Tag: short story

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 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.’

~ 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 Unique Shard Story From ‘The Weeping God & The Book of Hope: Rising Wind Series: Book Three…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ 2 Comments

SEEING LIGHT IN THE DARK


Archaeologist Sage Dalton tried to shake off his fall into the dark.
As he slowly rose to step out of the rubble, he looked back at the disaster he had caused, checking himself to see if any wood splinters had impaled him. Once he was satisfied that he was mostly in one piece, except for the bleeding bullet wound in his right arm. He tied his neckerchief around the damage with his left hand and his teeth.

As his eyes adjusted with the dim sunlight making its way through the hole in the earth above him, he noticed a faint glint of gold metal peeking through the fragments of the coffin that had softened his fall, when he’d blindly jumped into the hidden opening on the side of the cliff to avoid being strafed by the chattering gun on the the enemy aircraft above. The German crew didn’t believe the war was over, even though it was 1959!

Sage was exhausted, but he picked up a splintered section of the casket and held it for a closer inspection. Squinting, he could make out a design: broad, black lines, which formed wings that had wrapped around the entire sarcophagus. “These are extraordinary! Similar to the Wings of Isis, or the Zoroastrian Favorahar, or even the Egyptian depiction of Horus.” He thought about the aspect of this god, with either his red crown or double headdress made of feathery plumes, and his colorful wings of turquoise, coral, and jet. “Like our Navajo jewelry.” He took a small spiral notebook from his pouch and made a drawing with his good hand.

He remembered Horus had gripped a Nile Cross in one talon and a red ball in the other, with his tail hanging down between them. Hmm. Not unlike the great seal of the United States, a powerful bird grasping the olive branch in one talon and arrows in the other, its wings spread and tail hanging in between its legs. He smiled and wagged his head as he thought, Humankind is definitely in love with this symbol in one form or another.

New pain erupted from the bullet injury, demanding his urgent attention. Ow! He winced as he inspected his bloody limb. “Guess I’ll live. But OW!” The wound was dirty with the dust and sand of his fall, but the bullet had passed through. Though the blood was plentiful, it oozed, rather than gushing. Taking another bandana from the leather pouch hanging from his belt, he wiped off a little of the sand and blood, and then rewrapped the gash, covering it with a comparatively clean piece of the cloth. I could sure use an extra hand to help tie this thing. His eyes landed on the carpus of a skeletal hand poking through the splintered wood around him. “Okay, not literally.”

He cocked his head as he became aware of the distant rush and tumble of a cave river pouring over boulders from a rockslide outside and to the left of the little crypt. He peeked out the doorway at the back of the chamber. His flashlight didn’t help much. When his eyes became more adjusted to the dark, he strained to make out two dim shapes drawn up on the nearby shore. Stepping out cautiously from the burial chamber toward them, he thought, I don’t believe it. Boats. Totora reed boats!

Like the ones used by the Bolivians at Puna on Lake Titicaca. Sage gingerly hopped back up to the crypt, scoping the walls of the chamber he had fallen into. With the aid of the dim flashlight and glimmers of light, which peeked in from the gap where he and Santos entered the wall high above. He became aware of a polychromatic mural on a plastered wall of the ancient Mexican crypt and approached the two-paneled fresco on the far side of the fractured wooden box.

A holy man, whose image was bathed in glorious light, was handing a luminous, rainbow-colored sash to a regal, black-haired woman wearing a traditional Olmec dress tunic. Her long, thick hair had been tied up and was surrounded by a woven headband that sprouted four red and green feather plumes. Her jewelry was limited to earrings and arm bracelets. Sage touched the mural, focusing now on her radiant face. Incredible. She looks so familiar. How can that be? Olmec… She was Olmec…? The holy man appeared to be a Prophet because a golden shimmering aura surrounded him. He was a tall man with a long forehead and long earlobes. His shoulders were adorned with shoulder-length, ash-blond hair and a red-tinged beard.

His eyes were like a gray-blue storm. The regal young man wore a graceful tunic girded by a second rainbow sash and a white robe. On his head sat a red two-tiered turban hat, decorated with a wrap-around thunderbolt design. To top it off, the hat was trimmed with a few white feather plumes. Almost reverently, Sage rubbed his brow and whispered, “Must be the old Feathered Serpent Himself!” His voice trailed off, but he couldn’t help but think, This must be Viracocha, or Quetzalcoatl, as He was called in Mexico, but why does He remind me so much… of Zoroaster, the inspiration of the magi?

