Chapter 2 - Folk Tales and Secrets

James woke up the following day with a headache and a not-so-clear feeling of where he was. His brain protested, throbbing so hard he had to close his eyes just to bear it. He remembered being with his uncle and Eduardo, eating at the local market. He remembered leaving the market after finishing and going to some kind of open-air pub where they drank and partied. But, further than that, he couldn’t remember anything.

“Great,” he thought, “a hangover on the first night.”

He decided that a cold shower would help recover part of his abilities, after that, breakfast.

Bill and Eduardo were already in the dining room eating when he arrived.

“Good morning,” he said, grabbing a chair.

“Look who’s up.” Bill smiled at him. “How are you feeling today? Can you remember anything from last night?”

“Bits,” James answered. “I remember that we went somewhere after dinner. I remember that we drank, there was music, people dancing. And that’s pretty much it. The next thing I remember is waking up this morning with a huge headache.” He shrugged apologetically.

His uncle laughed heartily.

“Here,” said Eduardo, handing him a greenish drink that looked, and smelled, like made of cabbages. “An old family recipe for dealing with hangovers. It looks terrible, but the taste is, well, terrible. But the results are almost immediate.

James picked the glass tentatively and smelled it; it definitely had cabbages in it. He braced himself and gulped the thing. Surprisingly, it didn’t taste as awful as he expected. It wasn’t good in any way. More like medicine that tastes funny with the first sip, but it doesn’t leave a bad taste in your mouth.

“Thanks,” he smiled at Eduardo.

“No problem. In about a minute, you’ll see it working. But you should start eating something as well.” Eduardo pointed at the table. There were juices, coffee, bread, biscuits, and muffins for him to choose from. James didn’t need to be told twice to start eating.

“Now that our sleeping beauty has awakened,” said Bill jokingly, “we can plan our little expedition.”

“What expeditshion…” James tried to ask but with his mouth full of pastries, it was difficult to be coherent. He swallowed and drank some more juice before continuing. “Sorry. What expedition?”

“The one that brought us here. Finding the lost magical city of the Amazon.”

He clearly had lost more than some recollections of last night. Either that or his uncle and Eduardo have been awake longer than he had expected and were continuing their conversation. Before he could ask what city Bill was talking about, Eduardo spoke.

“Good news on that part,” he said. “Yesterday, when we got home I sent a message to one of my contacts, who happens to be one of the great scholars on the myths and legends of the Amazon. And, someone who has spent a great part of his life looking for the city.”

“Who is it?” Asked Bill.

“Don Miguel Arramendi,” Eduard answered. “He sometimes teaches classes at Castelobruxo, and he’s the leading authority on the magical history of the Amazon. I told him I had some friends from Europe that were interested in the legend of the city, and he invited us over. He lives an hour from here by boat.”

“I don’t know,” said Bill, scratching his chin. “I really don’t want to have a lot of people looking into this.”

“Don Miguel is a good person. And you’ll need his knowledge.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Bill said. “It’s just I’m a curse breaker. We tend not to trust anyone at first. But, I trust you. So, if you say we should talk to him, we’ll talk to him”.

“Good,” said Eduardo.

As soon as they finished the meal, Eduardo took them to the edge of the river, where a small boat was moored and invited them to climb aboard. The boat was sleek and long, made of wood, and, just like Eduardo’s car, it had seen better days. James tried to guess what color its hull was once painted off. Red or orangish was the best he could guess. Was it not for the fact that he was sure that the boat was magically reinforced, James wouldn’t have climbed aboard for it was clear that the small boat hadn’t been made to carry more than two people at once; providing one of them was very small or thin. He was pleasantly surprised when he saw that there was an engine on it. He was expecting oars.

“We’re going by boat?” Asked James, surprised.

“Cars aren’t of great use in the jungle,” joked Eduardo.

“Why can’t we just apparate?”

Bill answered.

“Apparition is not a safe method of travel in the jungle.”

“Why not?”

“First, a lot of places in the jungle look alike,” explained Eduardo. “There is no way to guarantee that you’ll end up where you want because there aren’t a lot of landmarks. Then, you have to take into account that the jungle changes. And the Amazon more than any other jungle.”

