A Rough Trip Through The Mountain: Part Two
by Award-Winning Author Diane Olsen
“Okay, everybody, it’s our turn. I have the Dalai Lama’s old Mala.” The others ran down the steps. Halfway down, their ears were assailed by a thunderous roaring. They heard popping and cracking as if the walls above were straining to hold together. The floor trembled and vibrated as the wayfarers shrieked and struggled to keep their footing. Then, it stopped, and again, there was complete silence. After a few breaths, Eliot asked, “Yes, well?”
“I think we, uh ….” Andrews joined. “You’re right! Let’s go.” Sage raced over to the altar. Eliot and Guanaco jumped down the final steps. Sage halted, and the others fell in beside him. “It’s now or never.” L. W. asked, shaking, “What do we do?” Eliot suggested, “We do better than the last guys did. So, it has to be the prayer beads, right?” Sage double-checked, “Eliot, are you sure that mala belonged to His Holiness the Dalai Lama?” “Well, yes. Technically, they all belonged to His Holiness.”
Sage gave the bag to Eliot, who quickly but reverently opened the decorated pouch and withdrew the Mala. “It belongs … I’m sure it belonged to His Holiness.” Eliot unwrapped the banner and translated it. “The enemy hand that seizes beads of the Dalai Lama shall know the searing pain of his error.” Sage shrugged, “So, why you? You still haven’t given us an explanation about those beads.” L. W. asked, “What’s the deal with you being able to hold the mala when it burns everyone else?”
Eliot gulped as he considered the beads in his hand, wondering why they didn’t brand him. “If His Holiness has passed on from the stress of the transition and his illness from the journey, I imagine he no longer requires them?” Guanaco chimed in, “His Holiness passed on? You’re thinking the Dalai Lama has passed on?” Eliot was surprised, “Well, possibly, quite likely, yes. We were so sad. Oh, dear. Perhaps it was allowed because I tried everything in my power to defend Him and his people from the Red Chinese in Lhasa.” Sage shook his head.
“I don’t think that’s it, Eliot. Lots of folks there gave their all.” The Bolivian shook his head, bemused. “Do not torment yourself. The word is that he made a successful if treacherous escape from Tibet to safety in Northern India, and although he was very sick at first, and it was touch and go, his condition has improved, and he is still very much in charge of his nation in the eyes of his people.” Everyone was overjoyed, jumping and dancing around. Sage laughed.
“He’s gonna want his Mala back. Let’s get on with this.” “Quite true.” Eliot reddened and heaved a sigh. “Oh, maybe it was because I didn’t wash my hands.” Eliot looked at his hands with a new appreciation. “I never washed my hands!” L. W., however, looked disgusted. “Why are you so happy? That’s Gross! And to think I almost shared your horehound candies… yuck!” She looked like she would be ill. A slow smile spread across Sage’s face.
“You shook his hand. You touched him, and you didn’t wash your hands before you picked up the Mala?” Eliot’s head bobbed in glee as he held the Mala boldly up. “I took his hand in both of mine and kissed it.” There were more sounds of breaking wood and stone. Guanaco looked nervous. “It is time to put ’em up on the altar.” Eliot smiled. “I do suppose so.” He offered the beads to Sage, who shrank back.. “No thanks. You do it.”
Finally, the Brit approached the altar, looking back at his friends for confirmation. They nodded, and he placed the Mala into the maroon-colored stone scale plate. The altar slid apart, and a small pedestal rose from it. The stand was topped with a gold, jewel-encrusted chest similar in appearance but larger than the chest that had contained the sash. Everyone moved forward, closer to Eliot at the altar.
An inscription became visible on the case. L. W. squinted. “It is written in glyphs. Must have been made after Kon-Tiki’s departure.” She stepped closer to translate. “Welcome, servant of God, receive now the Book of Hope.” She tried to raise the lid, but it wouldn’t open. There are no locks or devices. However, upon closer inspection, they saw that it had been welded shut. Guanaco stepped back, “It is not for us to open.” Gavin Andrews helped Sage with the awkwardly heavy chest. L. W. decided they must leave the Favorahar. “Maybe we should leave the chest as well.”
Eliot retrieved the Mala and banner while Guanaco took a few final pictures of the historic religious monument. Guanaco said, “I think not. The only time this book will likely become available to humanity.” Sage noted a problem, “Guys, the walls are weeping. Water is seeping down those amazing murals.” Everyone was cramming their film, cameras, binoculars, and notebooks into their plastic-lined bags and satchels. Suddenly, they froze.
