Sapphic Voices Fantasy

When Amazons Dream

Part Two Of A Three-Part Saga
Dream II: Calling The Wild

Disclaimers: `This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the Author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.'

Cautionary Note: This Story is not suitable for underage readers. If it were a movie it would likely be rated `R'--no one under eighteen admitted.'

Library of Congress Registration: Oct. 2004

Chapter VIII

Overcast skies made navigation difficult for the novice flier. A slight miscalculation over eastern Anatolia nearly spelled disaster when she hit the ragged top of a pine tree and picked up a large splinter in her left wing. By Sunrise blood loss and pain forced a brief rest stop on one of the Aegean Islands. `So much for the flight plan,' Ananza mused when she took off for Crete against a hefty head wind.

Ananza never met the modern water witch who'd been detoured to the legendary isle, but she'd heard plenty about her from Cynthia McKibben. The venerable mayor of Hecate's Cove had nothing but praise for the town's renowned psychic, mainly because Andrea Tedesco despised convention. Every now and then, regulars would argue during happy hour at the Sand Dollar Inn about which of the two was more eccentric. Before Andrea's mysterious disappearance, it remained a toss-up. Afterwards, everyone was too distraught to mention her name, much less speculate about her fate. Everyone, that is, except the mayor, who talked of nothing else.

So when Ananza a.k.a. Dr. Robin Walker had tried to make scientific sense of the creature from the deep, it was Cynthia who went on and on about what Andrea would have made of it, claiming that the dowser would have divined why and from where the grotesque hybrid washed up on the rocks below Raven's Bluff. Even as a shape-shifter, Ananza harbored a healthy scientific skepticism about those last days at Hecate's Cove. It was the why question that continued to intrigue her the most.

Beyond the creature's obvious connection to Mariana, she guessed that the magical equid might very well be the key to why women of the modern world landed in settings like aboriginal Crete and Africa...and the plains of Nebraska. Perhaps, she thought, as she skimmed Mediterranean breakers, Andrea could shed some light on the mystery. Unfortunately, the exhausted fisherhawk chose to land on the wrong end of the island.

The sight of those massive wings scared the dickens out of the locals. Ananza, of course, couldn't have known that her raptorian appearance was a mixed blessing for the peoples of western Crete. She couldn't have known that they worshipped a Bird Goddess, who took as well as gave life. And, as far as anyone in the village knew, no one was about to die or give birth.

Luckily, a local shaman brave enough to approach the enormous bird, calmed the crowd by convincing them that what they took for an omen was nothing more than a wayward fisherhawk with no taste for carrion, human or otherwise. Perched on a low branch of a gnarly cedar, Ananza tried her best to shift back to human form. In her struggle, she lost several tail feathers, which the shaman collected and dispensed to the giggling children gathered around the base of the tree.

"Who are you and why have you come?" the shaman asked the raptor, who, of course, could only screech in response. To the shape-shifter's amazement, the shaman then shouted, "Welcome, Ananza! The Oracle must be notified!"

"How does she know my name? And who or what is the Oracle?" Ananza thought and squawked like a chicken laying an egg.

"I heard you think your name, and the Oracle is the Wisdom of Crete!" the old woman shouted up to her. Suddenly, it occurred to Ananza that the friendly crone was not only reading her thoughts, she somehow spoke perfect English.

"How is that possible?" the diehard skeptic asked herself.

"When I speak Sumerian you hear your language. When you speak, I hear mine!" the crone replied in a raspy voice. "Come down so I don't have to shout!" she added, motioning to the visitor. When the crowd pulled back, Ananza made a clumsy landing on a pile of stones.

"This must be your maiden flight," the crone said with a wink and re-positioned a loose rock under the great talons. "Is that better?"

"Yes, thank you," Ananza thought. "I'm beat. I just flew in all the way from Nebraska." The white-haired crone looked puzzled.

"Where is this Nebraska?"

"North America," Ananza thought, holding her massive wings away from her overheated torso. "I could sure use a drink."

