PUMA WAS BEGINNING  to get frustrated. He had hoped that the three outsiders would have turned back by now. Instead, they always found a way to carry on, in spite of whatever nature, or Puma himself, put in their way. They were a determined lot, he'd give them that much.

On top of which, was the fact that he'd seen Killa come down from the temple this morning.  He knew now that she was helping them along in her own way. He'd recognized the look in that jaguar's eye as she'd stared down that  anaconda.

He was quickly realizing that, though his powers of observation were still keen, at this distance, there was  trouble  having any meaningful influence on the events he was watching from afar. He was barely able to kick that rock off the cliff, though that almost did the trick anyway. No, mere observation and small interactions were not enough. At this point, he could use help.

Fortunately, there was someone he could turn to, one of the elders that lived much closer to the City of the Sun, an ancient old soul, almost as old as that Fawcett fellow. He was descended from Apu, the mountain sprits, it was said. Puma might be able to contact him, or at least send a message to him through a vision, in the dream state.

In order to do that, he needed to prepare himself. He had prayed over the handful of chacrona  leaves before mixing them into the ayahuasca. Together, they would make a potent brew that would  provide an opening into the spirit world...

∆  ∆  ∆

Kuntur was no stranger to unusual dreams. The dream state, after all, was a window into the spirit world, and as a shaman who practiced the ways of the ancients, even from his little hilltop apartment on the outskirts of modern-day Cusco, he was in touch more than most with the spiritual world of his Incan ancestors. From his window, he could see the site that used to be Coricancha, the most famous of his people's Temples of the Sun. That place was now the Convent of Santo Domingo, but there were still walls incorporated into the Spanish convent  that were from the original Inca temple, that had withstood the conquistadors, earthquakes and reconstruction, a testimony to the resilience of his people.

Tonight, he dreamed he was a condor. This was not unusual at all. Kuntur's  name was Quechua for Condor, and as a shape-shifter, he had often taken that form, at least in his younger days. He had passed the century mark a few years ago, which is why he now lived in the city, instead of the mountain village that had been home for most of his life. Whether he was truly a child of the Apu, the shape-shifting mountain spirits, or had been granted that ability after having survived a near-fatal fall when just a baby, he no longer remembered. Though he had not used that ability in years, it  had always been a part of him.

The dream was short, but full of meaning. He soared across the skies in his condor form, surveying the land from the Andes to the high jungles above the upper Amazon basin. Looking down, he saw three travelers in the forest, a man, a woman, and a child. They were not of the land. They did not belong here. And they were riding through the forest on the back of a jaguar.

As he followed them from the river, past the waterfall, and through the jungle into the mountains, he realized that they were reversing the route his ancestors had taken from Paititi, the last city of refuge in their homeland, to the new land in which they would finally find sanctuary. As Kuntur watched these strangers, he knew where they were headed to, straight to Paititi, the City of the Sun.

The scene shifted and he was in the form of an Inca warrior, entering the Temple of the Sun, only to find these three strangers already there. And Inti was not pleased. He sent a flash of pure, golden sunlight into the temple, hot as lightning, and smote—

Kuntur awoke with a start, his old heart beating. It took a few moments for him to get his bearings and see that he was again himself, back in his bed in Cusco. But then, he began to think about the dream.

The jaguar was a powerful symbol, a spirit to be listened to, and respected. A jaguar in a dream was said to be a messenger, and often delivered a warning, or a glimpse into the future. The jaguar was a spirit that had the ability to move between worlds, the trees he climbs representing the sky, the rivers he swims in, the earth, and the caves he sleeps in, a connection to the underworld. The jaguar was powerful, strong and courageous, and a fierce protector of its lands.

So, why was this jaguar carrying strangers into one of its most sacred cities?

It wasn't, Kuntur realized. It was warning him of trouble on its way.

Kuntur was a protector of the secrets, sworn by birthright to guard the City, and all that it meant. It was up to him to go there, in whatever way, whatever form he could, and stop these intruders from doing harm to the city or themselves, or plundering its secrets, or desecrating its memories and its history.

It had been a long time, but he was always at the ready. It was time for the Condor to stretch his wings and fly.