His hand moved along the second panel. The beguiling woman carefully placed the end of the dazzling gift into a tiny, bejeweled golden chest. Sage craned around to the broken Russian doll-shaped coffin. “Gold. Didn’t I see…”

Prying apart the splintered wood that had been the lid, he saw bones that had once been lovingly wrapped in layers of exquisite textiles and a headdress that might have belonged to the mural woman herself. Awed, he touched the sad bones thoughtfully. After a few moments, he searched among the burial gifts and noticed the small golden cask. He tried to move the unbelievably heavy little chest, but the exertion snapped something in his injured arm, causing it to bleed severely. He cried out in pain and lost his grip. The chest fell back at an angle so that the lid flopped open against the bones. Resting inside was the rainbow sash! It nearly glowed from within for a few moments after exposure to the world beyond the box. For a moment, Sage could see the mural emblazoned in full color, and it etched itself in his mind. He looked back at his arm. It was a bloody mess.

“Lord Quetzalcoatl, I really hate to do this.” He closed his eyes for a moment. After a brief mental struggle, he pragmatically extracted the sash and wrapped it around his arm for a tourniquet and used his teeth to help tie off the dripping wound. “I mean no disrespect. Using a beautiful relic like this almost hurts worse than the bullet – almost.” He made an attempt to keep the loose ends of the artifact away from the bleeding. I appreciate the help, he sighed. The bleeding slowed considerably, so he closed the chest using only his good arm this time. Accidentally, the weighty lid slammed down on a piece of the skeleton’s ulna, causing a bone fragment to fall into the case.
“Great! Didn’t mean to do that either. Sorry.“



THE LIGHT FROM THE HOLE IN THE WALL ABOVE DIMMED, AND A ROPE dropped through the gap. 
Blitzer and his sidekick, Johan, must be blocking the sun; Sage thought… When they began their descent, Johan shouted in English, “Dalton, you’re dead!

Sage heard them drop from the ledge to root around Santos’ body, looking for the book. Dalton wasn’t going to wait around for them to realize it wasn’t there. He made an awkward one-armed grab for the little chest, scooped it against his side, and dodged out of the tomb toward the water.

He ran with the flashlight in his teeth as bullets shredded the silence following Sage until he was out of range. He set the chest on the shore and shoved one of the reed boats toward the stream before grabbing the treasure and heaving himself into the boat. As he propelled the craft off the bank with the pole he’d found inside, he noticed a thin layer of ice that covered the water near the shore. Unexpectedly, water began pouring through the weave of the hull, and the boat sank quickly. So did Sage’s hope for a speedy escape.

He was shivering, and he lost the flashlight as his teeth began to chatter. He pulled himself together and reached through the cold, murky water to salvage the chest. Oh, God, no wonder Santos bought it. His heart couldn’t take the shock of moving from 113 degrees into freezing water.

His knee bumped the remaining vessel, and he almost dropped the golden cask. There was barely time to shove out the second boat and dive into it head first with the case. Sink or swim! To his great relief, it floated, and he silently drifted deep into the dark cavern. He tried to remain sane in the complete darkness, while the gunmen stranded behind him did the best to have the last words carried in the mouths of unseen bullets.

Sage closed his eyes to pretend he had some control over the darkness, and for protection in case a spider or debris should fall into his face. He estimated he had traveled the dark river for about twenty minutes before he peeked and saw the promise of sunlight beyond. He felt hungry, really hungry.

Then he remembered the peanut butter and jelly sandwich he had in the pouch. Sage ate about half, then re-wrapped the remnant and stuffed it back inside the leather bag, which he closed securely with an antler tine. In the dim light, he took comfort in examining the beaded design on its gray suede exterior, a patch depicting the four directions mostly done in blue beads with accents of red, white, black, and yellow. Because of the increasing brightness, his attention was drawn to a profusion of spider-encrusted foliage hanging from the ceiling. Using his good arm, he ripped a path through the clusters of arachnids until the sun dazzled his dilated eyes as he passed out of the cavern into a jungle marsh.

When his eyes were sufficiently adjusted, he peered around warily. There were no immediate signs of two-legged trouble. However, an enormous spider plopped into the boat and faced the man with its myriad bulging eyes. Sage snagged a branch from the vines above and removed it gingerly. His eyes dropped to the boat floor, searching for other hitch-hiking spiders. He didn’t see any, but his gaze traveled to the golden case. He couldn’t take in its details because the reflected sunlight was too dazzling. It was then, he noticed, with shock, that his wounded arm was completely healed.

His eyes widened, and his jaw dropped. Sage swallowed hard. How did that happen? And the textile is perfectly clean!  He carefully removed the sparkling sash and respectfully folded it, then placed it back into the elegant case, closing the lid reverently with both hands. Finally, for the first time in several days, he could relax, as he floated down the quiet river in isolated peace.

He thought about Santos’ death, the book, and the horrible men who were unlikely to forgive or forget.

