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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.



Part 3 – Finale –‘The Unique Settled History of Sweet Water Canyon’ Areas of Colorado Springs, CO.

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment




To pick up where I had left off and “The Rest Story”…

There was a boundary pin beyond Basing’s patio and an old fence line that went up a gully to the left. I thought it was the property boundary between Maxwell’s and the Seven Falls property. Later, the Hills, who owned Seven Falls then, demanded quite a bit more land, which I thought they must have weaseled out somehow, but apparently, they showed a legal claim. To this day something bothers me about Lyda Hill’s claim. The clash could be why the steps on that side of the Basing’s house were never completed.

To my knowledge, Lyda Hill had been party to several questionable acts. I went to our big dam one day and watched two teens in white sweatshirts with the cloth arms cut off while stealing buckets full of my dad’s rainbow trout to take down to their tourist site. And likely, they did much worse, hoping to wear people down and urge them to abandon the property.

When Laurette moved, the property was sold to “Uncle” Al Colt whose brothers, Sam and Ed, took their families up there for getaways. Al was the middle brother of the three and he and Mom were friends. Al owned the ‘Honey Bucket’ club in Colorado Springs. Ed Colt Sr. owned Giuseppe’s Restaurant. Sam owned the popular ‘Wee Gee’s’ bar located on Union Blvd. or Pikes Peak Avenue, near Dad’s old office.

When we were younger, Sandy and I used to jump off the garage roof and try to land on the hill behind it so we didn’t have so far to fall – good times. I’m sure we girls were showing off, trying not to be outdone by the younger Colt boys. I remember Shawn Colt standing next to me on the cinderblock patio and discharging a BB rifle at my bare foot. The pellet bounced off a bone, then stung my ear – OW! What a thoughtless jerk. At least that is what I thought at the time, kind of still do, though he probably turned out to be a wonderful man.

Ed Colt Junior became a circuit court judge for El Paso County, then moved up to Teller County as a judge. Peter would check in with Eddie’s mom, Patty Colt, once in a while. Peter also tried to call his school chum several times, but judges were protected from the public. He remembered Eddie making fun of him, saying that the only time he saw Peter was in his court for tickets. Val went to her twentieth-year class reunion, and Eddie had now become a federal judge in Cripple Creek. He came over to say hello and share one of his childhood memories – the one where dad shot a gun over the colt boys’ heads when they came down our road to say hi!



In Dad’s defense he had three teenaged daughters to protect from a bunch of Colt boys, lol. And honestly, some weren’t always our friends. We also attributed the wounding of one of the golden eagles that lived in the area to one of those boys. I saw it fly lamely down our hill – coming across from the Sweetwater Valley with fresh blood on its wing. It was weak and barely landed on the corner of our house to rest. Today that would be the exterior corner of the Spiller’s back porch.

Perhaps we paid it too much attention, and the golden eagle took off across our valley toward trees on the other side of the canyon. I couldn’t see if the injured bird made it all the way across. A pair of golden eagles used to breed in Twilight Canyon. We’d watched their courtship dive, from our front porch in February. I was afraid this was one of them.

In the end, a fire leveled Al Colt’s beautiful resort-like home that Mert had built. Fella said he and Peter sneaked over the next morning when the fire department arrived and watched the embers burn. The firefighters concentrated on keeping the propane tank, which had been near the kitchen, from exploding.

That was the second home to burn on that land. There was a nearby foundation with three chimneys from a previous homestead. The details of its demise are lost in the mists. (photo below)

By Eric Swab Screened Music House – unknown builder


The other buildings, a garage, and a music house in the meadow at that point, it remained intact My siblings, Peter, Fella, and Val camped out in the vacant garage once in a while before Alfred B. Colt sold the property to James H. and Bernice A. Donald in 1966. Dr. Donald enjoyed staying in an RV and wanted his son, David to have the place when he left. David accommodated the garage to make himself an apartment in 1972. But apparently, the Basing’s portion was never platted, and the ownership wasn’t solid.

Map supplied by Eric Swab October 6th, 2020

Lyda Hill inherited Seven Falls, and based on surveys done over the years, The Greenwood Park area was on Seven Falls property. Without documents to the contrary, Donald’s son was unable to verify his ownership, and she was finally able to take the property. She destroyed the bridge, the only external access what a shame.

The property had been bought and sold several times in good faith, however, multiple surveys were conducted. There is a lingering thought in my mind questioning whether Hill was also involved in the destruction of the house that burned down under suspicious circumstances. More recently, Peter Van Buren showed interest in the property.