The crone quickly brought a wooden bowl of water, and while the traveler got the hang of drinking raptor-style, the gracious Cretan said, "That realm I do not know. It must be on the other side of the veil." Ananza stopped drinking.

"I'm not dead, am I?" she thought with a shrill distress call.

"Surely you know by now that the soul does not die," the shaman chided.

"You made it sound like...you know..like I passed over," thought Ananza, taking several more drinks. The cool water stung more than soothed as it trickled down her lengthy gullet.

"You must have flown through a tear in the veil between Crete and Turtle Island."

"Another wrinkle in time, I suppose. Hey, how do you know that name--Turtle Island?"

"It's a place of momentous change as foretold by the Sphinx. It has teeming wilderness with vast migrating herds of..."

"Wild horses," Ananza filled in. Even in the sweltering heat, she felt a chill run from the base of her luxurious tail to her topknot.

"Yes! I have seen the star-dwellers in my dreams," the shaman excitedly said. "Do they truly run on the wind?"

"They're speedy all right, and they rule Nebraska." Images of vast mustang herds stampeded across Ananza's mind.

"Oh! They are magnificent!" the shaman cried. "What are those great horned ones?"

"Buffalo."

"Buffalo," the shaman repeated, obviously taken with the sound of the strange word.

"You know my name. What's yours?" Ananza thought, stretching her left wing, which was quite painful. What followed was a flurry of Sumerian words. "I don't think I got all that," the confused shape-shifter thought.

The crone walked to a loom set up near a vineyard, then sat down and began to weave.

"Oh, I get it. Your name is Weaver." The crone shook her head and used a stick to scratch out a picture of a spider in the dust. "Spider," Ananza thought. Still, the old woman shook her head and then pointed to it.

"I hate charades," Ananza thought. "OK, head? Idea? Thought?" The crone nodded.

"I am thinking," she said.

"Crone With Big Ideas," Ananza took a wild albeit irreverent guess, which made her host cackle.

"I am Roku," she said, giggling.

"Glad to meet you, Roku. Why didn't you just tell me that in the first place?"

"Some do not choose a name. Roku is how my grandchildren call me. So you may as well, also."

Ananza gingerly stretched her left wing. "This thing's killing me," she thought with a pitiful chirp. Roku gently examined it and, just like that, pulled out the offending body. "Ouch!" the raptor squawked. Roku showed the jagged bloody splinter to her grateful patient.

"Raptors heal fast. You will be plenty strong for flight by tomorrow."

"But I must find Andrea today."

"Is she your conjuror?"

"Not exactly, but she is from my world."

"Someone by that name arrived here at the Equinox and I have heard she makes water bubble up from the ground in Signe's garden. She is one of the Oracle's consorts, I believe."

"She's part of a harem?!"

"I don't know what is a harem," Roku replied, looking deep into the hawk's glistening black orb.

"Never mind. Where can I find this Signe?"

"At the grotto, at the other end of the island. Perhaps it would be better if your friend came to you."

"I'm on a tight schedule--I can't wait," Ananza anxiously thought, flapping her massive wings.

"But you must be properly introduced to the Oracle," Roku said as she shielded her eyes from the swirl of dust.

"But how?"

"You must leave an offering on the grotto altar, then one of the priests will send for her."

"What should I offer?"

"You are a fisher, are you not?"

"Oh, right."

"Bring her a nice plump perch--her favorite," Roku suggested with a smile that deepened the jagged wrinkles around her chestnut eyes.

"I will do my best. But how will I communicate with the priest?"

"Oh, my, that is a problem. Is Andrea a thinking woman?"

"I certainly hope so," Ananza said with a worried sigh that sounded like a warble. "If only I could return to my human form," she thought.

"You are heading south to The Garden of the Ancestors, is this not true?"

"If you mean Nyasa, then yes." Roku looked puzzled, so Ananza tried to narrow things down a little. "It has a great lake."

"Perhaps you speak of the land of towering fire spouts."

