My impressions so far have been wonderful, except for the incessant bugs. My friend Mikael is a sage of much learning, but all he seems to see are the colorful birds, which he's been sketching in his books day and night, documenting each new breed he sees. The bugs, too. Oh yes. He's quite enchanted with those as well.

I've been a bit irritated at the stall we have had in getting supplies; the horses we were promised are all lame and the healer seems to spend more time drinking than he does tending to their recovery, and the food supplies we were told we could purchase here seem slow in coming. I'm sure that one of the men is smoking the necessary meat tonight in his side-yard, for I can see him rushing about stoking fires and tending smoke-houses.

Kaikara is beautiful, but still, I'd like to be on our way.

We are carrying heavy packs, laden with food as well as a folding table and small folding chairs. I am anxious for our arrival when we can set up the large screened tent, which is, of course, the most valuable piece of equipment we packed.

Mikael insists on a rest, so I will take this time to write down some background. My hope is that these journals will be passed down to my son, Jeln, after my death, and that he might find inspiration in these ill-written pages.

I am in Jedda on a "scouting", checking out the claims of locals that there are ruins out here. They call them Tijuta, and say the ruins are from a lost tribe that never embraced civilization, but instead kept to old ways until they disappeared. My first intention was to travel with my partner-in-crime, Elizabeth, sage at the library of Faol. She is going through a bitter failing of her marriage, however, and instead I brought Mikael, who has been begging me for years to take him into the "interior". So here we are, and by the looks of it, he's ready to go home.

Evening. We arrived at Tijuta near dusk, carefully following the maps given us by the local bamboo gatherers. Mikael saw a rare golden monkey just as we entered, but his excitement fell away to disbelief as our eyes picked the ruins from among the green.

Tijuta is real. It is covered in vines and undergrowth, and many of the structures are toppled over, their yellow stone littering the ground. I was eager to examine the ruins, but our first priority was to clear a space with the machetes and set up the screened tent.

It is a veritable paradise in our shelter. Outside, the sounds of birds and monkeys and frogs are almost drowned out by the buzzing of insects against the tent's walls. Occasionally a larger insect- a moth, perhaps, batters up against the screen. Attracted by the light, no doubt.

Mikael has gone twice to the screened wall and uttered the incantation a woman sold him in Kaikara. I can't believe it works, but it seems to kill them by the hundreds. Of course, in truth it does no good at all- more are back in moments, creating a grey, shifting blanket that obscures our view. There is no moon, and the night is very dark.

A large spider just ran over the page; brown with long legs and black stripes. I tried to point it out to Mikael, but it scurried under a rock and was gone.

We woke up this morning to rain. More of a downpour, if I must be honest.

Mikael wanted to stay inside, so I went out alone, intending to poke about a little and see what we were sitting on top of here.

The ruins are vast; I traveled for hundreds of paces along what must have been a roadway of sorts, and all the while I was surrounded by structures. Inside these I found little. I had hoped that this would be one of the legendary storehouses of gold, where the mythical forbearers of the Jeddans hid their treasure. But so far I have found no metals whatsoever; the most substantial artifact was a section of basket, remarkably well preserved under only two inches of soil in a half-fallen dwelling. There is charred wood in the soil as well, and a few heat-shattered bits of stone. Nothing of the magnitude I'm expecting. Tomorrow I will excavate another building.

The door gave about three hours after noon. I note the time because we have been making wagers on how long it would take me to jiggle it open. Mikael gains a drink when we get back to Kaikara. Inside there was no gold, but perhaps something just as valuable; I have discovered torn, loose pages from a journal, written all in Jeddan. The pages are dry and stained, but considering their age they are remarkably well preserved; the door we opened was the only ventilation to this place and very little moisture or air seeped in through the stone walls and floor. I am extremely excited, for one of the dates on the parchment reads "The Eighth Day of the Third Year of the Rule of Nitaro". Which probably means little to the reader until I point out that this dates the pages at more than three centuries old.