He had a survey performed on his own but claimed that the ‘Hills’ had enough money to exhaust him, which ultimately led him to lose interest. When Lyda sold her stake, the Broadmoor acquired that land along with Seven Falls. In a land swap, Broadmoor then exchanged Sweetwater with the city, and Colorado Springs received most of Clara Cassatt’s and Bertha Bourne’s former homesteads.

The Upper Valley ruins were supposed to be open to the public, but they posted all kinds of ‘no trespassing’ signs short of Greenwood Park. Since it was supposed to be public, the signs did not dissuade the veteran hikers. The ruins at the upper end of the valley

The cabins and the stable located above what was at one time the reservoir toward the upper end of the canyon now lie in ruins, but it used to be totally cool to visit them. My brother, Fella, knew the place as the “Maxwell Ranch”, though there is no trace of that name in the deed recordings. Go figure. What is with the records? The Maxwell property included land in both canyons, like the ‘Spillers,’ today. Fella and his wife were our last eyes in the area of ‘Greenwood Park.’ They stayed in the one-room cabin up behind the stable.


Cabin photos thanks to Sandra and William Munoz (See other photo below)

Peg and Big Mike. Hank and Peg, once called it the “honeymoon shack”.


Our folks were married in 1948 and took their honeymoon on the road, sightseeing in the west, looking for a place to settle. They hauled a small trailer behind the car, which they called “Waltzing Matilda” because it swayed, side to side as they drove. In the forties, the old bottle-topped gas stations and motels were rare sights, and most of the roads traveled were two-lane and unpaved. Mom got good at driving risky passes, and good preparation for driving the ‘Stage Road.’

When Dad and Mert purchased the property, my folks stayed in the ‘Honeymoon Shack’ from 1948 to 1949 while our house was being built. Dad liked the land because he believed it would be safe in the event of a nuclear blast. This was before NORAD and several other military facilities had the same idea.

Eric recently noticed that the pipe from the pumphouse that might have been served by the cement “reservoir” as it was known, doesn’t go toward the house site the Basing’s used, but up toward the bank of the road, near the bridge. He also mentioned a standpipe which is capped off, and a large steel tank. Perhaps the pipes ran underground? Or, possibly they could be covered by undergrowth. I don’t know, but they could have served the Upper Valley structures, or even Fred Smith’s place if it was up by that ringed reservoir.

A little cabin/room was adjoining the stable. When I was young, I thought that it was the honeymoon cabin. We children tried to spiff up that small room for a fun clubhouse, but we didn’t get far – too much mouse pee. I think there was one old chair, and maybe there was a curtain – Sandy remembers pink curtain material in that cabin. I recall a bed spring that might have been stored in part of the stable.

The family horse, “Guera”

I once tried to shovel enough of the dried poop from the old stable, so “Guera, sounded like Weara”, our palomino mare, could climb in there and pretend to be a fancy stable horse. The interesting thing was that the spongy, dried manure that refused to give in to a shovel, may have belonged to cattle since horses couldn’t even fit in there to poop – at least in the later years. I hadn’t heard of anyone running cattle there.

Maybe that was the “ranch” part of Maxwell Ranch? Later, it did surprise me to hear that the stable had collapsed. I would think that the manure would have held it up, nearly forever. While Tina and Fella lived in the good cabin, they built a corral in the meadow down near the music house, until a terrible storm blew in, and the animals fled down the mountain, probably through the Cutler Trail, to the Westside stables, owned by the Brocks on Arch Street in Colorado Springs.

Fella and Tina had to walk, or otherwise make their way over there to get the critters, and then ride them back up. Even in the 1970s, horses were their only transportation. Fella had a motorcycle; he said he had traveled every inch of those canyons.

When it got too cold to stay in the cabin, Fella and Tina bought their first house next to the Brocks house for $13,900. For a long time ‘Fella’ would take his work crew up to the meadow as an appreciation. Everyone would camp over on the weekend, and have a huge BBQ by the music house.

We Mulbergers were blessed to have had some good times and beautiful memories of that heavenly little valley, and we probably saw it at its best. But let’s see what Trey and Megan Spiller do with the upper valley. They have such dreams and the kindest hearts. Trey already rebuilt the little bridge up by the cabins for our visit. The Spillers, Eric, and their friends are the brightest lights those valleys have known for years.


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


I’d like to thank you and hope you have enjoyed
reading about the ‘Settled History of
Sweet Water Canyon’ in Colorado Springs and
sharing some of my family memories!


Visiting The Broadmoor Seven Falls In Colorado Springs, CO
1045 Lower Gold Camp Rd, Colorado Springs, CO 80905





A Special Poem and New Shard Story for Valentine’s Day… Introducing The ‘Rising Wind’ Series of Novels and Book One ‘The Thunder Beings,’ and How The Series Begins.

