Lost City of the Sun

8

SKIP WISHED HE HAD brought a gun. Anything he could use as a defensive weapon, or something to make enough noise to scare the beast off. He thought of the raft paddle, but it was in the boat, too many steps away. Going for that would only trigger a chase instinct. He wondered if a loud shout would do any good. Beyond that, he fully expected that this could be the last, for either him or his family.

The last thing he expected was to hear the shrill whistle.

Even more unexpected was the woman who stepped from between the trees.

She was taller than the average indigenous people of the area, with long, straight black hair, and features more Peruvian than those typical of the Amazon basin. She wore a simple cotton dress that fell to just below the knees, held by a sash at the waist. Leather sandals were on her feet. And above her shoulder she held a wicked-looking spear, fitted to a primitive device of curved wood. It was aimed at the jaguar, steady and unwavering, but as yet she did not shoot.

Once more she gave a short, piercing whistle, her eyes locked on the jaguar's. The big cat seemed to reach an understanding, and relented. He turned his head, then his body, and slipped back into the forest from which he had come, glancing back just once before disappearing into the shadows.

The woman now turned her attention, and the spear, to the three strangers in her land. For a long, tense moment, no one moved a muscle. Skip now saw the blowpipe and a short leather quiver of yellow-feathered darts tucked into her waistband.

Then her gaze dropped to the quipu that Skip still held. Her brow furrowed, but beyond that, her expression was unreadable. Gradually, she lowered her weapon.

Then, she uttered a single word, in English.

"Come," she said.

It didn't look to Skip as if they had much choice.

As she ushered them aboard her dugout canoe, he noted that she still held the spear at the ready. He also now noted the obsidian knife in its leather sheath strapped to her lower leg. This was not a woman to be messed with. An Amazon warrior, if there was such a thing? Skip wondered if they had just gained an opening into the village they had wanted to visit, or if they were plunging deeper into danger.

She only lowered the spear and its accompanying device once they were seated on the floor of the canoe, a finely crafted balsa dugout, highly polished to a rich golden-brown. Zane sat cross-legged in front, followed by Nusiri, then Skip. The warrior woman took the stern position, finally setting aside the spear for a paddle with an elongated diamond-shaped blade. With just a few powerful strokes, she had them out into the middle of the river and was working upstream.

"What was that thing she had attached to the spear?" Skip whispered to Nusiri.

"Atlatl. It's a primitive throwing device. Used for spears, darts, rocks, depending on how the cup at the end is shaped. A modern version might be the plastic thing you toss tennis balls with at the dog park."

Skip realized he was full of questions. The woman had spoken to them in English. How much did she know?

"Thanks for saving us from that jaguar," he said, turning halfway around. "How did you do that? Are you some sort of jaguar whisperer?"

No answer. Skip had not been expecting one.

"Do you speak English? How much do you know? Is it your village we are going to?"

Again, no reply.

And what was up with that rescue anyway? Apart from the way she had handled that jaguar, which was just plain weird, how had she just happened to come along in the first place? Had she been shadowing them the whole time they'd been on the river?

"Who are your people?" Nusiri asked, in Kayapo. She then repeated the question in Quechua.

Stony silence once more. But they couldn't help but notice the flicker in her eyes and the way she seemed to be studying Nusiri between paddle strokes.

"If you had another paddle, I could help," Skip volunteered, knowing by now he'd get no response. From her point of view, he supposed, they were the intruders. She must be as wary of them as they were of her. And curious. Still, she had taken them in. Why? Or captured them, depending on how you looked at it. Skip's article may have just taken an unexpected, new, and hopefully fascinating turn. If they survived.

Well, you wanted adventure; now you've got it, thought Skip, propping his feet on a leather bag full of dark green leaves. At first, he thought they might be coca leaves, but no, these were darker and longer, with a slight variegation around the edges. He wondered if they were medicinal and if that's what she was doing out here, a shaman out collecting herbal remedies. He also wondered if this isn't what had happened to Percy Fawcett after all, captured by some unknown tribe, just for having wandered into their territory.

They glided slowly but steadily up the narrow river, in and out of green tunnels where the trees met overhead. The only things to break the silence were the splish of the paddle slipping through the tannin-rich, tea-colored water, the muted sounds of birds and monkeys in the forest canopy, and the occasional excited voice of Zane as he pointed out the jungle flora and fauna he had been learning. Skip noticed the warrior woman watching Zane, studying, it seemed, with an amused, maybe even approving smile on her face every now and then. He knew she must be wondering about them, an American family consisting of a white husband, a wife of indigenous descent, and a son who was obviously a product of both worlds. He'd caught the reaction when Nusiri had spoken in Quechua. It only served to further the theory he was working out in his mind.

After an hour or two—it was easy to lose track of time—they turned up a dark, narrow side stream. Skip was glad now for their "guide." If they were indeed heading to that village, he might have missed the turn on his own. The current against them quickened as they headed into the highlands. Skip thought they might have to get out and portage, but on each bend, their host found a calm eddy on the inside in which to complete the turn. He was impressed by the strength of this woman to paddle an unmotorized craft upstream with the added weight of the three of them. Amazon warrior indeed, though you wouldn't know it by the average female build of her.

Occasionally the view would open up and they would get a glimpse of a series of low, rounded hills not too far off. Then the forest would close back in. At last, a high, forested valley spread out before them. A wide spot in the river formed a bay, rimmed by a small beach of mixed rock and sand. Tucked into the trees, they could see a couple of dozen stone houses with thatched roofs. Low but steeply-sided hills formed a range of foothills for the mountains beyond. Their guide/captor beached the canoe next to half a dozen others lined up on the shore. As they began to climb out, they noticed a handful of people, mostly tucked into the shadows of doorways, peering out with a mixture of trepidation and curiosity at these newcomers. Only a couple of children dared come closer, and they stuck to the trees just in front of the houses, their hands touching the trunks as if for reassurance.

As they disembarked, the Amazon warrior woman, for that's how Skip was coming to think of her, finally broke her long and sometimes awkward silence. She spoke again in English.

"Come," she said once more. "You need to see Great-Grandfather."