"You must be referring to volcanic activity along the Great Rift."

"I only know of a fertile valley with three lakes, two are heavy with salt, but one is abundant in fish. There is a sea of grasses, grazed by the elephant, the rhinoceros, and home to the lion."

"And the Zebra," the high flier thought.

"Yes, yes. I have heard of their cunning."

"It's their disdain for humans that interests me most," Ananza thought.

"They take care of their own," Roku said, peering into the shape-shifter's orb again. Ananza suddenly felt a searing pang of longing for Marty. "You are very brave to leave such a friend," Roku gently said.

"Out of my mind is more like it." Roku chuckled and gently laid her bony hand on the hawk's back.

"Tonight, she will find you dreaming."

"But I don't dare sleep until I land in Nyasa. I better get going. Thank you, Roku, for your help." Again, Ananza stirred up a dust storm flapping her wings.

"You are welcome, my friend. We will meet again," Roku said, coughing.

"How will you recognize me without my feathers?"

"I will know you by your radiant beauty," Roku replied.

A bit embarrassed and decidedly flattered, Ananza proudly stretched her enormous wings, levitated, then, caught a gentle breeze. Before gaining altitude on a thermal, she circled over the cedar tree and tipped her wings to Roku. With an ear-piercing call, she negotiated a loop-to-loop and headed due east along the north shoreline, where she sensed the best fish might be. She skimmed the shoreline of the emerald sea and spotted a school of orange-colored fish.

It took a few tries to get the hang of it, but Ananza snagged her first prey in full view of two grotto novices gathering herbs on a bluff. They, like the west-enders, didn't know whether to run from or rejoice at the sight of such an immense creature of the air. Ananza, straining to hold onto the struggling catch, circled the sacred grotto and accidentally dropped it at the edge of a vineyard. Still very much in fight mode, the large perch flopped its way towards a steaming hot springs and was nearly cooked on the spot, before Moab, who was cultivating nearby, stunned it with his wooden hoe.

Ananza circled a few more times, then swooped down for a smooth landing in a freshly cut barley field. The fishy taste on her tongue had sparked severe pangs of hunger, and it took great self-control to keep from making quick work of the offering with her razor sharp beak. Meanwhile, the two breathless witnesses to her prowess ran up to Moab and excitedly asked, "Is the great flier from Ankh Delta?"

"It looks like a lake fisher," he said and resumed his cultivating.

"Well, at least I can understand what they're saying," Ananza thought. She took a few steps closer and eyed the two young women whose dark eyes were dilated with wonder and curiosity.

"Is it lost?" one novice asked the other.

"It is injured...see?" the other said, pointing to Ananza's left wing that dripped a steady stream of blood onto the field.

"Oh, no," Ananza groaned. When she lifted her wing for a better look, she lost her balance and fell onto her back. Shrieking an ear-splitting distress call, the flier clawed helplessly at the air. The commotion brought a whole bevy of novices.

"For crying out loud, somebody help me!" Ananza silently pleaded. Daria, their teacher, stepped forward.

"Everyone stay back," she demanded and knelt down next to the giant bird. "You must promise not to harm me," she said as she gingerly touched the wounded wing, which was contorted into a very painful position. Daria untwisted the wing and began to stroke it. Relief was almost immediate. The shape-shifter stopped flailing about and surrendered to the magic hands of Crete's most renowned healer.

With her wings tucked safely to her body, Ananza was then carried by the exceptionally strong high priest over to the fish. "Now, you can eat," Daria said and deposited the raptor upright. As hungry as she was, Ananza surprised everyone when she grasped the tempting meal in one talon and flew it over to the altar, where she promptly deposited it before levitating into a nearby chestnut tree.

"Moab, sound the conch," Daria ordered, shading her dark eyes from the Sun. Ananza was smitten by the statuesque healer whose beautifully adorned dreadlocks reached below her waist. Her hunger was forgotten, as the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen placed a basket of fruit and a wooden bowl of water at the base of the tree. Not until Daria withdrew into the grotto with her students, did the famished shape-shifter float to the ground and gorge herself on the delicious meal.