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


MIST

Early in the morning

In the wake of rain

The drowsy trees exist

Draped in silence

And a distant thunder

Rolls… along

Beads of sunlight drip

Off water spotted ferns

The forest now breathes

And a distant thunder

Rolls along. . .


**********



About Book One ~ The Thunder Beings

When impassioned paleontologist Secora James is summoned to South America to confirm or dispel rumors of a creature long thought extinct, she lands herself in more trouble than she had ever imagined. Secora knows that the Mapinguari, a giant ground sloth that rivals King Kong for size, is probably just a local myth dreamed up by the indigenous tribes. 
Or is it?
Gideon Yellow Thunder is Montana’s top real estate broker and is perfectly content with his modern life, choosing to leave behind his Lakota heritage in order to lead a life of wealth and success. But when he starts having visions of bison on the open prairie, he feels compelled to act. . .
Now two separate lives are on a collision course as Gideon sets off for the jungles of Brazil to find a woman he’s never met and protect the sacred beings he’d long given up believing in—the Thunderbirds. Could they be real after all?
Or are they just a myth?
Gideon’s about to find out in an adventure of a lifetime, where everything he’d pushed aside is determined to leave its mark on his life.

*********

A Shard Story of Book One “The Thunder Beings”


A New Vision

Gideon Yellow Thunder shuddered back from his startling daydream. Mitch was squinting into his face, worry wrinkles etched onto his forehead. “You okay, dude? I heard you crash on the stairwell.”

********


Gideon Yellow Thunder tapped his pencil eraser on the desk as he finished a call from an eager business property buyer. He hung up thinking that was too easy. Kicking his chair back, he stretched and yawned. Then smiling confidently, he clipped together a few pages before standing up and slipping them neatly into a filing cabinet behind his desk.

Mitch, Gideon’s string bean of an assistant, and Jeannie, their resourceful secretary, were setting up a snack table for a party celebrating the continued success of Treasuremont Realty as it successfully shifted its way through Y2K.

“You’d think a hundred people were coming.” Gideon smiled. “We’ll have leftover snacks for the rest of the year.” He closed the file drawer and wandered over for a cup of punch.

“Hey, Jeannie, hope the company lasts as long as all these snacks.”

“That’s your job, sugar.”

He grinned, then sipped, “Yum, Seven-Up and…?”

“Cranberry juice.”

“I was just going to say that. Here’s to us!”

The office crew was about the only “family” Gideon acknowledged, though he had a younger sister who attended the local university. Jane was a nice girl, but their paths never seemed to cross. When she wasn’t attending classes, she took her breaks on the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, staying with their mother, grandmother, and her son, Kyah.

The old doublewide on Bigfoot Road was twelve hours away, but that was still too close for Gideon. He wanted to stay as far away as he possibly could from his childhood home and the dysfunction he remembered.

Gideon’s eyes focused solidly on Mitch, who was now moving toward him with a certificate and a gift box. “What’s this stuff?” “Another annual certificate of appreciation from the Montana International Business Brokers Association saying you’re the best, and a little acknowledgment from your partner.” Mitch tipped his head in the direction of Glen Greenbriar, then popped a Frito into his mouth and wandered off.

Glen sat slumped in his chair with his chin idly cupped in one hand, adding drops of Angostura bitters to his whisky with the other to make his favorite drink, an old-fashioned. His desk sported a figurine Gideon hadn’t noticed before—a shrunken head. The face had brown skin, and a shiny green tooth, and bore a caption: My Retirement Plan.

That’s odd, thought Gideon, for several reasons. He glanced over the certificate, then surveyed the crowded wall behind his desk. Where the heck am I going to put this one? He sighed and set the certificate on his polished monkey wood desk. Grabbing the box with smooth manicured fingers, Gideon began to rummage through the curious assortment of packing materials. “Keep digging,” offered Glen. At length, Gideon located a two-inch clear plastic case in the midst of all the newspaper shreds and styrofoam peanuts.
“Wow, Glen, a penknife?”
He flipped it over. Hmm, no engraving. He sorted the box and packing materials into his garbage and recycling bins. Stray bits drifted to the floor.
While he was gathering the shreds, his hand bumped across a small object. He brought up a white marble that looked like it had been squished, the kind that people sometimes put into vases. Closer examination showed it had green specks peeking through. That’s different. He popped it into his shirt pocket. He turned toward Glen and pressed a finger thoughtfully against his lips regarding his partner whose wavy red hair was turning mostly gray. “What’s the knife for? I already have a letter opener.”

