Santa Fe, New Mexico

SKIP'S EYES RESTED for a moment on the cover picture of the latest issue of Wild Journeys Magazine, the print edition, and smiled. With a dugout canoe tucked into the jungle thicket on the bank of a narrow, tree-shaded river running through the Amazon rainforest, the picture spoke of wild places, well off the beaten track, and of adventure.

Then he flipped the pages to the article he already knew well, and began to read the words he had written, just three weeks ago:

When I set out to revisit the mystery of Percy Fawcett and his Lost City of Z, I had one advantage that the searchers a century ago did not have, a clue handed down from my grandfather, something that he had found on his own search in the 1930s, whose meaning had remained hidden until now...

Skip had not mentioned the quipu directly. He had only referred to it as a "tribal artifact with an important clue coded into its design." For all the readers knew, it might be a detail in a painting or woven into a tapestry, or hidden in an intricate design on a piece of pottery. Let them guess. Skip was very careful in what he revealed, and what he allowed to remain a mystery.

To that end, he included only the version of events approved by Jack Fawcett, saying just that they had found Fawcett's journal among the descendants of a tribe that had taken him in, as a foundling. That provided an explanation that solved most of the mystery, but left intriguing details open to interpretation.

And his use of the word "foundling" provided a springboard for much of the rest of the article:

Little did I know, that in trying to tell Fawcett's story, I would add another important chapter to my own...

Nusiri slipped quietly into the room, plopped down on the sofa, and closed her eyes. "She's down for a nap," she said with a big sigh, referring to Hope, their own "foundling."

"And when the baby sleeps, I sleep."

At the moment, their legal status was that they were regarded as foster parents, while an adoption was pending. It would take time, but Dave McRae was working on the case, and he'd assured them that his expertise in international adoptions would speed things along.

Nusiri turned to Zane. "Could you lower the volume, just a bit? Mommy needs her rest."

Skip smiled inwardly. It had been fifteen years since she'd referred to herself as "Mommy."

Zane dialed down the sound on his laptop. He was beta testing Amazon Atlantis, the video game that he had downloaded from his Uncle Wajiri. If all went well, this would be the final version, and it would soon be in production. At the moment, he was armed with leeches, throwing them as fast as he could at the caiman who guarded the entrance to the Underworld, the back door way to slip into the Temple of the Moon. At stake was the Silver Crystal, the key to the next level, the Temple of the Sun.

Skip took a sip of coffee, realized it was cold, and got up to warm it in the microwave. As he stood, he stretched out the kinks in his back, gently, so as to not over-extend the arrow wound on his side that was trying to heal. Upon landing in Sinop, he had been taken to the Sinop Regional Hospital, the closest to the airport. His wounds were deemed superficial. They would need thorough cleansing and stitching, and a course of antibiotics to guard against infection, but beyond residual soreness that rest and time would mend, he would be fine. He was admitted overnight for observation, and released late the next morning.

Still walking with a slight limp, due to Puma's spear grazing his leg, he reached the microwave and zapped his coffee for one minute. After he had gotten out of the hospital, his first priority had been to make repairs to Lucille, so as to make their way home. There turned out to be a mechanic at the airport who was quite handy with older, classic airplanes. Together, he, Skip, and Zane had Lucille up and running and air worthy within the week. Skip and family were home, safe and sound, two days after that.

He returned to his chair, took a sip of warm, soothing coffee, and picked up the magazine again.

Family. That was what it was all about. He'd come to that decision years ago, on a hilltop in Macas, Ecuador. He had needed to be reminded of that, deep in the jungles and mountains of Brazil, Bolivia, and Peru.

And that had become the unintended theme of his article:

...And so, we had come, hoping to find if an explorer of old had survived the jungle, and for how long, and instead, found a modern-day survivor, a survivor in need of a family. We went hoping to show that even in today's world, there is still Grand Adventure to be found. And we learned that, while adventure is still to be had at the ends of the earth, it is also to be found right in your own backyard, if only you will look for it.

The article made no mention of Incas, or golden temples or the Lost City of the Sun...

∆  ∆  ∆

In his condor form, Kuntur soared over the City, watching, ever vigilant, keeping it safe. He circled the Temple of the Sun, his keen eyes peering through the doorway and through the crystal window. And he saw someone.

Two someones, animal in nature. A jaguar and a puma, sitting there together. They were spirit animals, Kuntur could tell, who had been commandeered by their human counterparts, who were sitting in another Temple of the Sun, many miles away.

They would be there through the night, waiting for the dawn, waiting for the first light of the new day to open the Eye of Inti, and for the messages he might bring.

Then, together, they would see the Light.