This is worth more than jewels.

I have salvaged three pages from the cell or tomb, and have them laid out before me. The Jeddan is old, but I am able to puzzle through it. Mikael has gone off exploring, for he cannot understand my excitement in this discovery. I know I should be with him, but this is too fascinating to let stand idle. I have arranged the dates in chronological order, and will set down my translation below.

We are tired today, driven to the brink of sanity by the insects and the constant hot rain. Everywhere things drip with steam, and creatures of the likes I have never imagined drift through the air and cling to the trees. Taijo died of the fever this morning, and so we are left with only three men, including myself. Sintayo and Kaeda plead with me to turn around, but I fear the way back will be longer than the way forward. This path is worn by many feet, and I know the village that the natives call Tijuta must lie just ahead. Often we see the strange people, but they melt away into the forest and disregard our calls for help. I am not sure if they fear us or are just waiting for the jungle to claim us.

Mikael has not yet returned, and I have had the day for the slow process of translating. I finished only the first page, which you see above, and am considering leaving the rest until I return home. I should be plotting out the lay of this village or city so that we can organize a party to return next year. We must leave within a few days if we are to hold to our appointments for passage back to Masalla.

Ah, I hear something large moving toward the tent. Mikael, I presume.

Later. He came into the tent and threw down an empty wineskin.

"Parched," he said. He sat and described to me what had been an eventful day; he scouted over most of the small city and discovered what he thinks is a religious or ceremonial center; we will go see it tomorrow. He went through thirteen sheets of parchment drawing pictures of the ruins and the birds that have made this their home. He believes he has found an unusual breed, for it is not identified in any of the books on Jeddan birds he has ever read. But he warns me that it could be nothing more than a seasonal coloration. Hmmm. I'll leave the birds to him.

Tea! The Goddess Maya smiles upon us this morning. The sky is bright and open, and the bugs seem to have gone off to shadier corners. Mikael is up and about, ready for another day of exploring, even though he is complaining of a headache and some dizziness. I am always wary of jungle diseases, and suggested that we pack up and head for home, but he is insistent on staying. I have decided to spend the morning working through the second page of the journal we found; Mikael and I are going to meet at noon to explore.

My translations.

All is well. The village came into view today and Sintayo went running forward, desperate for food. I feared the worst, for he must seem like some monster to these people, but they only stood and stared; none made a move to attack. I have spoken to the chief and traded him my sabre and a few trinkets for nothing less than a feast. These are friendly, warm people, and seem to be telling us that we may stay as long as we like. We need time to recuperate, and I seem to be coming down with a fever like the one which claimed Taijo. I have tried to communicate this to their chief, hoping they might have some remedy, but they either do not understand or they have no cure.

The Tenth Day of the Third Year of the Rule of Nitaro

These people have been more than kind in their treatment of us, but we must move on. My fever is growing worse, and if it continues to gain in strength, only the object of our quest might save me. I will try to speak to the chief of such things.

My ears must be deceiving me! The natives now understand that I am sick, and they say they can heal me. They cannot bring the remedy to me; I must go to it. And with that knowledge, a hope springs within me that indeed we may have stumbled, blind and blessed by our Gods, on the very object of our long and arduous search. I am beyond hope. I see them now, coming in ceremonial dress to lead me to this secret place. I must go alone, for they indicated that Kaeda and Sintayo cannot come. Only myself, for I am sick.

Most of the afternoon has passed, and the sun has come high over Tijuta. It is with an almost detached joy that I sit now, gazing across at what lies before me, my fever gone as if it never had existed. Jitama, my most fierce competitor, was searching far to the north, but here, just as I was told, is the object of my desire. The natives have no word for it; to us it is called the Spring of Eternity.

Of course, such a thing could hardly exist. Perhaps it was some spring of water rich with some substance or property that brought down his fever. I cannot guess, but feel a need to continue my translation.

