Tag: Books

A Shard Story – From Rising Wind Series of Novels – From Book One – ‘The Thunder Beings’. . .

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


Bosque Redondo



Iris and Kyah had been asked by the big and little people of Bosque Alto to look for the bodies of three Duendes who were lost when a downpour washed them off a cliff as they searched for a midnight horse rider.



Jane was weary from the search but grateful that Rocky was an extremely good pilot.

He carefully maneuvered the chopper up and down the mountain slope. She shielded her eyes from the sun as she strained to see the Duende bodies or, at least, lumps in the flash flood debris deposited by last week’s storm. I’m beginning to think this is hopeless.

Try as they might, she and the crew had no luck seeing the corpses from the air, so Rocky found a place big enough to land, below the target area. They jumped out and stretched the kinks from their knees, then the four of them followed the little washouts up and down the mountain on foot.

At first, Jane’s eyes were distracted by glimmers and glints of beautiful crystals, which the rain had washed from the soil. The freshly revealed amethysts were particularly enchanting. There were also sparkles of pyrite, rebakite, feldspar, and smoky quartz crystals. Jane used the toe of her boot to uncover a thorium nodule.

She said out loud to Iris and the others. “We’d better check to see if these crystals have any cultural significance to either the large or little folk.” She snapped a few photos of the wonderful mineral finds. She would, of course, be very careful not to show them to anyone in the context of the area in which they were found. 
Last thing the Duendes need is some mine taking over their mineral-rich territory.

Her eye caught an unusual buildup of twigs, sand, and rock. She hollered, “Over here.” As the others arrived, they unpiled enough debris to expose parts of two unfortunate Duendes that lay curled up against the boulders that ended their descent.

“Iris, we should offer prayers for the souls of the departed.”
“I have been, Janey.”
“Me too,” yelled Kyah.
“Good. Let’s find the last body and get them all back home to their families.”

“Wait,” Iris yelled as she climbed higher on the mountain. At a rocky outcrop, she stopped to remove some items from her backpack. Jane yelled, “What? The other body?”

“No, but there’s blood here. Might have been left by the wounded bird, or the Duende. Either way, I’m taking pictures and samples from this crag.”
“I’m surprised it didn’t wash away.”
“It’s pretty well hidden in a protected crevice.”
“Good eye, Iris.”

Kyah, who looked further downhill than anyone else, hollered, “Got one, Mom.”

Jane joined him where the third body lay covered in gravel and branches. It went without saying that they were unable to locate the body of the rider who had been carried away by the avian predator. Iris said, “That must have been some bird. I’ll have to talk to Secora about what kinds of eagles they have here. An adult male Duende would weigh what, sixty to eighty pounds?” Jane shook her head. “I have no idea.” Rocky suggested, “It’s late, ladies.

We’ll need to pick up a stretcher, and body bags, or something, so…” Jane nodded. “We’ll come back tomorrow morning.”

They hopped back into the helicopter, returning to deliver their sad news. As they flew over the mountain scree, Kyah pointed out the barely perceptible Duende dwellings. The entrances appeared to be carved into the rock at an angle to make them look more like crannies, rather than doorways.

They landed next to the Duende village and explained to Alcalde Huamen and a couple of visiting big people, who translated, that they would return early in the morning with a stretcher to collect the bodies. The mayor said he would have suitable body coverings prepared.


*****

When Jane and her crew returned the next day with rigging to recover the corpses, they brought gifts of food to the large and little people of Bosque Alto. Strangely, when they arrived, not a soul was in sight. That was probably because the rain was blowing in sheets. Still, Rocky made the landing look easy.

The Alcalde and two associates ducked out of the ‘cafe’ doorway to greet them as they entered the city. They checked the sky, and after gesturing for Jane and the others to follow, they quickly dodged back inside.

The men excitedly told their new friends, “Those birds came back this morning. Perhaps they wanted one of our two surviving horses. They might have gotten it too, but now we keep them in a little shelter, out of the rain and away from birds.” The alcalde added with a sly grin. Warm cups of mate de coca were brought out to both warm and fortify them.

Rocky looked spooked at the idea that the birds might be flying the same skies he was, but for now, he assured the campesinos that he had seen nothing out of the ordinary on their trip into the city.

By the time their cups were empty, Jane told the men that there were some gifts in the helicopter for everyone. One of the Alcalde’s men stepped outside and hollered in Spanish and some other dialect for volunteers.

Ten large and five small men and women came to the landing site to help Rocky unload wire cages holding twenty laying hens and two roosters, and baskets of fresh fruits and vegetables that Jane and Iris brought. They shared the gifts in equal amounts since the numbers of both groups were roughly comparable. Then they took out Rocky’s personal contribution, 500 pounds each, of cornmeal and beans for both of the Mayors, as well.

The whole mountain seemed to overflow with gratitude. Jane and her son had never experienced such a bright and happy reception. It was one of those memories that you hoped you’d never get too old to remember.

After a feast of beans, limes, and tortillas, two courageous Duendes volunteered to help recover the bodies, if they were still there after the return of the monsters.

The sun was peeking through the clouds as the big chopper took to the sky. Two terrified Duendes, along with their mayor, Huamen, and Alcalde Ortiz, rode in the back of the Messerschmitt. As they flew over the washed-out ravine, Jane spotted trouble right away. Two gigantic spotted eagle-looking creatures were trying to peck the two bodies by the boulder out of the debris pile. When the frighteningly large beasts could ignore the helicopter no longer, they reared their heads back with beaks open and hissing, as if to dare it to take their carrion.

Kyah said, “Are those eagles, Mom? Looks like they are going to put up a fight.”

“Pretty weird looking,” commented Iris, “I think they might be teratons.”
Rocky’s eyes were protruding. “Except that they’re extinct, right?”
“Right.” Jane checked in the back. Their guests looked very pale.
“Rocky, can you do something about them?”

For all his fear talk, Rocky didn’t shy away. He went on the offensive, turning on all the lights, bells, and whistles. The birds finally gave ground, hopping away. Then they coasted off the cliff and soared down the canyon.

“That was great,” Kyah cheered.

Rocky landed in the washout area as before, but the propellers were winding down before Jane and the others fully broke out of their shock. Jane shook her head as if waking from a daze, then she, Kyah, and Iris jumped out with the custom stretcher and bagged the two bodies as quickly as possible.

Kyah and Iris vomited because the bodies were quite putrid and torn up from the pecking, making it an unpleasant task even more difficult. Still, they were careful and respectful while putting on the body covers, and Jane again asked Iris to use Baha’i prayers for the souls of the departed to help the Duendes and Ortiz deal with the horrific loss. The process was repeated for the third corpse, which the birds, thankfully, had not yet discovered.

The Duendes guarded the three cloth-wrapped bodies as they returned to the mountain. Alcalde Ortiz sat in the front and explained, “Señora Roanhorse, I volunteered to come along to translate with the Little Ones and also because I just wanted to enjoy a helicopter ride, which I did, a little. But we couldn’t ask your team for a better rescue, and we value the respect with which our dead were treated.”

He spoke to Alcalde Huamen for a moment. “Mayor Huamen is also humbled by the respect you have shown his people. We are both in your debt.”

Jane thanked them. Rocky set down on the mountain top as close as possible to the Duende city. Everyone jumped out to help carry the deceased to a designated site. Small Ones were still arriving from the lowlands on foot. Kyah walked along with them, reveling in a world of people nearly his own size. Jane still had a hard time processing the existence of these Little Ones. Looking into their marbled eyes was a real stretch. She felt a little sympathy for Gideon’s encounter.

She addressed the Duendes, and Alcalde Ortiz translated. “You should tell your people it would be safer for them to learn to ride horses during the daylight, and with permission. Leave the dusky hours and stormy days to the winged ones.”