Between crunched chips, Glen made a suggestion. “Go skin a buffalo.”

“What… Excuse me?” Gideon stammered in shock.

“You’re an Indian, aren’t you?”

“You know I am. Why is that important?”

No answer. Gideon narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t minded that he had been hired to do the heavy lifting, while Glen phased out and retired. He’d even shrugged off the fact that his colleague had no love for anyone whose skin tones were different from his own. He learned early on from Mitch that Glen’s great-great-grandfather had been part of the 7th US Cavalry and an eager participant in two massacres during the late 1800s. These actions, no doubt, affected Gideon’s family, personally. Mitch said that Glen believed his ancestor was justified in the killings, regardless of the truth that time had since revealed.

Gideon tapped the table with anxious fingers. Maybe Glen had a tumor, or a demon on his tail. Maybe his great-great-grandfather was looking for a comeback. Whatever the cause, this was not business as usual.

“I was going to get you a bronze plaque partner, but…” Glen fidgeted with his glass, then belched. “Well, never mind, the plaque will have to wait. You got the damn award, and we got you that fine piece of cutlery.” His blue eyes turned to ice. “Clearly, Gideon, you’re worth every cent.”

Gideon Yellow Thunder was taken by surprise and rubbed his brow. Glen got up from his chair and stormed toward the buffet. Something was definitely fractured in their partnership, and he wondered how much longer the arrangement would last.

Eight and a half years ago, he’d given a talk at a business conference in Seattle on Seizing the Day. Glen had approached him afterward using words like “impressive” and “charismatic” that poured from his lips. Glen’s eyes smiled as he used phrases like “changemaker” and “closer” and “just the man.” Gideon would fit right in at Glen’s classy realty shop.

Despite Gideon’s hesitation to move to Missoula, Montana, he’d been excited about working for a legend in the profession. At first, the praise was almost constant. Glen assured Gideon he was doing the work of any three decent agents. Things had been good. But honest interaction between them was quickly fading. With a sigh, he put on his headphones and pulled up the quarterly accounting spreadsheets on his computer.

He flicked through several screens before he slowed down to focus on the figures for travel expenses. 
Something’s off. 
His finger traced the lines of expenditures that seemed not only out of place but way out of line with their budget. His calculator couldn’t make the problem go away and suddenly, there was more than racism bothering him.
Perhaps he had just uncovered one source of the problems with their partnership. Before he said anything to Glen, he’d check the figures against the budget history with an external accountant. He copied the questionable expenses onto a DVD, which he slid into his back pocket while exiting the computer.

He cleared the desk except for the new certificate and snatched his silk and cashmere suit coat from a hall tree. As he slid into the jacket, Gideon lifted his hair, which was neatly longer in the back, over his collar. He noticed Glen’s eyes were fixed on him. For show, he flipped the little silver steel knife into the air, smiled, then dropped it into his pocket.
“Never know when a knife will come in handy.” Glen growled, “Where are you going in such a hurry?”

“Not feeling well. I think I need to stay away from the punch.”

“You think Jeannie spiked it?”

Gideon shrugged.
“Well, go ahead, partner, enjoy a long easy weekend.
But if you’re not back Monday, Stevenson here will have your job.”

Gideon returned and placed his hands on Glen’s desk, looking directly into his eyes, he said slowly, “What are you getting at?”
“Don’t think you’re irreplaceable.” Glen emptied the whisky bottle into his glass.
Gideon’s mood plunged. “We’re partners.”

Greenbriar stared back and smacked the whisky bottle down on the desk, causing the new bauble to jiggle.

“Take it easy, Glen.” I’m not just talking about the drinking. Yellow Thunder wrinkled his brow and pushed his hands away from the desk. He pointed to the shrunken head. “That’s new. A souvenir?”

The stand for the head was surrounded by a tiny terrarium. Little palm trees sprouted from a white beach made of squished marbles like the one he’d found on the floor.
Glen grinned like a hyena. “Something like that.”

“Aren’t their mouths usually sewn shut like their eyes?”

“Yeah, but I had custom dentures made for this guy.” Glen brushed a finger against his nose. “He’s smiling because he’s a retiree. Kinda like I’ll be, very soon.”

Gideon became momentarily distracted when he thought he heard the boom of distant thunder. But the sunny sky out the window gave no sign of a storm. He shrugged it off and started to leave the office. “Bye, everybody. Have a fantastic weekend.” Jeannie and Mitch looked surprised.

Gideon offered as an explanation, “Not feeling too great.” Suddenly that statement felt very real. Two steps into the stairwell Gideon’s tall frame collapsed. He nearly fell to the first stair as he grabbed for the rail. Lightning flashed, and immediately the thunderclap boomed and echoed. 

