"SEE THAT HUGE TREE over there?" asked Nusiri, turning around from the bow seat in the raft.

"You mean the one with the humongous roots and the wicked thorns?" said Zane, seated in the middle.

"That is a ceiba. It is an important tree, both for its uses, and its symbolism in mythology."

From the stern seat, Skip used his paddle as a rudder to keep them on course while letting the gentle current do the work. Now this is the life, he thought, while admiring the jungle scenery they were passing through. The narrow river snaked like an anaconda through the rainforest, the trees at times forming a green tunnel. Everywhere there was the sounds of birds and insects, a background soundtrack of buzzes and chirps and screeches and calls, hoots of howler monkeys, and the squawk of a macaw that had been following them for the last mile or so. The air was thick with tropical humidity, and smelled of rich earth, sweet flowers, and rotting leaves. Of life, and death. The Amazon basin had been called a green hell, but today, in this moment at least, it was a green paradise.

"The bark of the ceiba can be used to treat headache, as well as diabetes," Nusiri was saying. She pointed out a swarm of bees hovering around a cluster of the cream-colored flowers. "It gives nectar and pollen to the honeybees, and tonight it will feed the bats. It produces an oil which can be used as biofuel. In times not long ago, before polyester, from its seeds came kapok, which was used as filling for everything from life jackets to teddy bears. Our people, the Shuar, used to use its fibers as a wrap for their blowpipe darts. It gave a good seal, which let the hunter build up pressure for a powerful shot."

Skip smiled. He was glad Nusiri was using this time to not only reconnect with her own roots, but help Zane discover his. She had been pointing out notable plants, flowers and fruits, the bounty of the rainforest, capuchin monkeys scampering through the trees, and a boa wrapped around a low branch, his head stretched out toward the river, keeping a beady eye on these visitors in their little raft. Skip remembered when he was the guide, pointing out things like that to his Adventureland clients. Now it was his wife's turn. She, after all, had a genetic connection to this land. The rainforest was in her blood. Sometimes, watching her and Zane, Skip felt on the outside looking in.

"And to the Maya," Nusiri went on, "the ceiba tree was sacred, a symbolic connection between the heavens, the earth, and Xibalba, the underworld."

"And in your Uncle Wajiri's video game, the tree is the main menu portal to all the different lands and levels," said Skip, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. "So you see, a modern connection, in today's technology, with ancient traditions."

"Be proud of my roots, like you said," said Zane. "Yeah. I'm starting to get it."

They made camp for the night less than two hours downstream, where two other, smaller rivers came in, one on each side. By Skip's calculations, half a day's travel up the stream on the right should get them to the little village they had spotted from the air, presumably of the Munduruku tribe. As the day slipped into evening, Skip used the apps on his phone to organize his thoughts into notes and his notes into another few paragraphs of his article. As he wrote, he cross-checked his books, maps, and other reference materials. As he did, he began second-guessing his initial enthusiasm.

"Something's not sitting right," he said, shaking his head. "The location for one. Why, after all the well-thought-out theories and planning, would Percy Fawcett leave the Xingu river system and take off in a completely different direction? Was he following up on a reliable lead from somebody he met? He was known to do that, after all. But then there's the whole thing about the Inca quipu that doesn't make sense."

He took a sip of after-dinner tea that Nusiri had brewed up from some Bobinsana leaves she had collected earlier in the day. "I hope this isn't some big wild goose chase. I keep coming back to that last date. April first. April Fools Day. I'd bet some previous explorer left that quipu behind as a joke for the next ones to search, which happened to be my grandfather, with his father and uncle. The blowpipe dart he could've gotten from some native he met along the way. And why a quipu anyway? The whole thing doesn't make sense. In fact, the whole Percy Fawcett mystery has a long history of false leads.

"First was the Dyott expedition, in 1928, two years before my grandfather. They met a tribal chief who had found a metal uniform case that did indeed turn out to be Fawcett's, but from 1920, not his 1925 expedition. The next was Albert de Winton. He reached a village where it was said that Fawcett's party had been killed. He never returned. A couple of years after that, a Swiss trapper came out of the wilds, claiming to have met Fawcett, who he said was being held captive. But his description of the man was off, and nothing ever came of it. Fawcett's compass and other equipment turned up, but from previous travels. And over the years, there have been various 'sightings,' either Fawcett living with some tribe, or stories of their demise in the jungle. There was even a white boy among the tribes, Dulipe, said to be Jack Fawcett's son. Turns out he was albino, and no relation whatsoever.