Alcalde Huamen nodded and spoke while Mayor Ortiz translated.
“Yes, I think we’ve figured that out, thanks.”

Iris added, “We will spend the rest of the day searching for perilous flying predators in the mountains, and we thank you for allowing us to be a part of your small circle for the past couple of days.
We wish all of you a bright future. Thank you.” Iris and Kyah left with Rocky to surveil the skies.

Jane remained with the people who were going to bury the victims.


*****

After checking for the dangerous birds, the crew returned, quite low on fuel. Iris let Alcalde Ortiz know that there didn’t seem to be any threat from prowling birds in the vicinity of Bosque Alto at the moment. Now that the bodies were buried, they probably would not return.

Both Alcaldes humbly thanked them again. Ortiz also told them that the veterinarian had succeeded in patching up the black horse, which had been torn by the birds’ talons. The vet also performed an agonizing surgery on the bay, but in the end, she was too weak to pull through. She would be missed. Jane, Kyah, Iris, and Rocky felt their loss.

After partaking in generous cups of mate de coca, Jane and the others reluctantly received little stone trinkets and smoky quartz crystals, which the Duendes gave them as tokens of protection and gratitude. Though they didn’t want to seem disrespectful, Jane explained that they simply did what was asked, and they were afraid that if they accepted the gifts, others might find out about the cliff’s precious mineral reserves, but the Little Ones insisted.

As the rotors revved from a whine into a roar, Jane bit her lip as she watched the Duendes cower below. She imagined it would seem to all of the tiny watchers who gathered round to see them off that the machine screamed at them. The taillights flashed, and the running lights flared as the mechanical beast lifted off into a turn. One of the Duende warriors who accompanied them to the helipad couldn’t take the stress. He hefted and cast his spear.

It clattered against one of the “eyes” and ricocheted back to the rocks, harmlessly, as the chopper vectored out of the area. Jane was worried. “Those poor people will probably be traumatized for months.”
“Maybe longer.” Iris was unusually quiet.

Kyah grinned. “Yeah, but they’ll have great stories to tell the grandkids. You were great, Rocky.”


********




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New Shard Short Story: ‘Yima of Airyana Vaeja’ From Excerpts of ‘Rising Wind’ Series Books Four and Five and My Book ‘Ancient Ways’…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ 2 Comments

‘Yima of Airyana Vaeja’

Prologue:

The last glacial period, often called the “last ice age,” peaked in Europe between 26,500 and 19,000 years ago, with the most severe cold conditions occurring from 26,000 to 20,000 years ago.

This period, known as the last glacial maximum, during the late Pleistocene, saw large ice sheets covering much of northern Europe, including what are now the British Isles, and ice caps in the Alps and Pyrenees.

It did not completely cover Siberia’s north and some of the Arctic Circle, where people had avoided the bitter cold. Gradually, the ice faded, and small family groups moved south, following the melting ice that watered the grass that fed the game animals. People split their travels to the east and west of the Urals as the ice of the snowpack eventually diminished and disappeared. There were no countries, cities, or kingdoms to name or refer to. It was still cool, but the climate changed yet again, water began to disappear, and then the land dried.

Trees and grasses died away, as did the plants and grazing animals. Gradually, even the fish disappeared when the streams and rivers dried up. Floods, dust storms, and fires devastated the remaining natural resources, triggering drought and famine. The various sorts of humans who had survived as hunter-gatherers in greater Asia trembled as famine and eventually, cannibalism became a gruesome and damning necessity.

In painfully slow increments of time, agriculture took hold out of desperation, people gathered into small groups, and then into cities. Trade and law were outcomes that led toward the dawn of civilization.


**************


Morning light cracked through the small Armenian hotel window as Gideon Yellow Thunder brought his wife, a paleontologist and paleoarchaeologist, Secora James, a mug of hot water and a bag of Constant Comment tea with its fragrances of orange and clove. He took a seat with his own cup. They had come here to relax and absorb their feelings while discovering Armenia with their travelling companion, Seamus McGill.

After they had barely taken a sip of the redolent beverage, their eager young Irish friend came into the room and pulled a brochure from his pocket. He eagerly unfolded it. “Hey guys, check this out. I found a map in the free pile at the library. It says we are situated in the Ararat Plain, flanked by Turkey, Iraq, Albania, and Georgia. Smack dab between Asia and Europe. Armenia is bordered on the south and east by Iran and Nachjavan, an Azerbaijan enclave. I’m interested in seeing a pilgrimage site near Mount Ararat, which used to be in Armenia before Turkey swiped it.”

Gideon asked, “Wasn’t this country formerly part of the Soviet Republic?”

Seamus sighed. “Yes, both Turkey and Russia have taken away large chunks of land. Armenia is now a fraction of its original size. Even though the nation has diminished, Armenia is proud to be one of the earliest Christian nations, and it’s defined by spectacular religious sites, including the Greco-Roman Temple of Garni, and four other 4th-century castles, churches, and monasteries. Its capital is Yerevan, where the Mahendran Library houses thousands of ancient Greek and Armenian manuscripts.”

(The above image is the Greco-Roman Temple of Garni today)



“You sound like a walking billboard.” Secora sipped and said, “Did you know that at one time Armenia spread over an area almost as big as mainland China? It was home to the clans and tribes, and civilizations of Airyana Vaeja. Traces of that name still live across Eurasia, like Iran, Eire, Ireland, Iraq, Erin, and Oran.”  “How about Armenia?” Seamus enthused. “I mean, we’re looking at “Or”, “Ir”, “Er”, and “Ar” names as clues, right?” Secora rolled her eyes and agreed. “Armenia is special. Interestingly, before Christianity, the earliest Prophet we may have scriptural references for is Lord Yima – Bright Shining as the Sun – from Aryana Vaeja in Eurasia, perhaps in “Greater Armenia” before it was pillaged. Gideon scrunched his face and said,” Earliest Prophet? You’re saying then that this Yima came before Adam? Oh, that’s just wrong!” “He might have been earlier. We will never know all of the dates and times of each First remembered Prophet in a certain region.The “Firsts” of which I am aware, include Rama in Central Asia, Fo-Xi in China, Gayomart in Persian texts, Adam in the area of Mesopotamia, and Lord Yima or Yama, Known as the Son of the Sun. 

“The term YIMA, or Yama, and later name versions like Jamshid, pronounced as Yom-shed and then Yima Ksheta, meaning Bright Shining as the Sun – Apollo-like, lasted over several thousands of years, anywhere in time between 22,000 to 10,000 years, or later. His latter manifestation, or more likely a descendant of His lineage, lived until the Bronze Age, – around 5,000 years ago. His name  (or lineage) covered a period of several thousands of years – from hunter-gatherer stone age, through the beginning of agriculture and on into civilization as the “Lawgiver”, and beyond. 

“He was surrounded by a radiant splendor which burned about Him by divine favor. Some call it ‘Farr’, a shimmering aura that can overwhelm onlookers when a divine being reveals the Word of God. Sometimes it is portrayed as a halo or aura, as with Christ.

“Jamshid (pronounced Yomshed), one of Yima’s latter names, remained humble, but this radiance allowed Him to command mortals, angels, and demons; banishing evil and rewarding good people. 

“He was listed under ‘Firsts’ on an ancient tablet found in Persepolis; and because of this interesting answer given by God, known in that time as Ahura Mazda or Ormuzd – to the Persian Prophet Zoroaster’s query in the following passages in the Vendidad: .

