SKIP KNEW JUST WHAT Zane was talking about. He'd beard the legend many times, from Nusiri.

"It's a story passed down from our ancestors," Zane was saying. "The old ones believe that when a person dies, his soul goes through many forms and many lives. Each life is as long as the person's actual lifetime had been. But at the end of it all, the final form the soul takes is water vapor. In this way, he then lives forever in the mist coming down from the falls. This is why our people, the Shuar, are called the People of the Sacred Waterfalls." He glanced to his mom, Nusiri. "See, I've been paying attention to the stories of our history. I'm not as out of touch with my roots as you think I am."

Nusiri smiled. "And I'm not quite as 'old' as you think I am. I'm not ready for my senior discount just yet."

"The Shuar also believed that a person has not one, but three different kinds of souls," Skip brought up. The one you are born with, the one that seeks vengeance on your enemies after you die, and the one that communicates with the spirit world, that you acquire during a vision quest."

"The world you see around you was believed to be a false world," said Nusiri. "The 'real' world is the spirit world, because what happens there is the basis for all we see on the surface, and the mysteries of life."

"When you look at the world today, it makes you wonder," said Skip with a shake of his head. "In a world where truth and reality are defined by who controls the narrative, who's to say?"

∆ ∆ ∆

In his dreams that night, Skip piloted a boat along jungle rivers. But not the Rio de Madre or any other river in South America. This was one out of his distant past, the one on the Jungle Cruise ride at Disneyland. As a Disney "cast member," it had been one of Skip's earliest jobs. It was nighttime, and up ahead, the summit of the "Matterhorn" was lit up. Skip could see the tiny silhouette of Dave McRae up there, decked out as a Swiss mountaineer. The friendship between the two had led, years later, to the formation of Adventureland, their wilderness touring outfit.

Passing the Indiana Jones Adventure next door, the Temple of the Forbidden Eye, feature of that ride, shimmered golden in the artificial lights.

In the dark jungle edging the waterway, Skip could hear the calls, screeches, hoots, and growls of nocturnal creatures. Or maybe it was the night sounds around their campsite, encroaching on his dream. He was in that netherworld between sleep and wakefulness, where dreams and reality blurred.

The mock mountain morphed into a whole range of mountains, the Andes. That was Skip's destination. But to get there, he needed to get past the waterfall. It was much taller than he remembered from his Disney days. This waterfall was the size of those cascading down from the highland jungle hills where the Andes met the Amazon. The Sacred Waterfalls of the Shuar. He motored the boat along the familiar route, leading behind the falls, where he used to deliver the corny but fun "backside of water" spiel. And there he came face to face with his grandfather.

Zane Grayson Hutchins, back when Disneyland first opened, had also been a "river guide" on this same ride. It was to be the first of many connections between grandfather and grandson across the generations.

"She's right, you know," his grandfather told him. "About wavelengths, about frequencies. You look at the world around you, a world gone crazy, and you think you've lost your faith in humanity. But there's more than just the world you see around you every day. There's wonder beyond belief on this side of the curtain, once you are able to tap into it. Most people say they'll believe it when they see it. But that's all wrong. You'll see it only if you believe."

His image began to blend into the waterfall's mist. "Know what's on the backside of water?" he asked as he faded out of sight. "A whole other world."

With that, he was gone. As the vision, or dream, or whatever it was ended, Skip's river boat drifted out from behind the falls, back into the darkness of the jungle night. Eyes were watching, from each side of the river. Feline eyes. A puma on one side, a jaguar on the other.

∆ ∆ ∆

Skip awoke with a start. He looked all around, convinced that every movement, every flash or flicker was a nocturnal predator on the prowl. But nothing was moving except for leaves in the trees from a gentle wind coming off the waterfall. That, and the cascading water itself. At last, he wiped the sweat from his brow, took a long drink from his canteen, and tried to go back to sleep.

The warmth of the sun and the aroma of Nusiri's coffee stirred him a few hours later.

"So, where do we go from here?" she asked over breakfast.