"So, we're not the first to go in with what seems to be a promising lead that might not pan out. And we probably won't be the last. There was even that movie a few years ago. It wasn't even filmed down here, in the Matto Grosso. They did the location shots in Colombia."

Skip finished his tea and outlined his revised plan. "So, tomorrow we'll continue on to that village, see what we can see, and if possible, talk to them and see if they have any stories that have been passed down that might be useful to us, though I'm beginning to doubt that. Nusiri, you don't happen to speak Munduruku, do you?"

Nusiri shook her head. "Just a bit of Kayapo that I learned, just for this trip. Hopefully, someone there knows Portuguese. That should be the universal language here."

"So, we'll check out that village, then go back to Plan A, and head over to the Xingu, its villages and towns and people, and follow up best as we can. Regardless, the article should be interesting, with its mix of old and new, and its look into the real land and people of Percy Fawcett country."

∆ ∆ ∆

The morning light illuminated the far bank, across the river, the shore that had been in shadow when they'd arrived. Zane, stretching as he crawled out of the tent, was the first to spot the tall stone artifact standing there, that they had missed last night.

"We'll have to take the raft over, so we might as well have a quick bite to eat and load up first. We'll take a look as we head out," said Skip.

"What do you think it is?" asked Zane.

"Hard to tell from here. Fawcett had heard of stone towers with ancient inscriptions. This could be something similar. Like Mayan stelae, but in the Amazon. In that case, it could be a real find indeed. Won't know till we get over there."

The narrow stone monolith turned out to be three-sided, about seven feet tall, and about two feet to a side. Near the top of each side was a single stylized glyph. Below ran vertical columns of shapes: circles, double diamonds stacked end to end, and interconnected squares, looking like ladders.

Nusiri walked around, studying it. "The glyphs are animal totems, obviously. The style looks Incan to me, but that's probably just because that's been on our minds. Most Mesoamerican and South American animal glyphs will look similar. See, here are the jaguar, the monkey and..." She took a closer look at the stylized bird. "That one seems to be the condor, if I'm not mistaken. Interesting."

She stepped back and took in the whole of it with a frown. "One thing it's not, and that is anything to do with the Munduruku or any other local tribe. You're right. Something doesn't add up." She turned her attention to the shapes below the pictures. "This is where I need to not let my preconceived notions get in the way. If I imagine the shapes to be representative of knots on a quipu, they become numbers, naturally. And if this were Peru or Bolivia, it might make sense. But in the Amazon basin deep into Brazil? Still..."

Skip took out the quipu and compared the knots with the patterns on the stone column.

Nusiri turned her head this way and that, then looked beyond, at the confluence of the three rivers. "It's a signpost," she said at last. "See, it points the way to whatever is up each river. The numbers, if that's what they are, would be the distance."

Skip noted the glyph for the river they were heading up. "So, we're heading into the land of the jaguar? Great."

"My guess would be a temple to the jaguar. I'm not sure of the units of distance, but if you compare numbers, it's much less than the other two. See, the Temple of the Condor, assuming that's what it is, is very far away from here."

She thought for a moment as an understanding began to dawn on her. "This is suggesting that another people, possibly Inca, came here from someplace far away, to the west, if that river is any indication, and built their own temples." She looked at Skip with an academic's excitement in her eyes. "Forget Percy Fawcett and his City of Z. This could be big. This could rewrite South American history."

"So, that village we're looking for—"

"Might be their descendants," Nusiri finished.

"Well, what are we waiting for?"

Skip moved toward the boat, but just then there was an ominous rustling in the forest behind them. The hair on his neck prickled as he remembered a story his grandfather used to tell. "Umm, you sure that jaguar glyph isn't a warning instead?"

With a low, throaty growl, a threatening shape slinked from the shadows. A shape of nightmares, with malice in its eyes.

Jaguar!