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

More About Book 3 — The Weeping God and The Book of Hope

The Weeping God and the Book of Hope, part three in the Rising Wind series, is actually a prequel to the first two books, so it’s not necessary to have read those first. The lead characters, Sage Dalton and L.W., are the parents of the main character in the other Rising Wind books. Although the characters are different and it is set in an earlier period for the tone of the book is very similar.
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This time, they discover an ancient text in a Mexican desert tomb that leads Sage, L.W., and a group of fellow explorers to Tibet, where they find themselves in the middle of a war. Even with danger at every turn, they still manage to discover secret caves that lead them toward an elusive yet powerful Book of Hope. First and foremost, her books have a superb cast of characters that readers can easily relate to. They care about each other, work together to achieve a common goal, laugh together, and cry together. Second, her stories revolve around rare ancient discoveries found all over the world.

Much like the great Indiana Jones films, each new discovery comes with an element of danger. The third common theme is an embracing of all world religions. Religion is somehow intertwined with each rare find that the characters make. I appreciate the way Ms. Olsen always characterizes the religious elements in her stories in a positive light, as the hope of mankind, rather than the way most works of fiction portray religion in a negative sense as mankind’s biggest problem.

“This is a fun read filled with colorful characters and lots of action. I recommend it for fans of character-driven adventure who like to learn about science, ancient civilizations, and world religions along the way.“
Scott Cahan for Readers’ Favorite


Books are available from Amazon in paperback and Kindle formats.
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 Shard Story From ‘Rays of One Light’ – Part 3 The Finale -Not Yet Published of ‘Rising Wind Series’ From Book 7. . .

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment

Pine Ridge

Secora’s face creased with concern almost instantly. She ended the call with, “Be careful, Gideon, I love you.” She shared the disturbing news that Jimmy was in a hospital after being stabbed by gang members up at the Porcupine Desert development. At first, Destiny was in shock. “What in Sam Hill was he doing out there?”

Secora whispered, “I think he was offering a funeral for a veteran buddy, but when he left, he tried to stop some gang members from beating a woman to death across the street. He was stabbed in the attempt. Gideon is nearing Pine Ridge now.” Destiny came undone. “What do you mean? Who’s watching our children?”

After she got a grip, Secora said, “We need to get to Pine Ridge A.S.A.P.!” Her eyes fixed on their two enigmatic guests, “So sorry to leave you both, after having barely met.” Destiny suggested, “You could ride double with us back to the ranch, where we will return the horses.” The weaver said, “Marcus Aurelius told us, ‘We live only now. Everything else is either passed or unknown.” He noted the quizzical looks on Secora and Destiny’s faces and said, “Do not worry. We must take different paths.” Secora put on her backpack and gathered the reins.

Before she climbed aboard, she said, “I hope you find your cousin before trouble does.” Princess looked to the earth, then back to Secora. “We will see each other again – soon. ”The anxious women reached out to exchange handshakes with the weaver, and big hugs with the tall, careworn princess. The sacred reverie broken, the women mounted and quickly departed. 

Secora felt desperate worry for Jimmy growing inside as she and Destiny urged the ponies into a lope whenever the terrain allowed. Their hooves raised puffs of dust until, at last, they entered the corral. After hastily unsaddling and brushing the animals, they thanked Pepita and paid her a generous tip. They told her about their mishap with the chollas and meeting the mysterious people, before heading to their vehicle.

The woman smiled and nodded knowingly, then watched them maneuver their vehicle through the rutted road toward the highway. 

********

Secora was deep into the Long Healing Prayer when evening visiting hours brought Gideon and his police friend, Clive, back to Jimmy’s side. He looked both better and worse. Destiny was mopping sweat from his forehead.
“He isn’t eating or drinking. He’s on an IV.” Jimmy half-smiled at the guys and said, “Guess the infection came back?”
”Destiny countered, “I doubt it ever left. They added another antibiotic and hope he will be much better tomorrow.” “So sorry, Jimmy,” Gideon said, touching his arm.

Suddenly, two heads peeked around the doorway. The short man grinned and said, “Hiya cuz,” startling everyone. He and a tall woman entered the room. “Hopituh Shi-nu-mu, you remember me?” Jimmy faintly laughed. “How could I ever forget you, weaver buddy?” He tried to lift an arm in greeting, explaining, “We used to hang out around Supai Village in the Grand Canyon.” “How on earth did you two get here – and so quickly?” Secora was astonished.

Policeman Clive Bullbear, Jimmy and Gideon’s close friend, interceded. “These guys? They’re okay. They showed up at Buzzards Roost today, when Gideon was talking to the juvenile detainees from the gang that stabbed Jimmy, about their life choices. We gave these guys a ride.” Destiny stood and mumbled, “No, no, no.” She almost shouted, “Unfreaking believable. That can’t be! They were just with us, wandering in Baja Mexico, when we got the news that Jimmy was stabbed, and we immediately flew up here.”