“Change? How can it change?” James was now entirely intrigued by this.

“It can change due to natural phenomena, like floods, droughts, new plants or trees growing, or older trees dying out. Or it can change as a result of magic. The Amazon is a living thing. It’s not a place in the sense we’re used to it. It is more like a being that happens to be a rainforest. It has a mind, or a soul, of its own. And sometimes it changes, and all areas of the forest disappear or appear.”

“But, aren’t there people living in the forest?”

“There are,'' Eduardo smiled. “Usually, the areas that humans have occupied, whether they are wizards or muggles, aren’t affected. But some tribes and villages disappeared, swallowed by the jungle.”

“And finally,” said Bill, “there is always the issue of you apparating right in the way of a panther, a huge snake, or some other of the lovely human-eating beasts that call the Amazon home.”

“All in all,” concluded Eduardo, “it’s safer to go by boat.”

“How long does it take to get there?”

“Well, if you’re on a Muggle boat, about eleven hours.”

“What?” exclaimed James.

“Don’t worry,” said Eduardo. “My boat has a few tricks. We’ll be there in less than three hours.”

He powered the boat engine, and they started sailing away from the city and towards the jungle. Here, in Manaus, the river had been for centuries the center of city life. Its main thoroughfare and primary source of sustenance. Whether to eat or sell, the river, with its black waters, provided enough fish, animals, and plants for the people living within its borders to survive. Even today, with new routes and ways of transport, the river was still an essential part of the Manauara.

James was marveling at the black waters of the river when he saw a strange phenomenon ahead, where the river changed. The black water where they were sailing mixed with brown, muddy water, but instead of blending into each other, the two streams went side by side for as long as James could see, creating a unique feature of black and brown frontier between the waters.

“What’s that?” James asked, pointing forward. “What’s happening to the river?”

Eduardo looked back to explain.

“That is the Encontro das Águas,” he said. “The Meeting of the Waters. It is where the Rio Negro, the one that we are sailing now, meets the Solimões, and both flow together to become the Amazon River. It is one of the main tourist attractions here in Manaus.”

“But why do they go side by side? Shouldn’t they mix?”

“There’s a legend that a long time ago, twin brothers were born into a deep Amazonian tribe that believed that twin children were a bad omen, as it represented a soul that was split and restless. In the tribe lore, they believed twin brothers would bring their doom. So, it was their custom to kill all baby twins as soon as they were born. The leader of the tribe killed the twins’ mother, but their father, loving his sons, decided to run away and raise them on his own in the heart of the jungle. The two boys grew up to become very powerful magically. While they loved each other, they were always quarreling between them about the right thing to do, for one loved order and have everything fit nicely within the world, while the other marveled in chaos where things could grow free. Whenever they tried to create something together, they ended up wreaking havoc around them.”

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As if in line with Eduardo’s story, two blackbirds rose from the trees on the opposite margin of the river from where they sailed, rising together, screeching at each other, before parting ways, each one flying to opposite sides of the Amazon.

Eduardo paused the engine and let the boat glide before continuing.

“Now, their father was getting old and sick and couldn’t continue to look after the boys. And seeing how they couldn’t control their powers together, and fearing the old tale from the tribe he left, he decided to separate the boys, leaving each one with a different tribe, before dying. The two boys were sad for being kept apart, and although they both grew up to become significant leaders in each of their tribes, they never felt complete and always searched for each other, but never did they find their missing half. For many years they searched and searched. But never did they find the other, and they grew sadder and lost purpose until they finally died, on the same day, at the same hour.”

They reached the point on the river where both currents crashed into each other, trying to gain the upper hand while neither was willing to surrender. Both James and Bill were focused on Eduardo while he finished his tale.

“Both were buried near river streams as sacred places, for it is said that in those times, the jungle had few rivers and was a dry and harsh place to live, even more than today. After a year had passed, the two river streams where the brothers were buried rose and became larger than they had ever been, and flowed throughout the jungle searching for one another until they met at last again. And when they met, they again quarreled for a while before becoming one. Here at the Meeting of the Waters, we see the two brothers rejoined again after being separated for a lifetime.”