“Zoroaster asked Ormuzd, ‘O Ahura Mazda, righteous Creator of the corporeal world, who was the first person to whom You taught these teachings? Who is the first man with whom you conversed?” Then spoke God (Ahura Mazda): “ O righteous Zarathushtra, I first did teach the Aryan religion to Him, (Yima the splendid who watched over His subjects) before you.” – The Vendidad 

Gideon fidgeted. “What? That sounds so confusing, Secora.” “Just wait, He may have been the ‘First’ (of that previous age) – but according to tradition, He was not always the Revealer of God’s guidance. 

At a subsequent time, Ahura Mazda continued: 

“Yima spoke to me, and said he would like to spread the religion among mankind by teaching others. Then, I replied, ” Oh, Yima, you are not created for this task by me. You have not learned enough to increase the religion among mankind. – You are not the Messenger of the religion.

As I made my pleasure known to Yima, he proceeded south, towards the path of the high sun, increasing the land with his  golden plough, conquering and cultivating the lands.” 

“This suggests a future agricultural time, as humans moved into lands free of ice. The boundaries of the Aryan kingdom were extended in breadth, one-third greater than before.” 

“Ahura Mazda visited him once more, warning him again of overpopulation. Yima, shining with light, faced southwards, once again towards lands freshly freed of ice.” 

“Because a slow accumulation of agricultural abundance began to cause overcrowding, God encouraged Yima to proceed in the second great migration of the Aryans, towards the south and the west, even into Europe, thus extending the boundaries of the Aryan kingdom two-thirds greater than before.” 

“A third crisis of abundance led to Yima increasing the land with his golden plough, towards the south and west…  It became necessary for Yima the Splendid to enjoin righteous order on his subjects. It is said He controlled invisible time itself, making it much larger in size so as to praise and spread His righteous law.” 

“This third great migration extended the ancient homeland, Airyana Vaeja (“j” sounds like “y’), the land of the Aryans, by four and a half times towards the south into Afghanistan and even the upper Indus valley..  

“Rama or Ram – is likely Yima or Yama’s counterpart in early Hindu traditions, and as such, one Being might be the basis for both the Persian and Hindu Faiths; in the scriptural histories of both the Zend Avesta and the Vedas.  
He may also be associated with pieces of the Atrahasis and Gilgamesh stories in Babylonia and Mesopotamia.”

Gideon sighed and rubbed his forehead. “How does that fit into history?”

“Well, these vast migrations displaced other local groups, or bands of ancient human forms, who were also struggling to make a living – especially in the light of massive climate changes from icepack, to plenty, to deadly drought. Some encounters with giants are remnants of legends and scripture.”

Seamus asked, “What else?”

“One of Yima’s most wonderful miracles occurred at Ahura Mazda’s (God’s) bidding. He ordered the people to build a vara underground settlement to avoid freezing and hunger. It would house hundreds of people, as well as the animals and plant crops. Such an underground city with thirteen levels still exists in Derinkuyu, Turkey. And people in parts of Asia and Siberia still move underground during winter cold spells.”

Gideon’s face was torqued with confusion. “So, what about Adam? Where does He fit in?”

Secora smiled. “Dear, the truth is that man has had guidance from his Creator since immemorial. Adam, whom we now recognize as the First Prophet of the last Age, is another example. He is also referred to as the First Mortal. However, it seems likely that Adam and Eve hunted and gathered relatively plentiful food before the Great Starvation, which actually may have taken their lives when the resources (Eden) disappeared. 


“The couple may have suffered famine at the end of the time of plenty as represented by the Garden. However, they lived prior to the stage of domestication, where Cain and Abel were a farmer and a herdsman. Seth might have come at a later time, when earlier villages might have required the establishment of law and the beginnings of civilization. So they were possibly descendants rather than children of Adam.”

“Similar layers can be found for all of the Earliest Prophets we can recall. The first mortal, the first Prophet, the first agricultural king, the first lawgiver, etc. Obviously, specific dates and names don’t really matter.

“There is no way we can remember the dates of these Prophets’, or every layer of God’s Revelations throughout the millions of years of human development. We have relied on scriptural scraps, and tantalizing bits of wisdom, as well as fables, and parables from the most ancient times until the traces of Revelatory guidance could be recorded in writing. 

“It is tempting to think that the begats of the Bible may be an attempt to remember the genealogy of the prophets, which would inhibit such overlap.” 

Seamus snickered, then teased,“What, no amoeba, fish, or turtle guidance?”

She paused, looked at her cup, and then took a sip. “Oh yeah! You’re  getting the idea.” Seamus and Gideon laughed. “Go ahead, laugh, but ask a Baha’i or a Hindu. We were guided throughout Creation. We even have shreds of wise advice on family and morality from a very early female educator – could be around Australopithecine times.” 

“I’m so confused – I’ve never heard of any of them.” Gideon set his teacup down on a side table and shook his head as he mumbled, “This is what I get for marrying you, Secora.” He reached over and kissed her. Then Seamus stood up and headed for the door as he said, “Let’s grab some breakfast.

We have a big day of exploring ahead of us!”

*********

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New Shard Story – ‘Rising Wind Series’ Book 5: ‘Rock My Soul’ Titled “Spirit Beasts”. . .

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment

Spirit Beasts

From Book 5 – Rock My Soul Rock


                   

Secora James wiped sweat out of her eyes while running from cave to cave on the Ennedi Plateau. The melted formations which were part of the mesa she was racing across seemed surreal, like shrouded statues, anthills, or dung heaps. She stopped at the first cave.

“I thought I heard a man screaming. It sounded like it could have been Mosa, the water witcher. Or maybe I just imagined it.”

There was nobody in the first cave, only the tracks of small rodents and the snakes that followed them. Just two more to check. She recalled that Anthony, the tracker, had mentioned three distinct caves near their job site. Her mouth and throat were parched, and she prayed she wouldn’t sprain an ankle as she ran on through the rugged terrain looking for another cave. 

Suddenly, she noticed she wasn’t alone. Where did these dogs come from? Why are they running with me like they know me? The beasts resembled thin pointers or small greyhounds, with pale dun pinto spots on a mostly white background. Their eyes focused ahead as they ran between and around her legs. I’m gonna trip for sure. 

She cautiously approached the entrance to the second overhang, taking a moment to arm herself with a Maglite and a can of pepper spray from her belt. The dogs stopped in their tracks, listening. What could these dogs possibly eat or drink out here, and why didn’t this cat eat them? As if in answer, they moved forward, wagging their tails in a playful manner. That’s a good sign.

“Hello, anyone there? Mosa? Hello?”

There was only silence and shimmering heat. Secora rallied and stepped inside the cave entrance, playing the flashlight around and illuminating the small room. There were large bones mixed with the cave dust, but the remains were not human – and they were not from recent kills. She called again, “Mosa? Anyone in here?”

She listened intently for a response. Could it be that she heard the water witcher’s faint voice? She shook her head and then turned to leave to find the third and final cave. Anthony had cautioned the crew about a “Shadow Cave”, the lair of a large, strange cat that had been picking off calves and young camels from the flocks of the wandering Toubou nomads. In the distance, a dust cloud drew her eyes. Squinting, through a sandstone arch, she thought she saw her husband, Gideon Yellow Thunder, and her grad student, Tarkio Cyr, in a jeep headed toward the base of the formations of twisted rocks – many of which resembled mushroom caps, or cloaked stone-people on top of the mesa.

She imagined it would take them several minutes to race up to her position. What she did not expect was the humongous tiger materializing from behind bushes not ten feet directly in front of her. The cat was longer than the distance between them. She slowly replaced the Maglite on her belt. Its eyes were calculating her every move, waiting for Secora to flinch. That wasn’t going to happen.

With no chance for escape, Secora stepped forward as she lifted the camera from around her neck. She was fascinated by this beast, a relative of the great saber-toothed cats of the past. Its shape was more like that of a cave hyena, taller in the shoulders, with a sloping back, shorter back legs, and a stubby tail. Most notably, its canine teeth were flattened like knife blades, and only protruded a few inches beneath the lower jaw.