By the time Signe and her entourage arrived on the scene, the sated visitor was back up in the tree happily watching the beautiful Daria show the novices a massage technique out in one of the many gardens.

"What I wouldn't give to be her guinea pig," Ananza mused. Sleep was imminent so she tucked her head under her left wing for a quick nap.

"Wrap the perch in grape leaves," Signe directed a bright-eyed novice. "We'll feast on it tonight." The commanding voice brought the sleepy flier to full attention. "That is a raptor, is it not?" she asked Daria, who nodded.

"But I'm not familiar with its markings," the healer said.

"It must be very far from it's homeland," Signe said. At that moment, Andrea had finally reached the summit. Huffing and puffing, she joined the two most celebrated women on Crete.

"It looks like a fisherhawk to me," she breathlessly said, craning up into the tree.

"Could it be native to your homeland?" Daria asked.

"Thanks to clear-cuts, they've been extinct for some time." Andrea strained for a better angle on the bird. "It sure is giving you the eye, Daria."

"The raptor could be an omen," Signe said.

"Good or bad?" Andrea asked, still trying to catch her breath.

"A generous offering is always a good omen," Daria said.

"Speak to it," Signe urged the water witch.

"Me?! I'm sorry, but I don't speak raptorese."

"You must try," Signe insisted. Andrea began to pace the base of the tree and muttered a string of inaudible objections. Signe and Daria chuckled. Ananza, who was thrilled to hear an American accent, whistled and floated down to the ground just in front of the frightened water witch. She instinctively spread her wings as a sign of conciliation.

"Come on, what do you want, somersaults?!" she thought and screeched like an owl.

Andrea took a few steps backwards. "I don't think this buzzard likes me," she said.

"Speak to it," Signe commanded the one person on the island who dared try her patience. Andrea hemmed and hawed, then managed a weak "Hello."

"Hi. You must be Andrea Tedesco," Ananza thought, flapping her wings. Andrea nervously cleared her throat.

"Can you understand me?" she asked. Disgusted that the renowned psychic of Hecate's Cove turned out be a lousy mind reader, Ananza began to restlessly scratch the ground. Suddenly, it occurred to her to scratch out the name `Andrea' with her beak.

"Why, yes! That's me!" Andrea shouted. "Who are you?!"

The raptor scratched out her Christian name. "Well, Robin, you've clawed a long way up the food chain, haven't you?" Ananza ruffled her feathers at the bad joke and bobbed her head up and down. "Where did you come from?" the witch asked.

"Nebraska," Ananza laboriously scratched in big letters.

"Oh, happy day! Do you know Mariana Morgan?"

Ananza enthusiastically bobbed her red topknot up and down.

"Is she OK?" Andrea was dying to know. She was disappointed when the bird drew a question mark in the sand.

"You didn't land in Angara?"

Ananza shook her elegantly plumed head. "I was supposed to end up in Nyasa," the water witch said, looking askance at Signe, who remained dead-pan.

"My destination," Ananza scratched out after shaking out the debris that had accumulated in her beak.

"If you would shift back, this would be a lot easier," Andrea said and patted the stunning red feathers.

"Can't," Ananza scratched out. Frustrated and exhausted, she plopped down in the dirt like a nesting chicken. Andrea looked plaintively at Signe.

"Can't you do something?"

"Take her to the inner sanctum," the Oracle directed.

Daria and Andrea gently picked up the fading flier and carried her deep inside the grotto to a garden Sunned by a large elliptic opening in the marble ceiling rock.

"How lovely," Andrea said in awe.

"From here we have a clear view of the Seven Sisters," Daria said.

"Ursa Major," Andrea said for the bird's benefit.

"Claire calls it She-Bear," Ananza sleepily mused as her hosts lowered her down onto a patch of clover.

"Did you hear that?!" Andrea cried and scanned the natural rotunda.