Mikael grew a bit surly before he left; apparently he has been looking forward to exploring with me, but I promised him that I would spend tomorrow exploring with him. He complains that he is finding things he doesn't understand, and wants me along to explain such matters. He mumbled something under his breath, which is quite unlike his usually direct manner, and stomped off. Oh well.

Beyond the fascination concerning the spring, I am beginning to realize the value of these ancient documents; not only do I have a site laid out before me, but I have the writings that give another perspective of everything here; a perspective that was born when this city was whole and alive. My hope is that Lajai will include more descriptions of this place in the other writings before me.

Well, back to the pen I suppose. I will move on to the third page.

The properties of the water are amazing; one of the villagers went so far as to cut a notch in his arm which he healed before my eyes by placing it in the spring. I am sure that these are the waters I have been hearing of, but the thought brings me almost to tears. For if its properties encompass not only healing, but the divulging of everlasting youth, then I have become nothing less than immortal. The natives answer all my questions regarding death with undeniable abnegation, but I cannot ascertain whether they refer only to its healing properties or to its capacity to deny age. Perhaps only the years will tell. They are motioning now for me to return to my men, for night is near, and they seem to think it is not safe out at night.

I woke my men early today and brought them secretly to the spring, bidding them quickly to imbibe of its heavenly draught. Only a few of the women were about, and they took little notice of us. All three of us agree to feeling a new sense of life and health about ourselves; we are quick to laugh and our hearts seem filled with joy. At first I was apprehensive that the spring's properties might have been exaggerated; now I can only conjecture that the case is the opposite. We see and hear more than ever before, and seem aware of the slightest breeze playing along our skin. There is a sensation of transcendence; of having come beyond the limits of the flesh; perhaps we are becoming aware of the Godliness in all things.

And I must admit that there is a part of me that wants to believe.

I am troubled by Mikael; he brought back three birds tonight; he says he caught them with his hands. They are all dead, since he has broken their necks, and are bound up tightly with pieces of vine. He says that they are samples to be brought back to Masalla, but he has brought nothing to preserve them; I fear they will rot and be infested by the time we leave.

When I asked him of this, he made a little noise as if my worries were of no concern and set the birds on the table, saying that they would be just fine. Twice now I have brushed insects away from the three small, colorful bodies. He still seems angry with me for staying in the tent all day, but he reconciled himself with my promise that we would explore tomorrow. He has gone to bed early, and he tosses and turns almost violently; he obviously is still fevered. I have given him some medicine I brought, and am hoping that this will ease his fever.

I am left alone to finish my journal for tonight, and I find myself dwelling on Lajai. I suppose I feel a kinship with him; I think all explorers have within them the seeds of the same need of discovery. So I feel a bond that transcends the centuries that have passed and left Lajai as nothing more than dust. In a way, he is alive in these yellowed pages, his voice preserved forever.

I am satisfied that I took the time to complete these translations. Upon my arrival home, they will surely get whisked away by Elizabeth and her cohorts to be translated by more competent men than myself. I am free now to explore and map out Tijuta, as Mikael has been asking me to do for so long.

Hmmm. The moon is waxing through the trees, and my hammock looks very inviting. Tomorrow, then. And the day after that, I fear we must leave.

The day is passed, and I sit by the light of my lantern and write with shaking hands. I fear to write down the events that have passed, for it will require me to relive them, and I do not know if I can.

Still, I will do my best.

Last night I had trouble falling asleep; Mikael kept tossing and murmuring across the tent, and the sound began to trouble me. I thought to wake him and give him more of the medicine, but instead I lay there and tried to close my ears to his nocturnal motions. Finally I fell asleep.

Hours later I awoke to a curious sound; a wet, crunching noise coming from the table. For a time I lay very still, my eyes wide open, trying to see what animal had come into the tent. But the sky had darkened with clouds, and the night was as black as any I have ever seen. All I could make out were the steady ripping and chewing sounds.