They weren’t quite as long or round as the ones on Smilodon, or a bull walrus skull. This animal was extremely large, and had short reddish-brown fur with vertical white stripes. She couldn’t see any black stripes like on a Bengal or Siberian tiger. Long fur surrounded its toes and padded the feet. She guessed it helped the animal to walk more easily across shifting sand, or to protect its toes from sharp rocks.

The phrase “scimitar toothed cat” popped into her mind as she snapped several photos. The mechanical noise made by the automatic film advance caused the beast to blink, and the dogs, emboldened by that reaction and her advance, backed up Secora’s legs with low growls and exposed teeth. They stepped toward the beast in a stalking manner.


The unanticipated results were more than the cat could take. It wheeled and sprang down from a pinnacle, disappearing about thirty feet below their position. “Secora, wait.” The guys were catching up fast. The dogs whirled to face them and yelped a sharp warning.

Gideon pleaded, “Weah Witco,” Crazy Woman, in Lakota. “What are you doing in that cave?”
“I think Mosa, our water witcher, is up here somewhere. I heard a voice that sounded like he was calling for help.” 
Anthony, the team tracker and translator, said, “Not likely, madam. Unless he is in the kingdom of the unseen. Only the voices of the dead are carried through these rocks by the caressing winds – You can hear them all around this area.” She sighed. “I can understand that, but Anthony, I’m sure it was Mosa. Do you know where these dogs came from? Surely they can’t live out here alone in this dry desert.”

Everyone became quiet. Eventually, Gideon gently asked, “Dogs? What dogs…?” Secora looked around with increasing concern, then saw no dogs and immediately fainted. She roused back at camp, thinking she’d had an awful dream. “What happened?” she asked. Gideon, Tarkio, and Anthony anxiously surrounded her. Her husband responded gently, “You fainted, dear.”
“Where is the water witcher? Is Mosa okay?”
Anthony responded, “He must be around somewhere.”

Secora said plaintively, “No, I heard his voice calling for help. It was very faint at first, but clearer as I closed in on the second of the three caves you told us about. There was nothing inside the first one except for the tracks of small rodents and snakes. I heard a faint voice at the second cave entrance but saw only a few dried antelope bones. When I turned around to get to the last cave, a mountain tiger stepped from behind some shrubs and would have attacked me if it wasn’t for those snarling dogs that were protecting my legs.”
“The animals must have been your imagination,” Anthony suggested.

Secora thought his smile looked a bit patronizing. “I’m not sure exactly how large this cat was, but I took pictures – even though I won’t be able to develop them until I am back in my lab. If it wasn’t just a spirit beast, there should be a clear image of an ancient tiger that looked about eleven feet long and stood as tall as my chest.”

“I believe there are tales of a legendary Ennedi Tiger. But it is a spirit beast. So don’t be too surprised if nothing shows in the photo but rocks.”

“Fine, but we still have to go back and check out that third cave.”

Anthony cautioned, “Not interested. Those caves belong to the spirit cat.”

Tarkio asked, “You mean, the cat you just told us was imaginary?

Secora, what are these dogs you’re talking about?”

She didn’t feel like answering that question, as concern for Mosa was her priority. “Has anybody heard from Mosa since I left for the caves?” Tarkio said, “Not that I know, but maybe he left to go home since he had staked out all of the areas that were above subterranean aquifers.”

Gideon agreed, “That makes sense. I doubt anyone would stay here after their part was done. Even Raffique left for Afghanistan yesterday after he finished setting up the collectors at the wadi.”

“But,” Secora insisted, “Can anyone confirm that Mosa went home?”

Her persistent concern prompted a trek with the others to the third cave.

There they found Mosa’s torn robes and bones mostly cleaned of flesh, among the vestiges of camels and calf heads. Remembering the large cat, Secora felt forlorn, realizing she couldn’t have saved his life even if she had made it to the third cave. Suddenly she flashed on a memory of the crew eating breakfast at a restaurant. It had been one of Mosa’s favorite occasions, rare, and to be savored.

The image made her smile, a comforting contrast to the way she felt inside while looking at what was left of her friend’s mortal remains inside the cave. Mosa? Is this you trying to keep me from being morbid? 
She smiled. It would be just like you. Safe passage, my friend. Go with God.

On the way down the rocks, Anthony carried poor Mosa’s remains while explaining that although he’d always believed the Ennedi Tiger was a spirit beast, there were persistent legends of cave-dwelling cats, mountain tigers in the Tibesti and Ennedi mountains of Chad. “It was supposedly larger than a lion, perhaps twelve feet long, with short reddish-brown fur marked with vertical white stripes.” Secora responded, “Well, they are more than spirits if they’re stealing animals from the Toubou at the drinking wells, and are willing to attack people during the light of day.”

The Photographs

After returning from the trip to Chad to work with a “water seeking” project during summer break, Secora groaned as she sat back at her office desk. With a coffee in hand rather than her usual tea, she called one of her grads, Bill Hoffmann, and asked him to stop by the office to develop a roll of film with images from the desert.

“Okay… see you in five.”

 A few hours later, Bill popped back into the office bearing a handful of prints as if they were golden treasure. He handed them over as Secora set her files aside. She savored the first few images, but was shocked when the last few shots showed two snarling dogs stepping toward a scimitar cat – plain as day! Bill asked, “What’s all this about? Did you pick up a few pets while you, Gideon, and Tarkio worked on that water project in Africa?”

Tarkio bounced in, dumped his backpack on the desk, and sidled up to peek over Bill’s shoulder at the photos. “Dang! What… the heck is that!?”

Secora pushed her desk chair back to answer, but choked on a sip of coffee. When she could speak, she responded, “It’s an Ennedi scimitar toothed tiger, and two snarling, spirit dogs.”

Bill remarked, “Spirit dogs! Looks like a fang flashing orgy?”

Tarkio wordlessly shook his head from side to side, his eyes wide and his lower jaw sagging.

Secora calmly said, “I think the dogs may have been some spirit guardians of sorts because until now, I thought I was the only one who saw them. No one else believed they were real.”

Bill squeaked, “Where was this?”

Near the second in a series of three taboo caves in the Ennedi Mountains. I’d thought I heard the water witcher cry out for help, and followed the faintest voice up that hillside to the place our guide, Anthony, told us about.”

Bill said admiringly, “Hey, you managed to get a tail shot as he left. That tiger was definitely a boy. How come you were taking pictures? Looks like that thing could have reached out and licked you to death.”

“Maybe. It was impossible to run – what would you have done?”

Tarkio considered. “She’s got a point, Bill. You’d have taken the pictures too.”

“Guess that’s true,” Bill smirked.  “Those courageous dogs remind me of the old mama cat back home. She was brave enough to hunt in the forest with whatever lived there, Bear Dogs included!

“Good comparison. Surprised she lived through that – and the Sasquatches.” 

“Right,” Bill reminded, “I remember that older guy made it clear that we weren’t to leave that place with his mugshot.

“Hey, did you know I brought Mamma Cat with me so she would be safe when I moved to Missoula?”

Tarkio queried, “Is she bored to death?”

Bill did a double-take. “What, you mean living in town? No, she’s a princess now – spends her time curled up on the couch or my bed.”

“What a slacker.”

Bill made ready to leave. “Hey Secora, I’ve got about half an hour before class. Tell me more about the scimitar cat and what happened to that water witcher guy?” “Long story short, Bill, the water witcher was beyond my ability to help. We found his remains in the third cave. But I wasn’t eaten, and all three of us were able to attend his funeral.
I’ll tell you more another time.”
Bill smirked, “Gonna hold you to that.”
Then he wandered out the office door…

****************

As I continue this new chapter of writing and sharing my stories, please leave me your thoughts or feedback in the “comment” section of each new post.  I thank you for stopping by and visiting my literary corner of the world, avid readers! 