"I heard nothing but your shallow breathing," Daria replied with a hand on Andrea's back. "You are much too excitable, my friend."

"I distinctly heard a woman's voice. She said something about a bear."

"You have a most delightful sense of humor," Daria laughed and gave the dowser a matronizing kiss on the cheek. "She-Bear is no joke, babe," Ananza thought and, to her amazement, heard her thoughts reverberate against the cavernous walls. "Ain't that a hoot!" she cried inside herself.

Andrea was thrilled. "A definite hoot!" she shouted in return. The down-home expression again bounced off the marble walls of the ancient seat of oracular power.

"You can hear me!" Ananza shouted inside herself.

"I sure can! Well, if this ain't a kick in the pants," Andrea said and plopped down next to the raptor.

"At last," Ananza thought with a deep sigh of relief that came out as a wheezing sound.

Daria, who could hear only half the conversation, looked with concern at Andrea. "I must now return to my students," she said and hurried out of the inner sanctum.

The healer caught up with Signe just as she was about to descend the mountaintop.

"What is it, precious?" Signe tenderly asked her wide-eyed lover.

"The witch speaks with the raptor," Daria replied.

"Very good. Make sure they leave the chamber before Sunset. Tonight, we will hold a feast and hear the raptor's true intentions." Signe tenderly kissed Daria and followed Moab down the steep trail.


While listening to Andrea go on and on about the erotic customs of Archaic Cretan society, Ananza dozed off. With Daria's help Andrea carried the sleepy shape-shifter out of the grotto. They were heading down the steep trail, when the rising Half Moon quickened the raptor's blood. With an ear-splitting screech, Ananza jumped to a nearby rock, where she flapped her wings and glided effortlessly down the mountainside to Signe's fabulous gardens. There, she perched wide-awake on the head of the sphinx sculpture.

"So this is the good life," she mused with a yawn. "No wonder Andrea's in no hurry to leave here."

"I heard that," the winded water witch said, brushing dust and debris from her deep purple robes.

"Sorry. I was thinking out loud," Ananza teased. Andrea removed the lid from a nearby ewer and ladled out a cup of wine.

"Care for any?" she asked her guest.

"I'd love some, but I'm the designated flyer," Ananza quipped. Andrea was too busy gulping to laugh.

"Come, a fabulous feast awaits you," the witch said with a dramatic gesture. "After you, your raptorness."

"Hold out your arm," Ananza insisted.

"You've got to be kidding."

"Come on--humor me," Ananza said and jumped onto Andrea's trembling forearm. Fanning her wings to reduce the weight, the raptor thought, "See? Light as a feather."

Swallowing hard, Andrea `escorted' the honored guest to the courtyard, where the dancing revelers froze in mid-step to stare. "You can set me down on that wall," Ananza thought and was soon roosting comfortably near the flute-player. "Don't let me interrupt you," she thought, giving the wary musician the eye.

"Carry on," Andrea said to the young man, whose blonde hair sparked a string of genetic hypotheses within the feathered guest's deductive mind. When the music and dancing resumed, Ananza couldn't keep her orbs off Daria who moved ever so gracefully from partner to partner during the elaborate reels. "She is lovely," the water witch said with a knowing wink.

"I wonder what tribe she's from," Ananza dreamily mused.

"She was born here, as far as I know."

"She looks Maasai."

"That could be. Most of the population on Crete are direct descendants of African nomads."

Signe approached with a bowl of fish heads and entrails. "For our guest," she said. When she set the bloody mess before the hungry traveler, her humanity wanted to hurl.

"That bread looks delicious," she thought, mindful not to insult the Oracle.

"Your wish is my command," Andrea said. She plucked a loaf and a hunk of goat cheese from the mountainous feast, then proceeded to feed it piece by piece to the fisherhawk.

"Her journey will be daunting enough without a sour stomach," Signe scolded.

"A little bread and cheese won't hurt. Her form may be avian, but her cravings are entirely human, I can assure you," Andrea broke off a piece of cheese, which Ananza adeptly downed whole.

