The Journal of Jack Delante

August 12, 1925

August already. It’s difficult to believe my last entry was over a month ago aboard ship. Now, I write this by lantern light, three days into our journey, listening to the deafening symphony only the jungles of the Amazon could compose. This venture marks my third attempt to locate the legendary city of El Dorado, and should I fail to produce any tangible evidence, likely my final.  

Upon arrival in Cuiaba, I was met by Henry Costin, a compatriot and longtime friend of my mentor Colonel Percy Fawcett. I must confess I had harbored the childlike hope of once again crossing paths with the Colonel himself. But alas, that was not to be. Henry greeted me with some rather sobering news. It seems Colonel Fawcett is overdue, and left specific instructions that should he not return from his venture, no rescue is to be attempted. 

Admittedly, I was taken aback by this last bit of news, and immediately offered my services. But Henry was quite adamant that such an attempt would end only in tragedy. 

Indeed, I knew he was right. The memory of the Conquistadors has not faded, and the recent slave trade has done little to lessen their hatred of us. It took Colonel Fawcett years to foster friendly relations with the Kalopalo before he was granted passage into their lands. They would surely kill us on sight. 

So, it was with somber hearts we departed Cuiaba. 

It has been three days since I received that news. Three nights I’ve sat up, pondering his fate. But as this is our final camp before venturing into the unknown, I must abandon the hope of meeting him before our return. From here we turn west. 

God’s speed, Colonel. I hope to see you in this world again soon. 

August 20, 1925

We arrived in Chavante territory late yesterday morning after two days of traveling through hard rain. Hoping to avoid hostilities, I sent Comatzi, a member of the tribe we hired as a porter in Cuiaba, with the usual gifts. He returned only a few hours later and informed me their chief, Teju, wished to meet with us.

I confess being apprehensive of this meeting. The Chavante have been at war with several of the surrounding tribes for some time. And I worried that our friendly interactions with their enemies might complicate our relations. 

Teju, however, greeted us warmly and inquired as to our purpose. I informed him that we meant his people no harm, and that we were merely explorers searching for lost civilizations. Teju conversed briefly with several of his elders, and not only granted us passage, but told us of some ruins several days to the south he called Luison. 

I thanked him for this information and offered him a set of binoculars, in which he showed interest in on our arrival. He graciously accepted, and offered to let us spend the night with them in the village. This was a courtesy we accepted gladly, and departed this morning well rested and in good spirits. 

But as night closes in around me, I find myself unable to sleep. Something about the way Comatzi reacted to hearing the name of the ruins has been troubling me all day. He refuses to speak on the matter, so earlier I delved into my notes and discovered an unsettling truth. 

Luison is also the name of the Chavante goddess of death. 

August 23, 1925

Benjamin, my assistant, has taken ill, bearing all the signs of Malaria. Fortunately, we have a good supply of quinine, and having reached Luison, we can afford to allow him rest without jeopardizing the mission.

The ruins themselves are not the sprawling metropolis I had hoped for. Instead, Luison appears as a single green mound rising out of the valley floor. A temple, perhaps, but all such musings must wait. Tonight, I must tend to my friend.

August 25, 1925

Benjamin took breakfast this morning, so I left him in the care of Comatzi, took two of the other porters with me and began deciphering the hieroglyphics at the base of the mound. 

It seems Teju was correct. This was a temple dedicated to the worship of Luison. It’s a strange thing to ponder: those who served death themselves would die, their god be forgotten, and his temple over run by the thick green curtain of life.

But such somber thoughts are profitless, and strange to me. If only I could sleep.

August 26, 1925

Bit of a setback. The inside of the temple is a nearly impenetrable tangle of roots and vines. I set the porters to work clearing a section of the wall detailing the rites performed by the priests. I must say, calling these people savages is a crime against decency. Comatzi, in particular, has been gifted by God with a sharp mind and eager curiosity. Already, he’s begun aiding me in translating some of the carvings, filling in where Benjamin is no longer able. Were he born in the civilized world… Perhaps, I can convince him to return with me and attend university. 

August 27, 1925

I have been unable to sleep more than three hours a night since arriving in Brazil. Now, I think the strain may be taking its toll.

I was working on an inscription near the entrance, when Comatzi came running out of the darkness, screaming about something he’d deciphered farther in. I have never seen a boy so frightened before. Without trepidation, I took up my lantern and followed him below.

He led me into a cold room devoid of root, where even the light of my lantern seemed unable to push back darkness. It gave me an uncomfortable feeling, as though I was being watched unwelcomingly by unfriendly eyes.