Princess said in a calming voice, “People move from place to place.” Weaver smiled and walked straight up to Jimmy’s bedside. “Hey, cuz, this is my friend, the princess.” Jimmy smiled weakly, sweat dripping, eyes almost closed, “I brought the medicine you need.” He lifted the blanket away. “Let me see that wound.” It was then that the princess spoke to Destiny. “When you left, I told you we would meet again soon.” Secora shook her head. “But…”

The princess cut her question off. You knew the weaver was looking for his cousin, because something bad was about to happen, right?” Destiny wagged her head in confusion. “But we even invited you to ride back to the ranch with us.” “Like I said, we took a different path. It was important to find Buzzard’s Roost first. Secora sat back and stared as she drew a deep breath.

Destiny asked, “What is Buzzard’s Roost?” The question went unanswered, and women had to deal with their puzzlement silently, because the subtle, but enigmatic chanting they’d heard and felt at the bottom of the rocky canyon was beginning to emanate from deep within the weaver and the princess. It had the effect of lulling all others in the room into a pleasant – and necessary sleep.

Painted Murals

In early September, Secora and Destiny returned to Baja, but this time with Gideon and Jimmy. Their children stayed with their grandparents, and Uncle Kyah and his fiancée, Ti’i. This time, their guide, Alfonso, was feeling better and personally took them into the Sierra de San Francisco, a World Heritage site known for its “Great Murals,” which were created by Paleoindians.

(Photo Courtesy ~ scene depicting a Paleoindian family dressing caribou hides at their camp nps/gov parks)


They were famous for larger-than-life depictions of humans and animals who once inhabited the central part of the Baja California peninsula from El Rosario in the north to San Javier in the south. Many paleo sites were small, but Alfonso knew where he was taking his guests, and his wife, Pepita, brought their two children. It would only be a two-hour journey.  Pepita said, “most of the illustrations were larger than life size, some as much as fifteen meters above the shelter floor.” She thought they might have been painted by giants.

“Many of the reddish outlines of some of the human figures, called ‘monos’, are with red and black paint. They were drawn facing the artists, but the animals were often painted from the side.” Destiny said, “I remember reading that a Jesuit Padre at San Ignacio thought the male monos had loose shirts with a greatcoat and breeches but no shoes.” Pepita responded, “Yeah, well… can’t say I see all that.

But, it does seem like there is often a robe or blanket of sorts.” Unusual because the people wore almost no clothing due to the heat. Secora recalled, “The Navajos I remember from my youth wore wool blankets to protect their skin from the sun. They also used the blankets to protect themselves from wildfires. They would run to the middle of a pond or river. Soak the blankets and huddle inside the wet cocoon to keep away the smoke and flames.”

The banter stopped as they came to a particularly treacherous trail made of broken rock. When they had all passed that danger, the riders stopped to eat a picnic lunch of pupusas and burritos, which were warmed over a small fire, and washed down with coffee and water. 

After lunch, Secora noticed that even the horses were snoozing with droopy eyelids, swishing their tails at flies, and lazing in the thin shade of a large boojum. Alfonso whispered to Secora that she should get her camera. She snapped a couple of shots of the children who were constructing a miniature fort in the sand with driftwood and dried mesquite.

Gideon had lifted Graham crackers and marshmallows from his backpack, while Destiny liberated a few chocolate bars from a waterproof container in the small cooler. Jimmy winked and found a few driftwood branch stubs that he whittled to an appropriate thickness, then gave them to Pepita to skewer the marshmallows, roasting them. A few of the perfectly seared treats fell among the fire coals. As everyone finished eating the gooey S’mores, the children’s hands and faces were wiped clean. It was time to climb back on the horses to finish the journey.

They passed the rocky area the women had found before and were maneuvering through the rising cliffs that pushed upward from the surrounding flat valley bottom. As they picked their way through the rocks and twists deep within the rugged formation, they descended only a few hundred yards into a very narrow side canyon where the trail turned a corner and dropped so steeply that it was difficult to proceed with or without the horses.  

The path became more unstable, and the side walls were closed in. No horse could fit between the boulders, so the riders dismounted, leaving the animals to rest in the splotchy shade provided by the surrounding boulders, and a single tormented juniper with ancient arms of split, gray wood spread towards the sun. As the adults gingerly moved forward, they kept their hands and watchful eyes on the children, who were protectively kept between them.