Sincerely,
~Author Diane Olsen

New Shard Story From ‘The Weeping God & The Book of Hope: Rising Wind Series: Book Three. ‘Rough Trip Through The Mountain’ Part Two. . .

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment

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. . .

*****************

Happy to announce my New Book Release
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

#1 New Release in Colorado Springs, Colorado Travel Books

Kindle is now available from Amazon with
Paperback coming soon!
https://www.amazon.com/Settled-History-Sweetwater-Colorado-Springs-ebook/dp/B0FCSLTJJX/

**************

Visit my Amazon Author Page to learn more about
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.

New Shard Story From ‘The Weeping God & The Book of Hope: Rising Wind Series: Book Three. ‘Rough Trip Through The Mountain.’

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


A Rough Trip Through The Mountain: Part One of Two
by Award-Winning Author Diane Olsen

After Sage discovered an ancient text in a Mexican desert tomb, he led L.W. and a group of fellow explorers to Tibet, where they found themselves in the middle of a war. Even with danger at every turn, they still managed to discover secret caves beneath Lake Titicaca in Bolivia that led them toward an elusive yet powerful Book of Hope….


Slowly, they clambered inside the underground chamber, which was dimly lit from cracks in the rocks high above. The wooden doors had been propped open, and faded maroon paint still shone on them. The script was emblazoned for all to see. L. W. observed, “Look, there’s writing across the tops of the doors.”

“It’s more of that Cretan,” stated Gavin, a linguistics grad student, who was almost drooling with excitement. “It means God of the Sun, or God of Fire. Kon-Tiki! Yeah, this has gotta be it!” “Wait till I get a photograph,” said Eliot, the former BBC reporter, while hauling out a camera. Sage Dalton cautiously guided their way through the solid doors and into a broad chamber. He cautiously touched one of the walls. The gilt décor on the walls inside the temple was resplendent. Eliot chuckled as he flashed several pictures. “Even the rivets are golden.” The crew carefully stacked their gear and backpacks in a heap on a decoratively painted table. Some took out sandwiches. L. W. stood in awe. “The pigments are still so beautiful, red, green, and white.”

“Here are rumors of past glory,” whispered Sage as L. W. moved smoothly up beside him. She added, “The masonry is perfect. No wonder this temple has been able to withstand so many tectonic assaults.” Sage held the lantern aloft as they proceeded around the chamber to the right. Awestruck, they peered at each mural. Guanaco took a Kodak camera and flash attachment from his duffel, placing it around his neck and over his serape. Gavin and Eliot took out Brownie cameras and a pack of flashbulbs, and they began to snap black-and-white shots of everything.

While scrutinizing a mural map, Sage paused at a featured inset of an island. He muttered, “It’s Tollan. A ‘place of reeds’.” Nearby, there was a miniature portrait of the lovely Olmec woman he had seen once before. “It’s her”. “Her, who?” Eliot elicited. Sage answered as he stared at L. W, “Oh, the lady I met in the Olmec tomb.” L. W. responded, “You mean the one with the sash?” She stepped close and followed his gaze. Thoughtfully, she touched the figure, which could easily have been her self-portrait. Then, she looked back at Dalton. “I see what you mean. Wish Uncle Mitchell were here to see this.” His look acknowledged her sentiment. “Me too,” Guanaco said reverently, “She must have been very important in her day to be so honored from Mexico to Bolivia.”

Gavin piped up, “Quetzalcoatl’s voyage, by means of marvelous ships, is documented in these paintings.” L. W. commented, “Looks like they stopped at various ports, populated by a bewildering array of people from the coasts of the Mediterranean to Africa and across to North, Central, and South America.”


Eliot munched a sandwich, then asked, “If we know Kon-tiki means the Son of the Sun, Bochia—the white mantle of light, and that Quetzalcoatl and Kukulkan refer to the Feathered Serpent, none of that tells us for sure where He came from. Who was this strange, pious man, this divine traveler, Kon-Tiki?
Can we trace him directly back to the Middle East?
Where was He born?”
Sage said, “I definitely do think the rainbow sash is a clue—very Zoroastrian.” Sage mused.
“The reflection of the Sun was also used as a reference for Lord Zoroaster. I remember from Mitchell’s religion class that ‘Zoroaster,’ AKA ‘Zarathustra,’ or ‘Zar dosht’ are names derived from the ancient Persian word Zarat, which means ‘Golden. His teachings enlightened the entire Persian Empire with parables like the one about the fire in the wood.”
“Never heard of it,” L. W. Sage dismissed. “Once dried, a spark in decayed wood can produce heat and light.” Likewise, the soul of a human must be sparked by the Word of God for a person to achieve their most enlightened self.

In the case of both wood and human, the opposite state would be darkness, ignorance, and a cold, material nature. These twin potentials are represented by the symbols of ‘Yin and Yang,’ light and its opposite.” Guanaco brightened and mentioned, “That’s like the ‘sun’ and the ‘moon’ in Latin America. Both are part of human nature and are sacred symbols.” A doorway at the back led to a stairway that disappeared down into the dark. “Get a load of the sunken altar down there! There must be at least ten concentric circular stairways leading to the central platform. Kind of like a sunken stage in a theater,” observed Gavin in the light of his lantern, held aloft. “Enough history. Let’s move down the stairs and check out the altar,” encouraged Sage. Eliot added, “Right-e-o, everybody, grab our bags, and let’s get down there.”

As they moved into the room with the stairs, L. W. remarked, “Hey, guys, there is a scent in this room which smells faintly sweet, like incense, sandalwood. How can it seem so fresh?” Guanaco admitted, “If this were only my first trip to this temple, I wouldn’t be much of a guide, would I?” Sage turned around and looked at the Kallawaya healer.“So, you’ve been here before? You’re the one who burned the sandalwood?” “Well, not the only one.” Everyone eyed him with renewed respect, including Sage, who bowed slightly as he continued to look him straight in the eyes.

Always the pragmatist, Gavin said, “Good, that means you probably know more than one way out of here.” “We can only hope.” Guanaco took his eyes away from Dalton and led the way down the sets of stairs toward the altar, explaining. “Here in the Andes, our Prophet was a peaceful, benevolent being with strong healing powers. His people brought new wisdom to our agricultural interests, such as terracing and camellones–our insulating water canals.

As mentioned by Sage, He banished blood sacrifice and lived a compassionate life, calling for us to cherish the earth and all of its creatures. He was wise and kind.” Guanaco paused and closed his eyes for a moment. Sage thought he must be praying. Then he began walking again toward the altar. “Travelers came to visit him from distant lands to hear His sacred message. He started the order of healers, the Kallawayas, like myself.” Eliot pointed excitedly toward the shrine table. “Oh, oh, see there, under the Prophet’s feet… It’s the image of a golden case, probably stuffed with scrolls.” Andrews moved in closer, “That’s gotta be His Book of Hope.” “Gotta be.” Sage agreed. “I was beginning to think we were on a fool’s errand, to quote L. W. The chance of any documents being readable, at this point, is unlikely.”

He frowned and moved out of the healer’s way, changing the subject. “As in your tale of the Prophet of the Americas, Central Asia’s Zoroaster believed in truth, justice, and compassion for all living things, even the soil.” Guanaco asked, “When did Zoroaster teach?” “Well, dates are more than a little shaky. We see references to His birth in Azerbaijan, in northern Iran, approximately between 1,200 and 1,800 BC, at the earliest. That would make about 3,200-3,800 years ago.” Guanaco hunkered down.

