A LEAGUE DISTANT is how it had been described in Manuscript 512. From Skip's perspective, it looked to be about two or three miles off, which made it a rough equivalent, more or less. At this distance, details were impossible to discern. Still, he could make out the white walls of ancient buildings and the tall entry arch noted by Raposo, glinting in the late morning sun. Up here on the summit, a fresh breeze took the edge off the tropical heat and humidity they had been battling all throughout their climb. As a harpy eagle soared overhead, giving them an eye as he searched for prey, they took a moment to catch their breaths and enjoy the view.

But only for a moment. The scenery was impressive indeed, but their objective was in sight, drawing them onward, and downward.

If the climb had taken two hours, the descent went by in less than forty-five minutes. Once below the summit, they lost the breeze and regained the heat. Despite the narrow trail, well maintained by the passages over the years by Killa and her clan, Skip's legs burned with the exertion of the downhill grind. Even Nusiri, born and raised in a tropical mountain environment, seemed winded. We're getting too for this, Skip thought. To Killa, of course, this was just a routine workout, though she was about the same age as they. But Zane fairly skipped right along, with his short but strong soccer legs and the energy of youth.

At the bottom, they once again took a much-deserved break. The city, from this low angle, was nearly hidden by the tall grasses and scattered trees. From what they could see of it, it appeared to be about three miles off.

"This is where the fear of the unknown made Raposo hold up for a couple of days," Skip told them. "They had no idea if the city they'd seen was inhabited, if any people there were friendly or not, or if there were any other dangers to be aware of. After keeping watch for two days, and seeing no sign of life or activity, one of the porters volunteered to scout it out, coming back with the report that it was a city long abandoned, and that the coast was clear."

Knowing they were heading toward a long-abandonded ruin, as they again took to the trail, Skip could nonetheless understand Raposo's hesitation. Those explorers had described the trail over the mountains to the city as a road, something man-made, a singular path leading directly to that city and nowhere else, with no other roads to be found. He wondered if back then, as now, if that displaced clan of Inca, forefathers of Killa's people, had traveled and maintained the trail to their ancient outpost and the spring of healing herbs and waters nearby.

Walking the path in the still, sultry air, Skip was struck by the quietude of this valley. Not a breath of wind stirred. No insects were heard stalking the grasses. No calls of birds nor chattering of monkeys filled the air. No sound save for their own footfalls on the dusty trail. It was easy to imagine someone silently keeping watch on them from the bush, guardians of the city perhaps, or spirits of their long-ago ancestors. Skip wondered if Raposo had felt it too, if that's part of what had made him so cautious. He stopped for a moment and looked all around. Nothing was out there. Still, he couldn't shake the eerie feeling of being watched.

After an hour the path wound through a dense stand of trees, causing them to lose sight of their objective altogether. A side trail branched off to left. Skip heard a trickle of water in that direction and guessed that it might lead to that special spring where Killa gathered her healing herbs. Then, after a few hundred yards, they made a sharp turn out of the forest and back into the bright sunlight. And there, right in front of them, was the entrance to Raposo's lost city, the city of Manuscript 512, what was now known as the City of the Moon.

The remains of the triple-arch entry gate soared fifteen or twenty feet at its peak. The rounded central arch still stood tall. Of the lower two to each side, the one on the left was no more than a column ten feet high, with a pile of rubble underneath. The one on the right, however, was still intact. It was of a contrasting column and lintel construction, looking like something of Stonehenge.

Skip stepped back and tried to make out the faded characters engraved at the top of the central arch, but to his eyes, like Raposo's, they were illegible.

"I may have lost my phone," said Zane, "but at least I still have this." Producing his pocket camera, he stood just back of Skip, zoomed in, and got a couple of shots. "We can study it later. Maybe we can figure out what it says. Probably the name of the city."

"Or maybe it says 'enter at your own risk'," quipped Nusiri.

"As one never to shy away from a risk, I say we just follow our guide here, Killa. This is well known to her. We'll be safe enough."

The wide avenue that led from the arch into the city proper was now carpeted in ankle-deep grasses and softened around the edges by shrubs and small trees that had taken hold in the last few hundred years. Most of the buildings to each side now lay in ruins, with collapsed roofs and crumbling walls, though evidence of architectural styles remained, with ornate columns and flagstone steps gracing the facades.

It wasn't long before they reached the central plaza, and the grandest building of all, to their right. The Great Hall, Raposo had called it. The ruined building that he had assumed to be a temple was directly across the plaza. They stood there for a few minutes, Nusiri especially studying the different construction methods evidenced in the ruins.

"It was guessed to be Greek or Roman," she said at last. "But looking at them, you first see what seems to be a combination of both. Roman arches and domes, Greek post-and-lintel construction with pediments above the columns, which are Greek in their simplicity, but Roman in their ornate caps. It does seem to be of Mediterranean influence, similar to both Greece and Rome, but at the same time, neither.

"Atlantean," said Zane. "It looks just like the city in Uncle Wajiri's video game that he's working on."

"Hmm," said Skip. "I'll have to keep an open mind about that. Jack Fawcett did say that he had his own theories."

Beyond the plaza, the buildings were once again in shambles; Raposo had noted that the area seemed to have been struck by an earthquake. A river ran alongside the city, coming near to the plaza, leading to another group of buildings somewhere behind the main part of town. But in the center of the plaza, sat a statue on a tall pedestal of black stone. Killa now directed their attention to this.

"When Raposo saw this," she said, pointing to the figure standing atop the obsidian column, "he assumed it to be male, a warrior perhaps, for that is how those people thought. He should have looked closer, for as you can see, she is a woman. Mama Killa, for who I am named. Goddess of the Moon. It is the one contribution our people, the Inca, made to this city when they lived here."

They could see now the flowing robes, patterned in an Inca style, and the semi-circle halo of silver that adorned the statue's head.

"As gold represents the sun, so silver stands for the moon. Tears of the Moon, as we say."

It was no wonder that this was called the City of the Moon, thought Skip.

"So, is it true that she's pointing to the North Star?" he asked. "That's what I've read."

Mama Killa's right hand was indeed extended to the north, while her left arm was bent at an angle, with her hand on her hip.

"It is a compass, you see. Her hand does orient one to the north. While the way her body is turned, her bent elbow shows the way back to our homeland, to the west, back to the City of the Sun."

She paused for a long moment, debating something in her mind. Finally, she spoke. "Most Incan descendants live in the old countries of Peru or Bolivia. They live in cities like Lima or La Paz, or small towns in the valleys or mountains. They live modern lives. They are doctors or delivery drivers, construction workers or computer programmers, judges or janitors. They may still know the old legends, but to them they are just that, legends. It is only our clan, the descendants of those entrusted with the secrets, the keepers of the old ways, the guardians of the very sweat of Inti, who know the reality of those legends." She stood there a moment longer and then turned back the way they had come. "We should be going. You have seen more than anyone outside of our people should see, and you know more than you probably should know."

As they turned to leave, Skip took one long last look at Mama Killa's elbow. He wished he had the means to take an accurate compass heading.

"So, she points the way to the Lost City of the Sun," he said to Nusiri quietly. "The last refuge of the Inca as they fled their homeland. We go following up on one lost city legend, we find two, and clues to a third. I'd say we're on a roll."

"It gets better than that," said Nusiri, making sure that Killa could not hear them. "The 'Sweat of Inti,' she said. Earlier she called it Sweat of the Sun. As silver is the Tears of the Moon, so gold is considered the Sweat of Inti, the Sun God, the Sweat of the Sun." She paused, and then said, "I think that the City of the Sun is Paititi, the City of Lost Inca Gold."