The ceiling had become a waterfall, draining the pond above them. Guanaco shouted as he grabbed the chest and led them, racing up the stairs, “The purpose of this chamber has been fulfilled.” Pillars and timbers creaked and groaned. The whole chamber shuddered as they picked up the rest of their gear and sprinted for the entrance doorway and the viaduct beyond.
At the gateway, the statues of the protective guardians were toppling into an “X” formation across their path. They had to set everything down. Sage suggested, “It’s going to take all of us to move these statues.” “Maybe we can use one of these temple guardians for a sled.” Guanaco pointed to the one on the left, which had fallen on top of the right-hand one. Water was quickly spilling into the temple from the surrounding lake and flowing into the aqueduct tunnel ramp, as well. They stood behind the upper figure and tried to shove it over the lower one.
“It won’t budge until the water rises enough to lift it.” Sage roped the sentinel’s head with the long roping rein and tied it around the feet on the pedestal. “We can hang on to this rope so we don’t fall off and get brushed away.” Water began to dash and swirl around them. They were afraid, but they persevered in their quest to load and protect the equipment. Finally, the four-and-a-half-foot broad base of the wooden statue rose above the top of the lower Guardian. It thudded into the rock as they attempted to guide it and push it ahead, pointing it into the passage, which would eventually lead up and out.
As the water began to lift the wood up into the aqueduct, L. W. said, “I’m using the last of our parachute cord to lash this case on.” Sage and Gavin set the chest on top of the Guardian’s ankles. When they had done a decent job with the task, Sage and Guanaco took their places at the head of the figure. “Okay, everybody, sit astride this thing and hang on to the rope.” L. W. climbed aboard. There was room for two up in front of the head and three behind. Guanaco pulled off his serape. He and Sage held it over themselves to form a small tent to protect themselves from flotsam and scrapes.
“Not much of a shield, but certainly better than nothing.” The statue was already floating up the tunnel. Guanaco warned, “No matter what happens, don’t let go.” All five gripped the icon in fear. Behind them, there was a crushing rumble. Air squished volumes of water into the tunnel, and it slammed into the base of the Guardian, which then rushed forward with a jolt. Gavin helped L. W. to stay attached after she was knocked loose by the blast. They rocketed through the torrent, and the Guardian was submerged several times, threatening to twist one way and another, but it always succeeded in righting itself.
At times, it bounced off the side walls and even the ceiling. When the log neared the top, it diverted from the aqueduct. L. W. lost her grip and was shoved out ahead of the log. Sage grabbed her ankle and reeled her back in—praying she was good at holding her breath. As awful as the ride was, it only lasted a few minutes before they shot out of the entrance on the side of the hill, around the bend from where they had first entered. The wooden statue came to a halt on the edge of what had once been a charming little spring basin with lovely foliage. Now, it was a lake with angry, filthy water raging through it. Water continued to stream past the makeshift sled, which landed on the side of the stream, the humans strewn on it or nearby. Sage felt beyond tired and closed his eyes.
When he regained consciousness and could finally manage to lift himself from the muck, he saw that Guanaco’s former serape was literally slithering with wildlife: Snakes, fish, and bugs. Those who were able were shaking themselves free of the pile and heading for safety. Dalton stumbled around, checking everyone’s status. Several muddy, indecipherable rodents and other critters fell off the loaded sled as Gavin and Eliot’s heads peeked out from under a piece of the tattered blanket. “Are you two okay?” They groaned in response. Sage glanced to the side and noticed the litter of bones from the panther den.
In fact, there was even a full-grown puma beside the sled. Wet and bedraggled, it appeared to be dead. Spiders scurried around everywhere, even over the cat’s eyeball, dodging the light of day while many curious birds were trying to pick them off. Gavin sat up and groaned, “Oh, no, no, this isn’t good.” Eliot and Andrews cleaned themselves off, and Sage helped pry Guanaco from the sled and checked out his worst wounds, even though the duffels that held the medicine and bandages to treat them seemed to be lost. L. W. screamed when she lifted her head, which was now a tangle of hair and living things.
Then she noticed the cat. Its eyes were glazed, and its tongue was hanging out of its mouth as it lay on its side. Then it twitched. “It’s still alive.” She screamed again as she stepped off the statue onto a giant constrictor. Feeling the squishiness of the animal, she jumped to the side. All the while, things were sliding from her body. “Dios mio! Oh, my God! What a nightmare.” Sage tried not to laugh. “What’s the problem? It’s only a snake.” She yelped and ran several feet away from the sled into the shelter of nearby bushes.