“Wow,” said James, “that’s interesting. Do you believe in the story?”

Eduardo laughed.

“It is a folk story like many others about these waters,” he said. “It is my favorite; I tell you that. But, there are others, some involving gods, others where the colors of the rivers represent the hair of two lovers that were separated because of their forbidden love.”

He re-started the engine and started to turn the boat on a river turn that led them to murky brown waters of the Solimões.

“Anyway, the truth is that the rivers don’t mix at first because of the properties of the water and the speed at which they flow,” Eduardo concluded. “And now it’s time for us to go deeper into the jungle.”

Eduardo cranked up the engine as soon as the boat curved the river bend, and the boat sped up upstream, passing by the other boats with ease. The tricks that Eduardo mentioned earlier were clear now to James.

The Amazon was wider than James expected. You could barely see the river’s margins while sailing in some places. It was also filled with life, with fishes, crocodiles, birds, and strange-looking pink dolphins, or as barren as a desert, at least as far as he could see. Eduardo explained that one is never alone in the Amazon. Whether we see them or not, all sorts of animals are watching us from the treetops, hidden in the jungle’s dense vegetation, or from below the surface of the waters. Some are just curious, while others might attack.

The more they ventured into the interior of the Amazon, the scarcer people became. The boats, counted by the dozens near Manaus, were now single points on the river that appeared once in a while. The jungle claimed the river margins for itself, and the villages, if one could call them that, were fewer the deeper they went into the rainforest. The people that lived here mainly consisted of what Eduardo called caboclos, people from mixed origin descendants both from the native tribes of the Amazon basin and European settlers.

The journey up the river was peaceful and enjoyable. The air was hot and moist, but Bill had cast a spell over each one of them to ensure they were cool and fresh throughout the way. James spent the time on the bow of the boat watching the jungle for signs of life, but either everyone was really shy, or the vastness of the Amazon made it difficult to find animals that didn’t want to be seen. Bill and Eduardo were talking about past adventures and former colleagues on the back of the boat.

James felt a mild drowsiness take over him. He let himself go, with his mind wandering through the jungle and the river, confident that he would soon go to sleep on the promise of beautiful dreams. But, before he fell asleep, Eduardo’s shout jolted him back to a fully waking state.

“We’re here.”

James stood up on the boat, steadying himself not to fall over to see what Eduardo was talking about. To his dismay, there was absolutely nothing to see. This stretch of the river was as inconspicuous as it could have been. If by “here,” Eduardo meant the middle of the Amazon River without any trace of other human beings, let alone a village or a house, they were definitely “there.” Whatever that meant.

“What do you mean?” He asked. “I don’t see anything.”

He stared harder to both margins of the river as if willing something to appear from the sheer strength of his concentration. But neither that nor shielding his eyes from the sun had any success. Aside from a low-lying fog that covered the southern bank of the river, there was nothing there to be seen.

“Don’t worry,” said Eduardo smiling, “you will see it in a minute.”

He passed a small piece of paper to Bill, who read it intensely and then looked in concentration to the south bank of the river, grinning.

“Nice,” he murmured.

“Now,” Eduardo said, handing him the piece of paper, “it’s your turn. First, read the paper, commit it to memory, and then concentrate on what you read.”

James picked the piece of paper and read the message that was there, written in a gentle handwritten way:

“Don Miguel Arramendi formerly invites you to his house near Lago Preto at the Amazon Rainforest.”

He reread it to make sure it was committed to his memory and then locked again to the south bank, thinking about what he had seen on the paper. The fog started to lift as he thought, revealing a pink colonial house. The house was supported in wooden stakes, just like most of the homes in the Amazon were. But unlike the ones James had seen on the villages and settlements throughout the river, this one wouldn’t seem out of place in the center of Manaus or, just like the market, in a medieval European village.

“Nice…” he murmured to himself.

“Yes, it is,” said Bill standing next to him. “I’m guessing you identified the charm used?”

“Fidelius,” muttered James. “You can hide a place inside a Secret Keeper, and only that person can reveal its location to others.”