I knew that something must be eating the birds. Finally I got up the courage to quietly reach over and turn the lantern handle to raise its dim flame.

The light flared, and I fell backward from my hammock in horror.

There, in the light, was Mikael, crouched atop the table with his mouth darkened by blood and feathers. I screamed and backed into the screen of the tent, almost tearing it down before I gained enough control to edge my way to one of the folding chairs. I took this up and held it before me for protection.

"Mikael," I whispered.

He just looked at me.

"What is wrong?" he asked, and he wiped one hand across his mouth. He climbed down off the table and sat on his chair; I could see his fever-sweat in the glow of the lantern, and knew something was terribly wrong.

"Sit down," he said, and slowly I did, setting the chair on the floor and then sitting upon it, my eyes fixed on his darkened chin. What followed was a bizarre conversation in which I tried to keep him focused and calm. But it was me that began to become undone and confused. His behavior mirrored no symptoms I have ever seen, and he spoke on and on about strange things; mostly things he had seen in the ruins; carvings and odd buildings. He spoke of women, and began asking me very intimate questions; I answered all in a manner that I hoped would soothe him. In time he stood up and went back to his hammock. In moments he was asleep.

I took the birds and threw them outside, then sat and watched for the rest of the night. I could not have slept for anything.

The morning found Mikael moaning and very hot. To my great relief his madness seemed to have left him. This was good, for the image of him eating the birds is etched on my brain, and all night I wondered at my own sanity.

His eyes were glazed, and it was clear that I had to get him out. But my approach invoked a strange reaction; he widened his eyes and grimaced as if baring his teeth; when I spoke softly and reached forward, he snapped out at my hand as if to bite it.

He was not well.

I finally elicited from him that he did not want to leave the city; he wanted to go exploring. And despite my protests, he rose from his hammock and made for the tent-flap.

My eyes wary, I followed him out of the tent, and he started across the clearing onto a path he had made. I suggested that we go the other way, hoping to lead him in the direction of the roadway back to Kaikara, but he adamantly refused.

"Don't you think I know you are trying to take me away?" he asked.

Those were his words, and they chilled me.

He led me throughout the city, taking me into some buildings and warning me away from others. For a time he seemed lucid; he pointed out birds and told me some of their habits. Once he even turned around and thanked me for coming with him today. And all the while, I was in turmoil. I needed to get him to come with me; his condition had been worsening ever since he first came down with the fever and dizziness, and I could not expect it to heal itself. My thought was to leave him and go back, then bring people to help. But I had no way of knowing if he would stay in the city; he could just as well wander off into the jungle and become hopelessly lost. It was ludicrous to think that I could overpower him and carry him back; not only was he stronger than I, but he now seemed possessed of an almost bestial nature that stirred a primitive fear in my heart.

It was then that a wild hope grew inside me, and almost of their own volition my eyes began to cast about for any sign of a well or spring.

We were well back into the city before I saw it. Mikael was standing before an altar and describing to me in great detail the rituals that were performed there, but I was not listening. My eyes had found a path that led back into a walled courtyard, and in the center was the clear, sparking sight of water flowing from the earth.

I pointed it out to Mikael, and he glanced over. His gaze flickered, and he looked over at me.

"I'm not very thirsty now," he said.

I started over, hoping he would follow, but Mikael shook his head, and I realized that he was going to try to avoid this place, as he had many others we had passed by. I fell to pleading, and at last he came forward.

We walked up the path and between the walls.

There were the remains of what must have been some structure around the water; it had long ago been torn away, leaving only a ring of stone embedded with a few small pieces of gold. The water itself bubbled up from the ground and ran only several paces before it disappeared into the earth again. It was clear and sharp as crystal, and icy cold to the touch.

At first, of course, I doubted. Anyone would. But who am I to doubt the facts that my eyes can see? The proof was irrefutable.

I took my hand and scraped it against the stone until I had drawn a small amount of blood.