Secora was surprised to find herself looking almost straight down into a small box canyon to the left, about a hundred feet below them. It must have had a water source because there was more vegetation there than in the big valley. They paid strict attention now. There was barely room for them to stand on the irregular stony path. Secora was beginning to wonder why they were even there.

Alfonso pointed to the right, then climbed over a large flat boulder and onto a broad ledge, under a narrow rock alcove. Pepita carefully handed him the children, one by one. When it was Secora’s turn to make that leap of faith, she held her breath with awe and respect. From their vantage, they heard a voice, “Helloooo,” from below their position. At first, no one was able to discern where the hailing voice originated. Then, slowly, Secora’s eyes picked up two figures resting about a hundred feet beneath her, on another sandstone ledge. Alonso answered, “Buenos dias, amigos. Hey, cuz.”

They were soon joined by the weaver and the princess, which surprised no one by this point. As the adults moved along the shelf looking upward, the children seized the opportunity to scurry towards the back wall of the overhang, where they huddled and pretended that they were building their new home with a few pieces from an abandoned stack of old driftwood.

After an exchange of warm greetings, the adults returned their gazes to the painted overhang above the cavern. Photos recorded the moment as they caught their breaths and admired the stunning red and black figures thirty feet above their heads. In the yawning maw of the cliff overhang, there was a vast array of red, black, and white painted murals of animals and humans from long ago.

It was a pristine display of mountain sheep, several large birds, and an array of monos, human figures with arms mostly upraised as if in greeting or prayer. Some had bent legs as if they were dancing. There were lines of white dots, perhaps referencing raindrops. Secora moved closer. Destiny exclaimed, “Oh-ho, would you look at that! I was beginning to think we would never see something this awesome!” Amazed, Jimmy Lizardeye said, “This was definitely a place for painting ladders to be used.” “Or, for the long arms of giants,” snickered Pepita.

Inside the cave painting museum in San Ignacio,...

(Sample of Great Mural Rock Art ~   San Ignacio Museum.)


Jimmy noted, “Look, deer of all ages, and large flying birds. Just amazing!” Secora stood back to observe and record the panel of figures in its entirety. The princess pointed. “There’s an owl, and some smaller lizards. Oh, and two mountain sheep.” Gideon pointed to the left portion. “Look in the corner, you can see snakes, goats, dogs, and pronghorns. Do you think some of these were done at a different time?” Destiny mumbled, “Probably… oh wait. I’ll be darned; I think I see images of a string of piglet-like creatures.

Hey, look, Secora! They have whitish dots and stripes across their bodies, and see their extended noses – they’re tapirs!” Secora joined her. “Wow, I remember that Diegoaelurus may have fed on smaller Eocene tapirs and rhinos that lived here when it was lush and tropical.”


Pepita said, “What the heck is a Diego… Lars?

Secora laughed. Her heart was full of joy as she filmed everything, and took stills from every angle, some of which included the visitors, capturing their joy as Destiny, who was actually crying silently. Secora smiled at her boss. “Our dreams came true.” Destiny sniffed and said she couldn’t wait to share this experience with her new class. Suddenly, the children pointed into a corner, shouting, “Mira, Mira, Look, un gato! Over there is an ugly cat!”

Secora and the others squatted near the children’s wood stack and saw an animal about the size of a thirty-pound house cat curled up in an inset crevice. The strange saber-toothed face blinked at them from a distance. A croak of wonder escaped Destiny’s lips as she recognized something similar to the sketch of a Diegoaelurus she had seen on Secora’s desk. The weaver laughed and said, “He’s probably wondering if we are good to eat.”

Secora wagged her head. “This can’t be right. They shouldn’t be around; they should have died out around 13,000 years ago.” Gideon snarked, “Are you really that surprised, considering your track record? You’re always finding one cryptid or another. Remember the giant sloth?” “Or, the Thunderbird,” Jimmy proposed.

Secora wagged her head. “This one is on Destiny. She came out here specifically for this possibility, and darn it, here it is.” Destiny was still in shock. “Did we just find another ‘extinct’ creature living past its expiration date?” “I guess weird things happen if you hang out with Secora too long,” laughed Jimmy.

“Hallelujah, I’ve arrived!” Destiny seemed to be in ecstasy.    
Alonso said as he gathered the children. “He may not be dangerous to adults, but they are carnivores.
Let’s get these kids home, friends.”

**********


I hope you have enjoyed reading this three-part short story and preview of the seventh book, which has not yet been published, in my “Rising Wind” series of novels! If you’re a reader or a movie enthusiast who loves the “Indiana Jones” saga and enjoys mystery, action, and adventure, you’ll find all seven books in the thrilling and gripping “Rising Wind” series to be captivating.

Books are available from Amazon in paperback and Kindle formats.
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 ‘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/





Welcome Readers To ‘RISING WIND’ and Book One ‘THE THUNDER BEINGS.’ The Backstory of Romance Between Gideon & Secora. . .