That was way too close, he thought. I smell ozone. Clouds swarmed in his mind’s eye. He tried to shake them off, but now he could feel and hear the shrieking wind around him as he watched the storm descend on a Pine Ridge meadow.

At first, the bison calves danced and charged the gusty air, but before long, a strangely rising wind caused them to bawl and bolt for the herd’s protected inner circle. The growling of distant thunder disturbed a few of the anxious cows, who raised their muzzles from the summer grass.

The mothers began to call and sniff their babies. The cottonwoods by Porcupine Creek lifted the white undersides of their leaves as they beckoned and ached for the rain. Thunderheads swallowed the last eerie yellow light, and the storm was on. Thunder crashed over the land and the animals. The small bison herd froze with foreboding.

Swift darkness swept over the herd-like sinister magic once, then twice. Two of the calves were gone with the crack of thunder. The trees bent even further, and the squall splattered fat raindrops on nearby rocks. Next came the hail, smashing and bouncing through a bunch of grass and bushes, obliterating everything from view.

Gideon Yellow Thunder shuddered back from his startling daydream. Mitch was squinting into his face, worry wrinkles etched onto his forehead. “You okay, dude? I heard you crash on the stairwell.”

Gideon rallied, shaking the strong prairie images that had assailed him without warning. Mitch sighed with relief and helped Gideon to his feet. “Thanks, Mitch, I’m not feeling well. Better get home.
See you Monday.”

Mitch didn’t seem convinced, so Gideon made himself smile, however weakly, and wobbled down the steps, his hands gripping the railings. He still couldn’t believe it. His thoughts had just been violently overtaken by a vision of bison and the shadows of gigantic birds. Why in the world? How? He’d tried so hard to push that Indian nonsense away from him and now this…this daydream that made no sense, literally came crashing down around him.
“Unbelievable, he murmured to no one”
Outside, he was surprised to see slate-colored clouds crawling across the sky, rapidly consuming what had been a bright afternoon. He choked in the muggy air. Loosening his tie and opening the shirt collar, he stepped over the curb to cross the street to his car. A bank clock read two-thirty, and traffic was slow. Almost no one was visible on streets that would be swamped within half an hour. He fumbled with the knife in his pocket. “Just about useless.“

Sparkles of distant lightning danced among the blue-black clouds that billowed in. He shivered. It reminded him of the strange daydream that seemed so real. Gideon reached the other side of the street just as lightning flashed with a nearly simultaneous thunderclap. Damn, that couldn’t have been even a thousand yards away. Am I in that blinking dream again? 
He looked up to the stormy sky. A metallic light flashed from the roof of his office building across the street. He squinted to get a better view, shading the last of the sunlight from his eyes with his hand. His attention was snatched from the roof by the shadow of a low-flying plane that came ripping through the clouds. Stunned, Gideon dropped his arms and stood by his car in total disbelief.

A whining sound increased as the approaching craft quickly descended. Its shadow swept over him just as his driver’s side window shattered only inches from his hand. His jaw dropped as he noticed a visible pit appear in the passenger door. Upholstery stuffing, that was hanging precariously, fell to the floor. Finally, able to react, he panicked and crept around to the more protected side of the BMW.

Is someone shooting at me? 
From the back tire, he lifted his head a few inches to take another peek. Amazingly, the plane he’d thought was perhaps a Cessna 182 flapped its wings. The whooshing sound across the feathers of a bird, whose body size exceeded three times that of an ostrich, sounded like a cross between the shriek of wind through a well-ventilated abandoned shack and the reverberating impact of thunder—comparable to a jet engine. The avian zeroed in on a man with a rifle standing on the rooftop while Gideon gaped in astonishment. Just then, a sharp sizzle of lightning turned the world a silent white. . .

**********

Momentarily, Gideon was one with a warm golden-white universe. Atom for atom, he was willed into motion with millions of superheated particles. For that awesome interval, he was part of the oneness of all matter and energy, a unified component of all that existed. He was One.After an unfathomable increment of time, he separated and returned to semi-consciousness, his senses hyper-aware. There was an overwhelming aroma of pine needles, and the staccato beat of raindrops bounced from the car’s roof. He tried to move, but everything went dark“…



Readers can now read the full story about Gideon and Secora within the first book that begins their journey in the ‘Rising Wind series!’ Packed with romance and exciting mysteries they solve around the globe!