“The same rough dates apply to both Kon-Tiki and Quetzalcoatl. You could be right. Could be the same Prophet.” “Righto,” cheered Eliot. L. W. chimed in,“The Mayans carried His revelation into Central America.” “She’s right,” Guanaco confirmed as he changed the film in his camera. “Many chose to serve him. From the Olmecs on the peninsula to Tollan, also called Teotihuacan—even to Tierra del Fuego. The golden age of Mesoamerican civilization thrived for almost two thousand years.” L. W. concurred, “Yes, He, or at least His legend, did get around. That’s why he was well known by literally dozens of names, each with one or two different variations everywhere. He stopped.

Kukulkan, Gucamatz, Volan, and Quetzalcoatl, etc.” Guanaco said, “It’s true. “He was depicted in some places around the Andes as the Weeping God.” A frieze in Tiahuanaco depicts a figure with tears running down his face; he was forced to leave his beloved disciples behind and continue the journey.

But now, the message has been garbled and overtaken by dramatic stories of gods and demons, much like paganist devolution found everywhere. The fading and changing of the message over time is a real part of revealed religion. ‘The Yang which offsets the Yin.’ It is why God sends a renewal of His message from one generation to the next.

Funny. Humans don’t recognize the same spiritual truths given back to us each time—they want to focus more on the differences.” Sage noticed that the Kallawaya moved in for an extreme close-up shot of the smaller winged-man icon. “Another Favorahar.” He also took a shot of a balance scale on the altar with two weighing plates, one gold and one maroon. Guanaco stopped and said thoughtfully, “It is similar to Christ, who spoke to us of God. Now we talk of Christ and worship Him and His Mother and various saints and visions—but Christ asked us only to worship One God.
People are interesting.”

All of them congregated in silence around the altar base, each with thoughts of the great Prophets, past and present. Guanaco turned sharply to listen. He then snapped his friends out of their reveries. “We must finish this and leave soon. I feel something is about to happen.” Sage, along with Gavin’s help, deciphered the inscription on the altar. It was also in the form of a banner beneath the Favorahar. When he said it out loud, the translation echoed throughout the entire chamber.

“To receive the Great Gift, the Book of Hope, place a worthy offering from the holiest master on this altar, and await the Glory of your Lord.” They backed away from the platform, considering their next move. L. W. sighed and said, “Hurry, let’s find the bag that holds the sacred objects.” Sage said, “That won’t be necessary. I have everything here.” He reached inside his shirt to pull out the pouch and the banner. Then, he looked up and froze in disbelief. (Break?) “Now, here’s a surprise! General Djinn, who wanted to kill Sage and his friends in Tibet, towered from an upper circular level, along with an archaeologist dressed in adventurer’s gear and a half-dozen Chinese soldiers, each with a rifle poised.



The archaeologist reached into a soft leather pouch and withdrew the Tibetan Favorahar, which he hefted a couple of times for emphasis. Djinn chuckled, “One man’s trash …” Sage was shocked. “Where’d you find that?” Then chastened, he said, “Oh… I remember.” Djinn sneered. “I found it casually tossed aside near the site of the plane crash back in Tibet. I was surprised. Imperialists seem to throw away everything! Sometimes things that tend to be of great value.” He smiled and moved forward toward the altar. Descending the remaining steps with his men, he shooed Sage and his companions away. They backed about halfway up the stairs to watch the demonstration.

Djinn motioned for his archaeologist to place the Favorahar in the indicated receptacle, a scale plate that appeared to be covered in pure gold. The other plate was plain by comparison. Hefting the Favorahar one final time, the assistant was confident he had the key, and he placed it gently on the scale. Djinn grinned up the stairs.
“I’ll allow you to live long enough to see what you’ve missed.” There was a clunk as if something dropped into place. A deep, hidden rumble stiffened everyone in their tracks. The Favorahar was weighed on the golden scale. Djinn and the soldiers stepped forward, their faces full of anticipation. At first, nothing happened. “This can’t be good.” Sage looked concerned.

Then, he crouched and snapped his head around, expecting trouble from every direction. L. W. was also scanning the temple. “Oh, no.” Below, Sage and his friends, the air began to hiss into the altar basin as vents opened in the stair risers. It flushed out a number of rats and snakes. They blew all over Djinn and his men, who crowded near the altar. After the air was exhausted, water slammed out of the openings, effectively turning the recessed altar pit into a roiling cauldron. It quickly engulfed the reptiles, rodents, and terrified humans. Eliot boomed out, “Good show, gents!” “Dios Mio!”

L. W. was first to the edge of the basin, reaching in to try to help the frightened soldiers. Sage grabbed her to keep her from falling in as a rat scrambled up her arm to relative safety. The others joined the effort. Guanaco saved a few bedraggled rats and two snakes, which flung themselves up his arm to hide behind his alpaca wool hat on his shoulders. Gavin and Eliot were able to grab the fingertips of one soldier for a few moments, but the swirling water never seemed to bring the men close enough to the edge of the steps to be rescued.

To make matters worse, the terrifying altar was raised up on stilt-like mechanisms, exposing a large gap beneath it that drew a vacuum. The shaft became a vortex, quickly sucking everything down an unseen portal. The Chinese men screamed their way down the drain and were gone. The altar lowered, sealing the exit, and the vents closed. Everything became very quiet. Sage and the others above didn’t even breathe for a few horrifying moments. Then they began to sob.

At length, their emotions subsided. When he could speak, Gavin said. “Okay, that was really weird.” L. W. had to ask, “Where do you suppose they went?” Eliot snorted, “I … don’t suppose this would be an appropriate time to reassign the invention of the water closet.” “The what?” Andrews asked. “You know, the loo,” Eliot explained. Gavin shook his head, befuddled. Dalton cleared his throat. “The latrine, kid. We don’t have time for this. Let’s go.” Guanaco added, “Actually, there were toilets in Tiahuanaco where the effluent was carried away by water…”

Sage’s face was serious, and he quietly said as he started trotting back to the altar, “I believe you.” Gavin followed, asking, “So, what happened to the Reds?” Everyone remained stunned and silent until Eliot babbled, “I thought this Quetzalcoatl was a nonviolent fellow.” Guanaco said, “He did not build this temple to Himself. He was more of an itinerant preacher like Christ. This was built later.

Even so, I imagine they have been transported to some other exit. I just hope, for their sakes, it opens close enough for them to make it to the shore.” “Right, if the opening isn’t fully blocked by debris.” Not wanting to bring everyone down again, Eliot had another thought. When he spoke, he sounded a bit relieved. “They’ll probably beat us to Copa for cocktails.” Sage roused from the dramatic event and was ready to go. . .

************************

Part Two Will Be Posted Soon!

In the meantime, visit my Amazon Author Page to learn more about the ‘Rising Wind series’ of novels, like book three, Rising Wind: The Weeping God and The Book of Hope (Rising Wind Series) by Diane Olsen (Author)

“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.



A Special Shard Story From ‘Rays of One Light’ – Not Yet Published of ‘Rising Wind Series’ from Book 7…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment

The Weaver and the Princess.
From ‘Rays of One Light‘
Part Two of Three



While the horses picked their way through the rocks that crowded the gulch, Destiny spun a tale with a non-floral thread. “You know, it’s interesting that most of the wandering Archaic bands didn’t appear to have any farming attachments before they ran into the Spaniards. For instance, the Cochimi claimed to have lived here for more than 10,000 years as hunters and gatherers.

They added horticulture after meeting Spanish explorers in 1342 when their ships came through San Diego Harbor. Unfortunately, the Cochimi language has not been spoken since the 1800s when the last of their people died out, perhaps from disease. Their kindred, the Kumeyaay, or Diegueno of San Diego County, are the only Yuman speakers of Hokan stock whose tribes still exist. Of course, they are more focused on horticulture and farming than their archaic ancestors.”  