Such feelings are common when one is deep in the earth. I’ve often felt the eyes of the dead upon me as I wandered through the halls of their final rest. 

But this was different. Colder. 

Perhaps it was the inscription Comatzi showed me. Or the waver in his voice as he begged me to tell him he didn’t translate it correctly. But when I realized what it said…, where we were… The darkness around us moved. 

This temple was not dedicated to Luison, but by her. A tribute to her father, Tau the god of evil. 

August 28, 1925

Benjamin, my friend through many adventures, passed today. I wrote a letter informing his poor wife, Silvia, he will not be returning and tasked one of porters to deliver it to Cuiaba in all haste. 

I do not expect him to return. 

Since our discovery yesterday, the men have fallen quiet. Two of them have already deserted, taking three of our pack mules with them.

Comatzi asked if he should go after them, but I ordered they be left alone. He seems to have taken their betrayal rather personally, and I can’t risk anymore death. 

Not today. 

September 3, 1925

Work has slowed due to lack of sleep. We translated only one inscription today. It described how the priest would enter the inner sanctum and Tau would enter his body. He would then become a vessel of Tau, an avatar, the living embodiment of evil.  

This news spread quickly among the men, causing great fear. I beseeched them to use their reason, told them that these are only old stories, that there was no truth to them. 

But in the end it was futile. This is their religion. I might as well have been trying to convince the Pope to give up being Catholic. They cursed me and fled. 

Only Comatzi, Izzy, and Pacha remain with me, we four who entered the temple. All the rest have gone, taking our mounts and most of our supplies with them. 

September 8, 1925 

With no mules, we three gathered what we could carry on our backs and began the long trek out on foot. Our only hope is to reach Teju. But without the customary gifts, our need of aid is likely to be taken as an imposition. The Chavante, like the Spartans of ancient Greece, value strength, and I have precious little of that left. 

Even now, barely able to stand, I cannot sleep. When sleep does come, I receive no rest, only nightmares. Always the same one, a monstrous seven headed snake winding its way through the camp. We all see the same nightmare. We all share it. Even if it were a pleasant dream, such a thing would set my nerves on edge. But each morning we wake covered in sweat, screaming.

Everyone but Comatzi.

At night, he sits by the fire. He says he can’t sleep. Instead, he watches us. The firelight in his eyes reminds me of a hungry jaguar studying his prey. 

The thought gnaws at me, but when the other porters abandoned me, he stayed. No, surely he remains loyal. He’s simply suffering from the nightmares, as are we all. These doubts the illusions of a tired mind, nothing more. 

What I wouldn’t give to think clearly again. What I wouldn’t give for sleep.

September 10, 1925

After crossing into Chavante territory, I took on Izzy’s pack and sent him on ahead to beseech Teju to aid us on our journey. Today we found his body, crucified on a Chavante spear. A warning to invaders.

It was a foolish mistake. Comatzi would have been received with welcome. A fact he reminded me of rather vehemently. But the way he watches us, his eyes… So snake like. Luison lies so near to their village, they had to know what we’d find there. What if Teju simply used that place, and Comatzi to kill us without ever losing an arrow? Spreading fear and turning my men against me? What if Benjamin didn’t die of malaria? He was in good health. The quinine should have cured him. But there is something about the name “Comatzi”. If only I could remember. 

But these musings serve no purpose. The nightmares visit me even as I walk. I can see the seven headed serpent coiling through the bush all around us, hear his voice hissing in my ear. I’m losing my mind.

September 12, 1925

The jungle whispers to me. It speaks of Tau, Luison, and of death.

Night comes again, but as always, grants me no rest.

So help me God, he’s here. Tau, Lucifer, Comatzi…and now, me. He wears our bodies like clothing, chooses whatever name he wishes. 

Earlier he was Pacha. I could see in his eyes, smell the sulfur on his skin.

 When I saw him for what he was, I waited for him to kneel to tend the fire. Then I took my machete and cut off his head.

Never before have I done anything so monstrous, but none of us can be allowed to live. 

Comatzi. An honored name, a priestly name. He’s been toying with me since the beginning, turning my men against me, keeping me from sleep so he could break my mind. This has been his plan all along. To infect us with Tau, to be his vessels, to carry him back to civilization. To visit his evil on an unsuspecting world.

I can feel him clawing inside my head, struggling to take over. I can’t hold him, but I can kill Comatzi. And I can kill myself before it’s too late. 

God give me strength.