Then I set my hand into the water.

The blood was gone in a matter of moments. I lifted my hand out to see if it had only been washed away. But search as I might, I could find no tear in my skin.

My heart quickened. It was true! All I had read was true!

I urged Mikael to drink, and after some hesitation he bent and drew the water to his lips. I watched, expectantly.

His face calmed, and a weariness seemed to come over him.

"I am tired," he said, and he took my arm and tried to pull me away. But I would not go.

I squatted there before the spring, my mind torn between disbelief and wild hope. What would happen if I drank? I knew the legends, and entertained for a moment the concept of living forever. I would have to see my wife, indeed, my children, age and die. Unless I brought them with me . . .

It was more of an impulse than anything. I bent over and pursed my lips as I set them to the numbing water. I felt it burn down my throat, and fancied I could feel it run throughout my body. With a shiver I stood up, realizing the scope of what I had just done.

There was an odd sound, and I looked over; Mikael was crying.

"I'm scared," he said. "I'm scared."

I thought the water had cured him, and he was beginning to remember what he had done. They were not memories that would be easy to live with.

I led him back to the tent, and sit across from him now. He is quiet in his hammock, breathing deeply and evenly, seemingly untroubled by dreams.

I am not sure what I should do from here. Tomorrow we must leave; I know that much, but I must decide what to do with these papers, and what I should tell in my report. If this place is cleared and excavated by my team, the secret of the spring will no longer be a secret. Its properties would make it a boon to mankind; I have no doubt it could cure anything- plague, phase, perhaps even lycanthropy . . .

But still I hesitate. There is something in the thought of humans having such complete power over sickness and death that disturbs me; for some reason it strikes me as unnatural. Perhaps we have too much power already.

It is late. I have thought long into the night, watching the creatures outside play out their immortal dances of life and death. Death. I have thought, and I cannot bring myself to divulge this secret to the world. Perhaps I do not have the right to make such a decision, but nevertheless, the decision is mine to make. I must destroy Lajai's journal, I know. It will be a great loss, but at least his words are written down here. I will tell Elizabeth that there is nothing here- only jungle. We were led on a useless chase by the locals, as sometimes happens.

Mikael has begun his moaning again, and keeps tossing his head and waving his arms as if he were trying to brush away insects.

I myself am not feeling well. Every time I stand I feel a peculiar dizziness, and I am also cold- a bit chilled. I'm going to pack our things for the walk back to the road tomorrow so that we can leave at first light.

I think it is past midnight; I have gathered everything together and piled it in one corner of the tent. I am writing by the lantern's flame as I sit with my back against our packs, looking over at Mikael's violent thrashings.

In his daypack I found some things he must have discovered during his explorations; a few loops of gold that might have been earrings, as well as the rusted remains of a crossbow trigger. There was also an old, yellowed sheet of parchment on which words are scribed down in a familiar hand.

The writing is in Jeddan. An old Jeddan dialect, but I think I can puzzle through it. I have burned the first three pages, and will burn this one as well, when I have finished with it.

This is page four of the journal of Lajai, and I translate its words on the twentieth day of the Cricket Moon. It is noisy outside with all the bugs, but I still think I can write. I am tired, and feel a tight pain in my head but will do my best to be true to Lajai's words.

The morning was torn apart by the sound of trumpets. I recognized the sound, and ran to the edge of the city. Almost, I was fired upon, and the men around me looked on with scorn; I must have seemed a wild man to them, in my tattered clothes.

Days have passed, and his action is no longer a mystery to me. The Jeddan conquerors, eager for the blessing of the legendary Spring of Eternity, partook generously of its waters. And all about me, they have gone mad. Quite mad. In that last valiant act, the villager poisoned the spring with something that erodes the minds of men. And as I remember the villagers' eyes, I understand. It was sacred, and they did not want the destroyers to have it.

At last I know what ails Mikael. And what awaits me. I shall do my best to take us to Kaikara.

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