Secora steered the bay mare around a boulder maze as she continued to listen. “It was during Spanish colonization that people like the Kumeyaay and the Hopi, called “Moki” in Mexico by the way, began raising sheep. They also grew maize, beans, squash, and melons, as well as various other vegetables and fruits.

They still hunted and even fished the rivers, or man-made canals like those produced by Hohokam speakers around the South Mountain near Phoenix. When they adapted to a sedentary life, the Hopi men tended the animals in addition to building houses. They also made the moccasins, wove garments and blankets from the wool, and performed most of the ceremonies.”

A Kumeyaay house photographed by Edward Curtis, ca. 1926.


Secora rolled her eyes and snickered. “Probably kept them out of trouble. Sounds good for the women.”
“You’d think that, but women made all the baskets and pottery, tended the gardens, raised the children, and cared for the elderly. Most importantly, they were responsible for the arduous task of acquiring safe water for their families. Outside of all of that, they ground the day’s corn into a meal. You’ve seen those old manos and metates, right?

The stones broke the corn or other seeds into a sticky flour that could then be pinched into balls and cooked like bread?”

Secora nodded. “I have a mano and metate of my own.” She cleared her throat. “So, in a way, the Spanish took the lives of some of the people through subordination and plagues but then brought them the threads of a more stable existence. Gave them a livelihood.”

Destiny’s gelding sidled up. “Funny how things work.” She pointed upward. “Now I think I’m seeing someone.”

“Where?”

 “There may be someone by the handholds close to that ruin.”

“Really? I’ll make a note of that for the class I hope to put together.”

“You’ve really gotten deep into this Baja thing, my friend.”

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking about adding a class on the subject next year. What do you think, Secora?”

“Sounds interesting. But weren’t you talking about cutting two classes from our curriculum because of budget shortfalls?” Secora shaded her eyes.

Destiny looked stricken and sighed. “Now, that’s a problem. I am hoping to keep all of your courses, but maybe we could offer the Pleistocene Herbivores, and the Predators classes every other year, rather than annually. Could you manage that?” Considering her boss’s suggestion, Secora acquiesced.  “I’ll see if that impacts any students, but I think we can do that.” She watched Destiny’s shoulders relax significantly. “Now, let’s explore those poles at the ruins.”

They made their approach from the end of the mesa, where eroded sand and rock splayed out like a skirt. Hidden gullies and ridges between its folds increased both the distance and travel time. They followed a deer trail to the base of the cliff and left the horses tied to a shriveled juniper tree.

The scorching heat was mitigated by a breeze across the ledge inside the overhang. They scanned a stacked stone wall, part of a building that had been cleverly erected in a narrow cleft. Then they approached the poles which were still partly lashed together, resting on the rubble of a crumbled wall. Secora thought they might have been used as roofing beams, or as a door for the ancient structure. Destiny suggested that they might have been a painting ladder.

Secora shouted, “What? Can’t hear you over this wind.”

“Maybe it’s a ladder for painting?” yelled her friend.

A moment later Secora acknowledged, “I suppose, but I don’t see any figures.”

Destiny shouted, “How about any sign of those ghosts?”

Secora shook her head then hollered, “Nope, I’d hoped we would find footsteps or some other clue that might tell us if they’re human.” A feisty wind gust blew dust from the ledge into their eyes. They twisted away from the stinging grit and returned to the horses, who were tossing their heads and swishing their tails in rebellion, hoping to be free of the storm.

Disappointed, the women departed for the canyon bottom, where they noticed there wasn’t even a puff of breeze. Secora said, “That’s weird,” as she dismounted to sit on a rock. As soon as she stopped speaking, she heard the very faint sounds of mystic chanting.

Destiny said, “Are you hearing this, or is it just me?”
“No, I hear it.” Spellbound, they closed their eyes, concentrating on the rhythm and tones of the song, afraid it might fade, or end, at any moment. When it did stop, they opened their eyes and found two individuals standing before them in the backdrop of bright sunlight, their faces barely distinguishable.

Destiny shaded her eyes and asked, “Are they ghosts or humans?”

Secora reached out and poked a bare arm. “I don’t think they’re ghosts.” To the visitors. she said, “I certainly hope you come in friendship since we can’t read the intentions in your eyes. Maybe you could step into the shade.”

When the people remained as they were, Destiny offered, “Our names are Destiny and Secora. Who are you?” Secora wondered if they understood English, and was about to repeat Destiny’s words in Spanish when a man responded.

“People call me “weaver”. I grew up on various reservations around here and in the Grand Canyon.”

The woman responded, “I am the princess. I’m lost – not from around here. I left South Sudan, but I am at home with this man. She looked at the weaver.”

“Turns out that we’re not from here either,” Secora chuckled. She and Destiny were in awe as a tale unfolded. The princess was a refugee from a land of abuse and threats, where her only son had been murdered when he tried to attend a white college. She looked as if she was in her mid-fifties and stood at least six feet tall, an imposing presence with her back to the sun.

Destiny tried again. “Would it be possible for the two of you to move out of the sun so we could see you better?”

As they stepped to the side, Secora’s eyes followed them, noticing that the man’s waist-length black hair shimmered in the sun. He stated, “I am looking for my cousin. I haven’t seen him since we were children, but I feel like he may be in danger, and I want to help him.” He patted a pouch on his belt. “I brought the medicine.” He then took a seat on a boulder beside the princess, who towered over him then closed his eyes. “When we were children, he was known by the Hopi phrase, ‘Hopituh Shi-nu-mu’, the peaceful boy.”

Destiny reflected, “Sounds like your cousin is a wonderful person.”

Weaver nodded, then said, “We Puebloans are all wonderful people, descendants of the ‘Ancient Ones’, you know.  For a time, they lived within the cliffs and prospered by farming along the rivers. Before and after that time, we built pit houses and pueblos from logs, mud, and grass. Our history goes back many thousands of years. Our relatives lived in Asia, Africa, and the Middle East where they built multi-storied adobe apartment complexes, with beautiful roofs that provided safety, not to mention – wonderful views.”

Destiny’s face was creased in smiles. “I always believed that the Hopi’s had one of the oldest living cultures in the Americas.” Weaver again nodded. “True. But more importantly, we have been traveling these lands today, following paths that might lead us to someone who knows my cousin.”

“Interesting strategy,” Secora said under her breath. He continued, “As Marcus Aurelius tells us, ‘Entrust everything willingly to the gods, and then make your way through life—no one’s master and no one’s slave.’” 

The two women looked out of the sides of their eyes at each other, respectfully wondering if he had finished. Then Secora asked if she and Destiny could offer prayers for his cousin’s well-being?”

Princess said, “You may pray now. He particularly needs your prayers.”

Secora uttered a prayer for tests and difficulties. “Is there any Remover of difficulties save God? Say: Praised be God! He is God! All are His servants, and all abide by His bidding!”

“The princess said, “I know that prayer. Baha’i, right?”

Weaver added, “Ancient Hopituh Shi-nu-mu tradition teaches us to live according to the laws of the Creator, Maasaw, who sent to us morality and ethics. We must respect all living things, and know that all beings want to know they will be okay.”

Secora responded, “Claro que si. Of course, they do.”

Destiny looked puzzled. “I didn’t know about Maasaw. I was told the Hopi believed that the gods came up from the ground, where Ant People inhabited the heart of the Earth.”

Princess then prayed, “Say God sufficeth all things above all things, and nothing in the heavens or in the earth, but God sufficeth. Verily, He is in Himself, the Knower, the Sustainer, the Omnipotent. This is a prayer from the Bab, whose name means ‘Door’ or ‘Gate’.”