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment

“All the time I wondered who Secora James was, and how we could
possibly find, let alone help, a mythical creature.“


Wakinyan Tanka, the Great Thunderbird contacted me in a dream while I was in the hospital healing from a lightning strike. She was perched atop a misty cliff and stood at least eight feet tall as far as I could tell. Her stare had a primitive fierceness that made me feel paralyzed, unable to move or speak. She was aware, and telepathically said, “All life is tenacious. You have survived what most men would not. My kind has survived what many of the large ones from a cooler time did not. She marked the statement by raising a Mohawk of crimson-tipped feathers that ran from the crest of her head partway down the back of her gray-black neck.

I am Wakinyan Tanka.
Long ago, humans relied on the grace of my people to lift their prayers by the wind of our wings to the Great Mystery of which we are all a part of. To those who sought our aid all over the earth, we were the embodiment of effortless grace, the Winged Power who protected and destroyed.

Awestricken, I noticed that her face and the under part of the neck were lighter in color, but overall, there was a golden eagle-like impression and, just maybe, a little hawk thrown in. Yet, there were also definite differences. Her back feathers were gray, and there was bluish skin on her face near the eyes and beak. The beak was large and primitive, not like modern raptors. It looked like an upside-down canoe, meant to carve deeply into her prey.

Listen. Do not let your attention stray. I showed myself to you in a vision before the lightning strike, because you were in danger. You came outside where I could save you. The Thunder Beings are in trouble, and I am calling on you for help. She adjusted her balance. In these times, wherever we fly we are targeted and harassed. Soon, greedy men will want to imprison us and keep us from our lives in the sky. She shifted her massive wings. When the chest muscles moved, I was struck by how beautiful the gold-tinged breast feathers were.

Wakinyan continued, ‘All life is sacred, even a bug chooses to live.’
But change is the way of nature, and many animals and plants I knew are gone since the ice came and went. Only a few remain, even as they slide away as heat increases and land dries. For your kind, change is difficult. Two-leggeds hold onto vestiges of the past as sacred, often with disregard for the sacredness of the now. She dropped her head, but the reddish-gold eyes never left me.

The bird spread her dark glistening wings, which seemed to exceed the length of a large school bus. Your life is changing; mine may well be ending. I call on you now to help my people, the Thunderbirds. Either we will continue a while longer or we will end very soon. It is a thing to be decided by the Great Mystery, not for humans to control. The Wakinyan must accept whatever path is chosen for them by the One who gives life to all. And you must accept the new path chosen for you, or perish. The great bird cupped her wings and rose silently, effortlessly, from the cliff on which she perched. An updraft tickled her wing feathers, which became gilded with sunlight. Still, her eyes seemed to pierce me.

I was shocked. Gideon Yellow Thunder was a successful realtor in Missoula, Montana. I purposefully had not chosen the way of the Oglala Lakota. Wakinyan’s final thought reached me. You must prepare for a transition. Be aware of what is and be ready for what is to come. I rescued you once. If you help me, I will save you again. Still recovering at the trailer owned by my sister Jane, and her 12-year-old son, Kyah, I was catching the winking sun during a beautiful daybreak near Porcupine Creek, South Dakota. There was an undeniable peace. I was alone except for an irritated roan horse that was stomping a foot trying to dislodge a botfly that was laying eggs on its hair.

It was late June, but the breeze was tinged with crispness as I savored coffee on the porch, while taking in the surrounding beauty, and attempting to block out every stress that still clung to me. I have to admit there are times, the reservation seems like heaven. That peace was interrupted when My sister’s friend Iris Snowden arrived to plan their summer trip to South America. Try as I might, I could not ignore the trail of dust that followed a small red car off Bigfoot Road and up the drive.

“Hey, Jane! Somebody’s coming.” I slid my walker out of the way as my sister banged through the trailer door, squinted, and said, “Ah, that would be Iris,” as she trotted down the steps. “It’s been nearly a week since her sister, Secora, left for Brazil, and we still need to finalize our fieldwork travel plans.”



Jane and Iris, who worked for the Anthropology Department in Missoula, plotted and schemed while I sat on the porch and listened to the cricket music. A close family friend, Jimmy Lizardeye, climbed the steps and pulled up the second chair. He was a holy man, but I wasn’t open to that sort of 2 thing. “Hey, Jimmy, what’s up?” Jimmy offered me one of two sodas he’d brought with him. “Are you ready to deal with your haunting visits from Wakinyan Tanka?” Instant panic creased my face, as I answered in a whispered voice, “Sh… man what are you talking about? You know I don’t believe in that nonsense.” “Deny it all you want. But a Wichasha Wakan is not entirely without abilities.”