“I am never going anywhere with you again, Sage Dalton.” “I don’t blame you, L. W. I’m done too.” The crew pulled themselves together and finished taking stock of their major injuries. Guanaco said, “Thankfully, none of our wounds seem to be life-threatening.” Gavin said, “I can’t even tell what injuries are from this morning because there are so many options now.”
They found clean rocks to rest on while remnants of the wildlife vanished into the slopes, the brush or slithered back into the water. Sage and Eliot removed the chest from the ropes on the sled, but no one felt like trying to carry it anywhere. Then the men noticed L. W. was returning, but her bruised arms were stiffly raised. “Hey, guys… we have another problem.” Everyone turned to look. Behind her, they saw the two bandaged Germans with rifles trained on them. Johan turned to his buddy. “Hey, Blitzer, it seems like we are back where we started. Dr. Dalton is trying to steal a golden case from an underground hideaway.” Blitzer responded, “It does feel a little familiar. Only this time, Dalton dies.” He cocked the weapon and began to squeeze the trigger.
Gavin, who had his back to L. W., suddenly pivoted, hurling the wet remains of Guanaco’s serape with the squirming puma in it right at Blitzer. L. W. ducked, and Blitzer’s shot went wild. The Germans took the cat in the face. Both men and the puma hurtled down the thirty-foot drop to the torrent pooling below. “Dammit, Gavin! Are you crazy?” L. W.’s face was red. “You didn’t even warn me.” He smirked and panted, “You’re welcome, L. Dub.”
Sage and the others hurried to the edge and watched as the bodies eventually bobbed up out of the water below. The puma was riding atop one of them like a raft. It jumped across to the other, then out of the water, lumbering toward higher ground. Eliot clambered down the side of the hill to verify their status. He hollered, “This time, Johan and Blitzer’s souls have indeed fled to Valhalla.” Gavin went down and helped Eliot drag them from the water.
They were both weary and sore and had a great deal of difficulty with the task. Guanaco and Sage took their time in joining them. L. W. sat on a rock and watched them from above. Over about an hour, they buried the bodies under a pile of rocks. Guanaco offered a prayer for the advancement of their souls. Sage praised their dedication to duty, adding, “Though I’m glad you men didn’t succeed. Perhaps, now, you can focus on yourselves for once. Rest easy.” They passed by and took a final look at the pond, whose waters were now receding, and were astonished to see that two of the duffels had been revealed. Sage asked, “Guanaco, what was it your people called this pond place?”
“A place of certain death.”
Shadows were lengthening as the Exhausted and bruised wayfarers left the crags of the “Place where the Sun First Arose,” now adorned with an enormous reclining puma statue … After they copied the photographic prints and collated a set of the pictures and drawings they had gathered to go along with a full written story of their fateful trip, the documents were sealed in plastic and taped securely inside the golden case. It seemed decided that the golden cask should stay with the descendants of Kon-Tiki/Vira Cocha’s followers. It would be best to house the cask on Isla del Sol in the temporary trust and care of Guanaco and his wife, Rocio. Presumably, the Andean healers began their service as his servants and emissaries.
This particular Revelation, whether or not its teachings had survived intact, was meant to continue in South America. Eliot summed up, “What we would probably find if we had been able to translate the scrolls is a renewal of God’s holy scriptures for that age. There are several newer editions of teachings given to us by Gautama Buddha, Jesus Christ, Mohammad, the Bab, and Baha’u’llah, which continue to reflect how humanity should behave towards one another, as well as towards animals, plants, and the earth itself. Is that a fair synopsis?”
Sage nodded and watched as they placed the cask in a secure location. Then, the travelers left with heartfelt goodbyes, smiles, and hopes for ‘good futures’ for everyone there. . .
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The Unique Settled History of Sweetwater Canyon Above Colorado Springs,
Kindle Edition
by Diane Olsen (Author), Catherine Townsend-Lyon (Editor)
5.0 out of 5 stars – 1 rating
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The ‘Rising Wind series’ of novels, like book three,
Rising Wind: The Weeping God and The Book of Hope (Rising Wind Series)
Diane Olsen
The Rising Wind Book Series is a fictional mystery series with a blend of an action-packed cross-genre thrill ride!”
If you enjoy reading about Native American culture, world religions, history, and extinct beasts, this series is for you! These exciting action, adventure, and mystery stories take place in multicultural settings around the world, spanning books one through six. The series has been awarded 5-star Editorial Book Reviews by Book Influencers and Reader’s Favorite and has won several book awards to date, including the Book Excellence Award and the Christian Illumination Award, among others.
Diane Olsen Award Winning Author 