When their prayers were completed, they shared water from a bottle Secora grabbed out of her russet leather backpack. She poured while Destiny held out Dixie cups. Secora and Destiny explained they were in the area to search for remnants of ancient animals and plants and also to look for the bold red and black mural art above some rock shelters and ledges. It wasn’t long before they were all conversing as old friends. Secora split peanut butter and wild plum jelly sandwiches, offering portions to everyone.

A few passing clouds temporarily blocked the sun as they continued the visit. Without the glare, Secora took note of some wicked scars on the lady’s face. Her eyes must have reflected pity, and the princess said, “Please don’t.”

Secora wasn’t sure if an apology would be appropriate, or if she should find a clever way to change the subject when her Satfon rang. She took the call explaining, “It’s from my husband, Gideon.” The weaver said softly, “Prepare yourself!” Secora did a double-take as she excused herself to answer. The princess shrugged and said to Destiny, “He knows these things”. . .  

******** ********* ********

If you’re a reader or a movie enthusiast who loves the “Indiana Jones” saga and enjoys mystery, action, and adventure, you’ll love reading all seven books in the thrilling and gripping “Rising Wind” novel series.

Books are available from Amazon in paperback and Kindle.
Read it free with Kindle Unlimited, & Soon they will be
Available as audiobooks, too!

https://www.amazon.com/Rising-Wind-3-book-series/dp/B093PRX88L/





A Special Shard Story From ‘Rays of One Light’ – not yet published of the ‘Rising Wind Series’ from Book 7…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment

 
The Weaver and the Princess
From Rays of One Light
Three-Part Story…


Secora James and Destiny Hawkins arrived at the ranch just as the sun rose on the last day in the Baja desert. Soon, they would have to return to their jobs at the University in Missoula and offer summer classes. Once they parked, they found horses saddled and waiting for them inside the vertical pole corral.

“Only two horses. Guess we’ll be going in alone again,” observed Secora. Pointing to the fence, Destiny asked, “Don’t those poles look like those spindly boojum trees we ran into yesterday?” Secora nodded, “Interesting observation.” After tightening the cinches on the bay and placing the bridle over the mare’s head, she tied the halter and rope with leather strings set near the saddle horn, and her gear bag was bunched at the back of the cantle.

A young woman wearing a protective pink and gray rebozo shawl over her head and shoulders came to greet them at the corral, humbly notifying them that her husband, Alfonso, could not take them out because he was still sick. Apologizing in broken English, she suggested a trail that would lead them to the nearest painted rocks. She added that several of the large murals were more difficult to find, but these smaller ones could be found just off the trail.

She smiled, then cautioned in Spanish, “Watch out for the spirits.”
“Spirits, Pepita?” Secora asked.
“Yes, the blessed spirits who move silently… like ghosts.”
“We will try to be respectful, thank you.” Secora and Destiny looked at each other, wondering how to interpret her words. Then, bidding Pepita and Alfonso, who waved weakly from the door a good day, the women mounted up and took the suggested trail

Destiny asked, “So, is “anima” ghost… or spirit?

Secora shrugged. After a moment, she sighed. “Perhaps she knows about some tragedy in that area. Guess it doesn’t matter.”

“Right, I suppose, spirits are everywhere.”
Hooves clattered over a thin, stony trail; half hidden on the side hill. Secora drew a breath. “This is our last chance to see the place where little Diegoaelurus, the precursor to mammalian predators once roamed.”

Destiny added, “Hopefully, we’ll be lucky enough to take in a boldly painted black and red mural.” They headed for a low ridge that dropped down into a basin toward the west, where they hoped to observe some of the impressive art left by the Archaic people who lived there more than 10,000 years ago.

Destiny reflected, “I hope we don’t get lost.”

Secora said, “We won’t. I usually turn around every few hundred feet to see what the trail will look like on our way back.”

“Yeah, and I guess we could take pictures of the main features in case we get stuck.”

“Good idea.” Secora nodded and lifted her camera. 

The changes and chances of weather and rainfall in the Baja Peninsula required special adaptations from the plants, animals, and people who lived there. Secora noticed a variety of vegetation unexpected in a desert with such wildly variable rainfall patterns and extensive droughts.

Life forms took advantage of hidden pools and ephemeral rain. Yet they must somehow survive the rare monsoonal deluges produced by storms that struck the peninsula and roared their way inland. Gashes caused by massive flash floods ripped through the terrain, leaving driftwood and huge gravel ridges along their paths.

The horses sauntered down a dried creek bed, while the women scanned the cliff sides.
Would this be the day they’d catch a glimpse of something wonderful, striking petroglyphs, or perhaps one of the well-preserved red and black murals that had caused the region to be declared a World Heritage site comparable to European Cave Art? In the distance, they saw a few wispy pines, stunted cedars, and century plants erupting from rock, gravel, or sand along the hillsides.

As they dropped into a narrow canyon, they cleared a tight corner and ran smack into a patch of jumping cholla cactus, strategically hanging over the trail. Destiny tried to steer clear, but one spike attached itself to the chestnut gelding’s mane and neck, causing him to toss his head and sidestep toward another branch. She dismounted to control the animal. “Ouch! Dang, we got too close.”

On foot, they carefully wended through a hundred feet of the dangerous spines before escaping the last of the beautiful but wicked cacti. Destiny tried to steady the gelding, while Secora grabbed a pair of needle-nosed pliers from her backpack and began plucking the painful spines from the horse’s neck. When he jerked his head, three spines ran into Destiny’s fingers. “Blast it!”


“Yeah, but it’s hard to deny how good it feels to let them do the walking.” They topped a second ridge and saw a set of beautiful palms and several species of euphorbia sprouting from the smaller side of the canyons along the arroyo.

Destiny was moved to comment, “It’s fascinating. When you look out to the horizon, lush greenery is what you see. It hardly looks like we’re in the midst of a hot, dry desert.” She stopped to take some photographs. “Oh look, I think that modest looking succulent near your horse’s leg might even be a lady slipper.”

“Couldn’t prove it by me. It’s getting on toward noon, but it’s too hot to think about eating, let alone categorizing succulents.” Destiny arched her back in a stretch. “I thought it was supposed to be cooler today, but… oof, it feels like an inferno.”

Secora pointed and spoke in a loud whisper, “There! I saw movement. Across the basin, over to our left. I think there were two or possibly three people.” “Out here?” Destiny was silent for a while as her eyes searched up and down the terrain. “People or ghosts? I can’t see anything.”

She used the telephoto to snap a picture in that direction, but her eyes saw nothing. “Where are they? Sure you didn’t see deer.”  “No, I’m pretty sure. I saw two, maybe three people walking at the base of that cliff across the basin. They were at that ruin across the way, beneath the stack of old log poles that might be remnants from a caved-in roof, but I don’t see them anymore.”

“If they were there, they probably sat down for a rest.”
“That’s certainly possible, Destiny. But now I’m seriously curious about why those old poles are clumped together.”
“Perhaps from a flash flood?”
“Could be, or they could be repurposed from an old construction site.”
Let’s go check.”

********* *********

These exciting mystery novels unfold in various multicultural settings around the globe across the first seven books. The series has received 5-Star Editorial Book Reviews from Book Influencers Reader’s Favorite, and it has won several awards, including the Book Excellence Award and the Christian Illumination Award, among others.

If you’re a reader or a movie enthusiast who loves the “Indiana Jones” saga and enjoys mystery, action, and adventure, you’ll love reading all seven books in the thrilling and gripping “Rising Wind” novel series.

Books are available from Amazon in paperback and Kindle.
Read it free with Kindle Unlimited, & Soon they will be
Available as audiobooks, too!
https://www.amazon.com/Rising-Wind-3-book-series/dp/B093PRX88L/