The full series is now available on Amazon in Kindle and Paperback. https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B01LWDB4K7/allbooks

Let’s Connect>> https://dianeolsenauthor.allauthor.com/



“ADAM” A Shard Story From My Book Ancient Ways: The Roots of Religion. Happy New Year…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


Most of us have an idea about the story of Adam.

For some, He is the First human. Others see Him as the first Prophet of this last age. If Adam was the first man ever created – when was that – 8 million years ago, or 13,000, or 3,000 years ago? In Genesis, Adam is considered the first man. Yet, He may have actually lived during the time of the great starvation.

Adam and Eve are said to have covered themselves with fig leaves in Eden, but their family is said to be fully clothed farmers living among other agricultural people. He and Eve were noted as parents (or more likely ancestors) of farmers of sporadic, domestic herds and crops, somewhere around 13,000 to 10,000 years ago. The Quran says Adam and Eve were created in heaven, and then sent to earth.

The Great Prophets or Manifestations, all concur They were created before coming to earth – as were we. But, in the Torah and the Bible, Adam is made from mud, and Eve, from one of His ribs. Each Great Prophet, or Manifestation of God’s will, was the bearer of the Holy Spirit for a new Age of human development – at times this great Holy Spirit is surprised that we haven’t reached a higher stage of maturity since the last visit.

In mortal bodies, Adam and Eve became God’s representatives and lived in a place referred to as Eden. A place where all their needs were met, until Eve gave Adam the fruit from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. In the Qur’an, it is claimed that Adam gave Eve that forbidden fruit. Either way, they became enmeshed in the conflict between Good and Evil on earth.

With the encouragement of a snaky tempter, perhaps they made the material choice between good and evil and were evicted from Eden. Did God punish them and make them leave Eden? In the Quran, it was they who turned away from their Creator; turning towards something more worldly for a time. They later grieved the loss of connection with God. When they realized their mistake, and knew His disappointment and displeasure. They felt a great remorse, and realized that they were unable to find food.



When they were driven out from paradise, they made themselves a booth, and spent seven days mourning and lamenting in great grief. But after seven days, they began to be hungry and started to look for victual to eat, and they found it not. Then Eve said to Adam: ‘My lord, I am hungry. Go, look for (something) for us to eat. Perchance the Lord God will look back and pity us and recall us to the place in which we were before.’ And Adam arose and walked seven days over all that land, and found no victual such as they used to have in paradise.”

~Genesis, King James Bible


This brings up an environmental question.

It seems that after leaving Eden, Adam and Eve suffered from a horrible famine, similar to that experienced elsewhere in the postglacial world. As the glaciers melted, the land and even the rivers dried up. The animals and fish disappeared and there was tremendous suffering. Perhaps Adam and Eve were unable to cling to the Revelation that was the very purpose for their existence. There were reasons – sanity was deteriorating.

People everywhere were starving to death, fighting over scraps, and resorting to cannibalism. This is recorded in other recollections, as in the Persian memory of those times. Mashya and Mashyana, while guarding the new Revelation of Gayomart, in Zoroastrian texts; (in Persian, Keyomars), had to eat their precious child. Quite possibly, Adam and Eve starved to death along with many of those living in the post-glacial drying regions.

So, did the serpent represent human frailty or a need for a material attachment to the earth for existence? In those desperate times, the Ancient Faith was again corrupted. People made sacrifices to the rain god or a fertility goddess. Maybe Adam’s followers chose idol worship; praying to elements as gods, or calling on personifications, icons, or statues, for specific personal favors like finding food, water, or freedom from having to eat, or be eaten by those around them.

********

Leaving Eden means so little as a sentence, but understanding the real-life environmental drama gives significance to those words. Our ancestors could no longer satisfy their needs from the forests and the waters. Many died from outright hunger, thirst, or cannibalism. Adam and Eve were likely unable to hold onto the holy Revelation. Some humans endured, but perhaps Adam and Eve did not.

This is our human history – and may God forgive us – maybe our future too. Again, we’re faced with global warming, starvation, and death as rivers shrink and storms rage. However, in God’s mercy, starvation became the engine that impelled humanity to tame plants in their desperate hopes for survival. Over time, Adam and Eve’s descendants became ancestors to early farmers like Cain and Able who learned to raise and defend patches of herbs, vegetables, grains, and fruit. They even confined a few treasured animals in small breeding flocks; all the while trying to defend their tiny farms from fierce raiders and starving neighbors.

The concept of sacred white bulls, and not eating sacred cows, is an ancient remnant of those times. With the guidance of several succeeding Great Prophets, this process eventually led to the grouping of farmers into communities, or early cities defended by warriors, and ruled by law. Civilization had started its path. Eventually, there was enough food to initiate barter, then trade; forming routes for the transfer of goods and ideologies. Does this layering of the exploits of an early Prophet’s life sound familiar?