“Correct,” Bill nodded appreciatively. “Don Miguel Arramendi revealed to us the whereabouts of his house by writing it on that paper.”

“That's a cool use of magic.” James sounded impressed with the cunningness of Eduardo’s friend.

“Yes, it is. But not the first time I saw it being used.”

“But,” said James, “what if someone other than us got hold of the paper? Wouldn’t they know where the house was?”

“I’m assuming that there were other kinds of protections on that paper. It would probably appear blank or appear like a grocery list if someone other than its target readers would look into it,” Bill explained. “Am I right, Edu?”

“Probably. But to be sure,” said Eduardo, picking up the paper and, with the gentle touch of his wand burning it to ashes, “better destroy it, now that it has fulfilled its purpose.”

Eduardo restarted the engine, and they glided gently to the docking pier of the house. After they got out of the boat, Eduardo waved his wand, and ropes shot out of the boat and knotted themselves perfectly on the pier. James was sure that the boat wasn’t going anywhere unless Eduardo wanted it.

They walked to the end of the small pier and climbed to the upper part of the housing structure. James noticed that this house was elevated higher than the ones he had seen so far along the river. If it was because the water levels on this river area climbed higher or because of some sort of status, he did not know. As they reached the house, the entrance door opened, and a young woman came to greet them.

She appeared not to be older than James, although she was at least a head shorter than him. With cream-colored skin, green eyes, and curly black hair that fell freely to her elbow-length, she was, without a doubt, the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

“Welcome to House Arramendi,” she said in a soft melodious voice. “I’m Yani, and I’m Don Míguel’s assistant.”

“Hi, Yani,” said Eduardo, who had taken the lead. “I’m Eduardo, and these,” he said pointing, “are my friend Bill and his nephew, James.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” said Bill.

She nodded curtly. James was staring at Yani with his mouth slightly open in a small smile and a look on his face as if he had been struck by some sort of enchantment that made him temporarily dumbfounded. He was brought up from his reverie by a well-placed elbow to his side by Bill.

“Ouch,” he groaned. Then, with his ears blushing almost scarlet, he muttered, “Hi.”

Bill stifled a snort. Yani was gracious enough to overlook James’ embarrassment.

“Please, come in. Don Miguel is waiting for you in the library.”

They entered the house following Yani. The hall was large enough to create a small apartment in it. The hall was lavishly decorated with furniture that wouldn’t seem out of place in a museum, James thought. But he had to admit that, while the style was clearly out of date in more than one century, it conveyed a sort of grandiose status to the house. Everything was pristine. All the wood polished and all the crystal or metal objects shining. James was sure it wouldn’t be possible to achieve in the middle of the jungle without magic.

Yani guided them through a corridor on the right of the entrance door that led to the library where Don Miguel was waiting for them. The library was every bookworm’s dream—an expansive rectangular room with the walls filled with dark wood cabinets filled with books. The exception was the right side wall, where a floor-to-ceiling bow window filled the room with natural light. James noted that it was facing the river, creating a spectacular view. A winding staircase gave access to the two upper floors at the opposite side of the entrance, where thousands of books filled even more cabinets.

In the center of the room, up to the right, a beautifully carved mahogany desk was placed in the perfect space to receive the light from the outside. In front of it, over a rather elaborate and old-looking rug, were a set of leather couches and a red and gold wingback armchair that wouldn’t be out of place in the Gryffindor common room. Don Miguel Arramendi was standing, back to the door, looking outside.

“Don Miguel,” said Yani, “your guests have arrived.”

Don Miguel turned to them, smiling. He was a tall man, with short dark hair and a big beard where some wisps of grey showed that this was a man who had seen many seasons here in the Amazon. More to this point, he was wearing plain muggle clothes and not the usual wizards’ robes. While this has been a trend lately, as more and more witches and wizards deep their feet on the Muggle side of the World, it wasn’t something that James, who, like Bill, almost always adhered to muggle fashion, was used to seeing in older wizards.

“Thank you, Yani,” he said. “Eduardo, my friends, welcome to my humble house. Please take a seat,” he gestured to the couches in the middle of the room. “It seems we have a mutual interest to discuss.”