“What is a Wichasha Wakan again?”
“A holy man. Just think of me as a kind of priest who is ready to share with you the way of the Kecheta Heyoka, and to help you unravel the power of your visions. That is if you are ready.”
“No, I’m not ready.” I rubbed my eye, “I’m not looking to participate in any secret rituals!” After a long evening of planning and squabbles, I went to lie down for a rest. Another vision awaited me. It was evening, and the wind was blowing.

Wakinyan was soaring so high she couldn’t be seen from the earth. She cut through the atmosphere at incredible speed as she looked directly at me and said, Arise Heyoka. You must find the one who will save us both. We cannot endure that which is coming, alone. You need what she can teach you, to redeem yourself.
Who? The sister of the one who seeks the little humans. Is her name Secora? Wakinyan grew ever more distant, only a speck now, and then gone. I was hyperventilating when I opened my eyes, and my knuckles were white as I snatched the walker to find Jane and Iris folding clothes for their trip to research the Duendes.

“Okay, girls, hold everything! I’m coming with you.” I panted and teetered stiffly. Jane rushed to steady me. “Just get me out of here, will you?” “Change of heart?” asked Iris. “You can hardly walk, brother, and your right arm is just about useless.” My teeth clenched against a wave of pain. “I’m getting better. Listen, I think I need to talk to your sister, Iris. I’ll pay my way and cover any additional expenses. No interest.” That snagged their attention.

“Maybe Jimmy can come along to help me get around. I need help packing, Kyah can y…?” Kyah and Jimmy were already silently standing by. Iris warned, “Does everyone have a passport and proof of hepatitis, typhoid, and yellow fever vaccinations? Everyone assured her they did. Jane said, “Kyah, road trip?” “Ready, Mom.” “Hetchetu aloh.
One big happy family. So be it.” Jimmy smiled. I rolled my eyes at my unsought mentor and sighed. “Whatever.”
Who was Secora James, and how could the two of us find her let alone help, a ‘mythical creature.’

After we arrived in Bolivia, it was extremely difficult to find her. She must have been chased, attacked, and injured on several occasions before we found her. By then, I was thinking that not only Wakinyan needed her, but for some reason so did I, and I fretted until Jimmy and I got a lead to go to LaPaz, after another vision that seemed more painful than the
others. My hand was shaking as I held up the postcard image of the church I’d envisioned and compared it to the stone edifice that towered before us in La Paz. The Basilica de San Francisco. It was dedicated to St. Francis of Assisi. The beautiful cathedral, an example of Andean Baroque architecture, had been completed in 1758, or so the postcard said. “This is the place where I will finally find Secora.”

However, my intuition hadn’t told me how long Jimmy and I would need to wait in the church courtyard. It had already been a couple of hours. It was time for the elusive Secora James to make her predicted appearance. Half an hour later, I pointed. “That’s gotta be her.” The woman wearing a tight white dress, with broad lateral brown stripes. We were sitting close enough to catch a bare whiff of her floral perfume, which we inhaled deeply. I stood with my cane, stretched, then began a hobbling approach wondering thinking at long last how to introduce myself.

Jimmy grabbed his sleeve. “Hey, you sure? Doesn’t look much like the picture Iris gave us.” I braced against the cane and responded impetuously. “Has to be her, Jimmy. Look around, no one else is even a candidate and I know she’s here. I can feel it.” Jimmy Lizardeye chuckled and said, “Remember how Iris laughed when she told us that Secora’s fashion statement was ‘huh?’.No sense of style. Fringe and boots, not tight dress and perfume.” I faded into disappointment as we again sat on the bench to wait.

The plaza filled and emptied a few times. I could tell Jimmy was tired. He’d even taken-off the beaded shoulder bag, which held the sacred pipe, and set it beside him. Jimmy grinned, as a black car parked long enough to drop some people off. Gideon could see two men jump from the back seat, and pull out someone, possibly a woman. When the vehicle left, they all looked around surreptitiously, before moving down the steps toward the church. The cloaked person appeared to be limping badly.

Jimmy asked, “What about that one?” “The cripple?
I can’t even tell if it’s a woman. At any rate, no fringe, and… okay, so there are boots. Darn.” “If that is Secora, who are the guys?” The walk from the car looked rough. The suspected woman’s steps were hesitant and she was panting, or was that weeping. The young man without a hat half-dragged her forward. She seemed to be drawing back and pleading with him.

