He twisted the signet ring on his finger, surveying the wild green that surrounded them.

“This is the place that hid you from me,” he said to Orquídea. “I would like to see it burn.”

A second lightning bolt tore the ceiba tree further apart. Molten fire spilled from its core. Its flowers curled into black husks and withered in the rain. Dead insects and birds pelted the grass.

It was then that Marimar heard a voice in her mind. A whisper hurrying to solidify.

“Marimar.” It was Rhiannon. “Rey.”

They turned to the youngest Montoya and saw the intent in her eyes. The little girl nodded once. By accepting their gifts, wholly and completely, they were connected.

“You can do this,” Marimar whispered in their shared thoughts.

“We’ve got you, little one,” Rey repeated.

“I’m not afraid,” Rhiannon told them.

She readied the net that Quilca had given them. In their shared dreams, Mamá Orquídea had shown her how to use it, how she’d cast it in the water and pull in her catch.

Then Orquídea whispered in their thoughts. “Now, Rhiannon. Now.”

The little fairy child closed her eyes and pictured Orquídea on the river. The sun danced on the water, and Quilca the river monster was waiting for its share. Rhiannon threw the net. There was nothing stronger than a vow.

Orquídea’s first pact singed into Bolívar’s skin and pinned him to the ground. His face contorted in disbelief. Marimar crouched down at his side and sawed off his finger with her grandmother’s fishing knife. Then, she made a wish.

The ground beneath Bolívar’s feet ruptured. The earth was hungry, and it would clean its teeth with Bolívar Londo?o III’s bones.



* * *



The valley smelled of smoke and upturned earth. The Montoyas remained gathered around the smoldering split trunk of the ceiba tree for a long time. First in silence. No insects, no night creatures, not even wind made a sound. The valley held its breath, a reminder that they were alive. Then the fireflies returned. Each and every one of them exhaled. Jameson let out a victorious crow as Rey ran inside. Their silence turned into crying, relief, terror, hope, and music. Always music. It poured out of the open windows, and the front door as Rey returned with a bottle of Marimar’s favorite whiskey.

Rey yanked the cork with his teeth and raised a shoulder at Marimar. “You said you were saving it for a special occasion. What better occasion than our grandmother’s resurrection?”

“You’ll only be able to use that excuse once,” Orquídea said, and took the bottle from Rey and drank straight.

The Montoyas laughed together, as they never had before. And then there was another first.

“We deserve the truth,” Enrique said, with his head lowered to his mother’s ghost.

Orquídea touched his chin, leveling their eyes, and shed shimmering tears that never hit the ground. “It’s a very long story.”

But she told them everything.



* * *



Lázaro hung back at the fringes of a family he did not belong to. But after decades, he languished in a moment of rest. Besides, a part of him did not want to leave yet. He wanted to raise Pena’s spirit, see her one last time. He did not want to leave Marimar before he could truly meet her, his daughter, his miracle.

They were pretty thoughts, but he’d been the cause of enough harm on this earth.

“You look stronger,” Marimar said, and sat beside him at the base of the hill.

Lázaro inhaled the valley air. Though he longed for the sky, he couldn’t help but touch the living things around him. Dirt and grass and wildflowers. Glowing insects were drawn to him. This valley, after all, was born out of his power.

“I feel stronger,” he told her.