Skip eyed the steep cliff above their campsite and the waterfall issuing from that hanging valley, high up. It reminded him of Yosemite's Bridalveil Falls. "Up there," he replied. "And follow that stream, that valley, wherever it leads us." He studied the cliff face for another moment. "If we can find a way up, that is."

"The right side looks totally impassable," said Zane. "But that ledge, high up on the left, that looks doable."

"Yeah, but how are we going to reach that in the first place?"

Both of them were experienced climbers, though they didn't have much equipment with them now, just a couple of lengths of rope. No pitons or carabiners, or for that matter, not even rock climbing shoes. But others had no doubt passed this way. The City of the Sun was a pilgrimage to Killa's people, though it had been many years since she or Puma had been there. And they had done it without specialized equipment. No, there was a way. It was just a matter of finding it.

Something in that dream nagged at him. He thought for a moment and remembered the boat, the mountains, the waterfall, the vision of his grandfather, there behind the falls.

The backside of water.

With his eyes shifting between the waterfall and the cliff, he got up and wandered over to the base of the falls, on the right side. Edging in close to the sheer rock face, he reached a point where he could look at the cascade from its side, into the space behind, between the main flow of water and the rock. Sure enough, there was just enough room to squeeze his body in behind the fall.

And there he saw a series of short, narrow ledges stairstepping their way up to the main ledge that angled up to the top of the cliff.

"Found it!" he called to Zane and Nusiri as he slipped back around and ambled back into camp.

Before they packed up and headed out, he took a few minutes and stretched out, paying extra attention to his back and leg muscles. He wasn't getting any younger, and especially during strenuous activities, he was beginning to feel his age. On top of which, was the tenderness due to the bruise from yesterday's fall while portaging the boat. It had spread down the back of his right thigh, almost to his knee.

He'd expected the climb to be taxing, but had not thought it would be so cold. Though it was still early in the morning, this was the tropics, and the temperature as they broke camp was already warming up. But behind the waterfall, in deep shade, an icy mist drifted back from water that had been carried down from the permanent snowfields of the Andes. Skip shivered as they began the climb.

The first thing he did was to give Zane and Nusiri each a boost up to the first ledge, just a bit too high up for either of them to reach.

"You sure about this, Dad?" asked Zane, noting how slippery the rock was with spray.

"I've got this covered. I'm a 'fropessional,'" Skip joked.

Zane rolled his eyes. He'd heard that one before.

Stupid Dad jokes aside, they made the first ledge in good order. Now it was just a matter of climbing ledge to ledge up that giant, slippery staircase.

"It's like the Mist Trail up Vernal Falls," said Zane, referring to a hike they'd done a few years ago in Yosemite. "But behind the waterfall instead of beside it."

"I was in better shape then," mumbled Skip, half to himself, easing his sore leg up another three-foot block of stone. "What's that they say about the years versus the mileage? And it's not quite as wet, but even more slippery."

"Just both of you, watch yourselves," cautioned Nusiri. "I don't want any of us ending up as spirits in the mist before our times."

"Notice the way this is formed?" said Skip, changing the conversation to more pleasant matters than the way they were perched precariously on the damp, moss-and-fern covered cliff. "Huge blocks, probably basalt, like Devil's Postpile in the Sierras. I'd bet this is part of an old lava flow. A lot of mountains in the Andes are volcanic."

"A world of fire and ice," said Nusiri.

Just past the halfway point, they found a section that led out from behind the falls. Before they could enjoy the sunshine, though, they were hit by a drenching spray as they came out into the open, a toll paid for passage.

"Whoa! Nothing like a cold shower to wake you up." This coming from Zane.

"Yeah, you've been needing one," Nusiri teased.

This ledge was the one they'd seen from below, the one that led, in one continuous, gradually steepening swoop, all the way to the top.

"Just one last, hard push and we're there," said Skip, stepping out and leading the way.

Just then, a stone skittered across their path. Skip looked up and had a fleeting glimpse of a puma, just as it slipped out of sight, high on the ridge.

But that stone had triggered several more.

Skip ducked and pressed himself hard against the cliff face, banging his sore leg in the process. And bumping up against Zane, who was right behind him, throwing both of them off balance.

The next he knew, Zane was over the edge.