Jimmy hefted his beaded sacred pipe bag. “Maybe they’re trying to baptize her?” I regarded Jimmy, my face twisted in consternation. “Or maybe, they are abducting her.” I took a cleansing breath. “Man, I’m not even sure I want to mess with that.” “What does Wakinyan want?” I could hear crying now. “Maybe we’re already too late.” I limped forward slowly at first, psyching myself up for a confrontation. When I was only a few feet away, I froze, puzzled by a comment made by the man with the hat.

“We must get you out of sight now. Those people will not stop until you are dead. ”The woman’s voice said. “This is crazy. Other people need you.” The curly-haired one said, “No, we’re in this together. What will be, will be.” She wobbled, grabbing for a bench. Then she pulled the hat and ruana away so she could see. I hobbled up with my cane in a hurry, coming up on the trio to confront the men and alarming everyone.

The older man with the hat said, “Step away from her.” I turned my eyes onto the unexpectedly attractive woman. “Are you Secora James?” She stared boldly back. “What do you want?” “I’m Gideon Yellow Thunder and I’ve come through hell to find you.” “I’m Guillermo, said the middle-aged man with the hat. He held his hand between me and Secora. Then twisting his palm into an offer to shake, he said, “Sorry about the trip through infierno, son. She’s safe with me and my son, Diego.” Secora’s mouth dropped open as she squinted at Guillermo.

“You’re kidding–he’s your son?” Guillermo nodded with a grin. Diego was also smiling and nodding. She added that these men were healers, Kallawayas, who saved her from a poisoning. I stammered, “What? That makes no sense. I’m supposed to be the one who saves you.” Jimmy stepped between us and looked into Guillermo’s eyes, he turned to me. “Gideon, you can believe what he says. This man and his son are entirely dedicated to the service of the Great Mystery.”
I was in a state of shock and momentarily looked away, unsure how I felt about this whole thing. It was nothing like I’d expected. Diego suggested anxiously, “Perhaps we should rest inside the church, to dodge prying eyes.” He took Secora by the arm and helped her to stand.

As we crossed the plaza, she asked Jimmy, “So tell me, who are you?”

“Name’s Jimmy Lizzardeye, Wichasha Wakan from Pine Ridge at your service. And my momentarily speechless friend is Gideon Yellow Thunder, who also is from Pine Ridge, but he won’t admit it.” “Really, Pine Ridge?” Secora’s smile could have lifted the clouds. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance Wichasha Wakan, and you too, Gideon.” “Two cripples, I can’t believe it.” Still puzzled, I scratched my head. “This doesn’t feel right. I expected to rescue you, but my plans didn’t include dealing with two other heroes.” Jimmy closed in on Guillermo, whispering loudly. “So, you’re this guy’s father?” Guillermo nodded.

“Secora and my son Diego have become very close. It was the fabled love at first sight. Their souls recognized each other immediately.” Shaking my head, I said, “I just don’t get that. There was nothing about him, or you in my visions. I’m just trying to wrap my mind around everything. Guillermo nodded. We are taking her to our island to hide and protect her until we can figure out why she is being attacked. She is still quite weak and we need to keep her out of sight.”

Diego turned to him. “So, who are you Mr., Yellow Thunder?”
“I am beginning to wonder about that, myself.” I snapped. I’ve been trying to find Secora for weeks, to save her. Even though we never met before.” Gideon slowly shook his head and tapped his cane by the kneeling bench. Diego stared at the cane. What happened to the leg?” “That was the lightning strike. But my friend thinks a sniper took a shot at me. at the same time.” “Those people must not like you very much.” The Kallawaya slid to the side to get a better look.
“You should seriously change your lifestyle.” I glanced sidelong at Jimmy. “So I’ve been told.”

Jimmy and I took the ferry to the Isla del Sol with Secora and the healers. I didn’t know what else to do. Secora and Diego shared quick moments of complete connection and I had difficulty accepting their relationship. No. Wakinyan had everything else right. Somehow, I must continue his path with this– distracted woman. Things grew very quiet for a moment before I broke the ice.

“Look, Diego, Secora and I were meant to be together. Wakinyan said she needs us, and we won’t survive without her.” Diego solemnly acknowledged, “So, I’m not sure who this Wakinyan is, but you’re saying it is your destiny to work with Secora?” “More than that. I think we’re supposed to be together.” I paused. “What if she decides she wants more from me?” Diego laughed, “Oh, so you like her? She is pretty, no? You are most welcome to find out.

I think she will do what she will do. No matter what we wish.” – – –


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


ABOUT THE RISING WIND SERIES:

“The Rising Wind Book Series is a fictional mystery series with a blend of an action-packed cross-genre thrill ride!“

If you enjoy stories that incorporate elements of Native American culture, world history, extinct creatures, and romance, then this series is for you!

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 free with Kindle Unlimited too!
https://www.amazon.com/Rising-Wind-3-book-series/dp/B093PRX88L/