In the stories of the first remembered Great Prophets, the shreds of memory cover thousands of years, yet only one name serves as the “First”, though many Prophets whose names were forgotten over time, came in between their age and the age of the next remembered Prophet. Besides Adam, other first-remembered Prophets you’ll want to check out are: Nu Wa, Gayomart, Rama, and Fu-Xi. Adam’s Revelation was followed in sequence by Seth, on the flickering cusp of domestication.

Seth’s descendants built two pillars inscribed with many scientific discoveries and inventions – notably in astronomy in order to protect the knowledge so it could be remembered after the destructions of flood and fire, which Adam had predicted. One was composed of brick, and the other of stone, so that if the pillar of brick should be destroyed, the pillar of stone would remain. Enoch, known by many names like Hermes, Thoth, and Idris worldwide, gifted us His massive Revelation before the flood. His philosophies, sciences, and libraries still influence our societies today.

********

Our first remembered Prophet’s painted for us a tremendously long prehistory. They brought richness and noble beauty to the development of human religion, society, and culture. They took on the forces of evil rulers, idolatry, and ignorance to renew the Ancient Faith. They had one goal – for humans to worship the Supreme Creator: to purify their hearts and to turn away from self and materialistic distractions; to refrain from forming cults and making offerings to various elements, talismans, idols, or icons in order to get something in return.

The Ones we can name guided us through three global stages. First, the hunter-gatherers who lived in lush lands in times of relative plenty. Next, a cold, drying climate caused starvation and cannibalism. Finally, they drew a path for the success of domestication, agriculture, and trade; then guided us through the glimmerings of civilization, helping us achieve a civil, just, and compassionate organization of society. Each, renewed the ancient Faith of God, which was tarnished time and again, by human perceptions and changes to the holy Word.

And that renewal continues today.

**********


I am pleased to have shared an excerpt from my first published book, “Ancient Ways: The Roots of Religion“…
My hope is that this brief preview will inspire you to purchase and read the entire book. It explores the connections between the beginning of the Earth and our present times, highlighting various topics that demonstrate our unity as one humanity.

It is available from Amazon in
Paperback and Kindle
https://www.amazon.com/dp/0996756558/



ABOUT THE BOOK: 

To enjoy this book you may have to suspend current beliefs, since some of the concepts may seem quite foreign at first. What if monotheism always existed, and revelations were given to all human forms. There are hints to that effect. We should not assume primitive peoples weren’t smart enough to grasp the concept of a single Creator!

Too often we tweak religion to reflect our personal thoughts rather than dealing directly with the Word of God.  Monotheism, today is represented by at least nine living faiths, yet praying to God alone is not enough, for many. Instead, we pray to Prophets, angels, saints, ancestors, deities, and even the universe.

This creates a chain of “Paths” and “Ways” that become stained, over time, by human desires for control and material benefits. And as darkness and materialism overtake one Faith, another is born, through the intervention of the Holy Spirit, which is clothed in a different form, with a new name, and very familiar teachings.

Like the Tree of Life, monotheism can be visualized as a chain linking prehistory and history, entwined with human additions, wisps, and twists that produce an undulating, ultimate Yin and Yang. This constant interaction of complementary, as well as conflicting, forces and energies, exhibits both organic unity and dynamism-even war. Those who suspect there is a unified core of basic beliefs will enjoy Ancient Ways.

Hopefully, you will find precious gems to take with you.

Happy New Year & Winter Reading!



“Extraordinary Bears” Shard Story From ‘Rock My Soul’ Book 5 of ‘Rising Wind Series.’ Includes a Prior Interview With Modern Explorer, Mateo Arguello…

~ DianeOlsenAuthor ~ Leave a comment


I am excited to share this next story, which includes experiences from a prior interview and meeting with the popular modern explorer Mateo Arguello.

It was evident from the beginning that he is passionate about investigating, researching, and exploring, whether it’s through his expeditions in the mountains or encounters with paranormal phenomena and cryptids.

In particular, I want to focus on a hike he and his friend Austin took on the south side of Pikes Peak, located outside Colorado Springs, Colorado.

So, I thought it would be fun to share their experiences with you…

~Diane Olsen




“My friend, Austin, and I had spent all day hiking and exploring the south side of Pikes Peak. He relied on me to navigate us safely back to the Jeep since it was getting dark. Normally, it was easy for me to remember reference points, even by moonlight.

However, this night was pitch dark and there was no moon. We were over 12,000 feet up the mountain, 500 feet above timberline. As darkness enfolded us the entire landscape became formless. I realized I couldn’t make out anything – even with my headlamp fully illumined.”

It was like looking into the void of space. Nothing reflected in the distance. At that moment; I was unable to tell where I was. For the first time, I understood how people could get lost and die on a cold night like this, high above the trees in what seemed like endless emptiness, a black abyss that absorbed all light.

I was chilled with fear not only for me but for Austin who came with me on these crazy escapades because he trusted my judgment and experience.



In the inky darkness, the valleys were gone, indiscernible. My headlamp only illuminated sixty feet before evaporating. I pushed fear to the side and brought my confidence back to the surface. There was no point in being scared. I needed to guess which valley to hike down. No easy feat.

Unfortunately, from our naked mountaintop vantage, we were looking for one specific dip a few inches or feet deep; the genesis of a swale that would later become a valley rushing downslope into streams that carved out a specific canyon.

Even worse, entirely separate valleys might begin only a few feet from one another, which was very confusing. With as much confidence as I could muster, I let Austin know that we would have to pick one, and hope it would lead us back to the vehicle. He seemed to take it well since I showed no fear or doubt.

It was hard to gauge distances in the dark. For what seemed like two endless black miles we pushed our way past the timberline, into the forest along the valley we thought we had used on the way up. When we ran into the road we traveled with more confidence and improved morale. Our headlamps focused on the flat surface, giving us the illusion that we could see.

The world didn’t seem so vacant – until we ran into a newly installed cattle guard then it became clear that even though we had a path to follow, we had chosen the wrong valley and were hours farther than ever from home. Our morale dropped to nothing. We were cold, hungry, and sleepy. It was edging close to midnight. There was no choice but to keep going.

A few hours passed when a strange sensation overcame me. The way I’d feel when I was in a kill zone in Afghanistan. You knew you were vulnerable; something was watching! This feeling lingered for about a mile until we finally pushed out of the trees near a reservoir. I shook off the dread, perhaps it had been my imagination.



All we could see were these massive outlines and large reflective eyes looking back at us from just outside the reach of our lights. Simultaneously, they started peeking their heads out from behind the giant bush. When we would shine the light to focus on one head, it would quickly hide behind the bush and the other two would jut their heads out like ‘Whack-a-Mole.’ If that wasn’t enough, the one directly behind the tree was peeking above a bush that had to be over eight feet tall.

I couldn’t comprehend how fast and fluid this bear must be to look over the bush, and then duck its head. I’d always seen bears struggling to balance while standing, slowly rising, then falling to get off two feet. This bear was faster and more agile than I was! As soon as the light was directed at it, it shot down – just to shoot up as soon as we shined the light at the new head popping out on the side.

Austin suggested we should take out our firearms for protection. Recognizing he was afraid, I agreed it was probably the best course of action. Yet, I did not get any threatening indication from them, so I wasn’t scared.

As soon as I drew out my 1911 WWII .45, the three giant bears galloped away from us on all fours so fast that they were out of sight within seconds. Unfortunately, that was of no benefit to us, since the “bears” went into the trees on the path we were planning to take, making it impossible for us to keep an eye on them. We stood there, unsure what to do because we felt uneasy moving in that direction.



I commented to Austin how unusual it was to see three adult bears together, and how strange their movements were. The behaviors we saw didn’t make sense. They were not the behaviors of bears. I couldn’t understand how they maneuvered with such agility, and how they instantly knew we had drawn our pistols and fled the scene in haste. I might have understood a fear of rifles but not pistols.

Austin didn’t have much to say since there was much to contemplate. As for me, I was highly suspicious of what we had seen and couldn’t get it out of my head. The way they moved, the interest they showed in us, the way they had been following us from up the timbered slope. If I hadn’t looked to my right, they would have just moved across the flat to that bush, and neither of us would have been the wiser.

We probably waited about twenty minutes before deciding to press forward. Still perplexed and unsure if we were safe, we continued with our lights on and our handguns drawn for about a mile and a half until we ran into a forest service road. We felt safe enough to put the weapons away, but our heads were still on swivels looking for any eye-shine that might indicate these things were still following us.

It took another couple of hours to reach the Jeep and another two hours to get home. By the time this adventure was over it was close to daybreak at 5 A.M . . .

Mateo Argüello


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If you enjoyed this short story, I invite you to read “the rest of the story” in my novel series, “Rising Wind,” Book 5 “Rock My Soul.” This book is filled with action, adventure, and mystery, celebrating Native American culture while exploring diverse cultures worldwide.

It would make a fantastic holiday gift for the avid readers on your Christmas list and may be purchased from Amazon.  https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B01LWDB4K7/allbooks