"I'll chase that with some grapes, if you don't mind," she thought.

While Andrea obliged, Signe said to the guest of honor, "Before you continue on your journey, you must indicate your intent."

"The Oracle doesn't trust me," Ananza thought after swallowing a grape without benefit of its heavenly flavor.

"Signe needs to know your exact destination, that's all," Andrea explained.

"Tell her Lake Nyasa," Ananza thought while ogling Signe's almond-shaped dark eyes. "Hmm, she doesn't look African."

"She's from Sardinia," Andrea promptly informed. "Oh, by the way, Signe reads my mind. So avoid idioms. Besides, you should realize by now that we are all players in one momentous effort to prevent catastrophe, everything we do from now on is towards that end. Next to the Sphinx herself, Signe wields incredible influence in the Mediterranean. It is very important that those of us who escaped annihilation work in complete concert with her. Quantum convergence is what I'm talking about, here, and..."

"Whoa! Translate," Ananza thought with a muted screech.

"I don't really understand it myself--math was never my forte."

"Pure thought is beyond measurement," Signe interjected, looking directly into the skeptical eyes of the hawk. The Oracle picked up a small urn and pointed to an infinity sign in the decoration.

"Oh, but infinity has no meaning without the number zero, ergo, measurement is everything," Ananza smugly reasoned and turned to Andrea. "Don't tell me the plan is to hold some kind of global seance, channel the angels, and hope for the best."

"Without measurement infinity has no meaning," Andrea very loosely translated for Signe, who cackled.

"How much you have lost! A slave to the straight line cannot survive the spiraling journey to the center of what is and shall be."

"Which, of course, must be Africa," Ananza concluded.

"Africa and all points on our beloved sphere," Andrea clarified. "They are all connected to the center of Earth Herself," Andrea eloquently pointed out and surprised herself, since geometry was her worst subject in high school.

"And there are an infinite number of points on the surface of the perfect sphere," reasoned Ananza, who was thoroughly enjoying the mental acrobatics. "By Jove, I think she's got it!" Andrea shouted with a British accent to Signe, who maintained a dispassionate if not disdainful air. Her obsidian eyes remained riveted on Ananza.

"At the Full Moon, you will find the Triple Goddess in the southern sky. When the two align, that is Our Moment," Signe directed. Daria approached and swept her lover into the dance.

"Triple Goddess?" Ananza thought, stretching her sore wings.

"Alpha Centauri--above the Southern Cross. You can't miss it," Andrea explained and gazed up at the Milky Way. "The Stars are almost touchable tonight," she wistfully said.

"I flew among them last night."

"How wonderful. What was it like?"

"It was all in slow motion. At one point, it seemed as if I had no body, like I was pure ectoplasm flying through space at the speed of light. It felt ecstatic and frightening at the same time."

"I'm so afraid for all of us, Annie," Andrea said.

"What could be worse than what we escaped?"

"Every night, I have trouble getting to sleep. I'm terrified I'll wake up in a strait jacket."

"Then, you best keep on dreamin', girlfriend," Ananza thought, wishing she could give her a hug.


Long after everyone else had gone to bed, the boon companions shared details about the last moments of their modern lives. Andrea tearfully recounted her glorious leap of faith, the look of horror on Mariana's face, Keeper's yowling, and the light-speed trip through a labyrinth of catacombs, and finally out into the stinging glare of Signe's hibiscus garden.

"It does get lonely in utopia. If only I could conjure Mariana for a visit now and then," Andrea pined. "But, then I know she'd be bored here--she's hardly a hedonist."

"There's something that's always puzzled me. Why did Mariana call the creature Rhea?" Ananza thought to ask.

"That was the name of her beloved mare. Years ago, Rhea suffered a cruel end. Mariana and her mother were at an important art opening and her father was fishing on the high seas. Story goes that the town constable heard gunshots from up on Raven's Bluff and caught some poachers loading a dead elk into their truck.

Apparently, Rhea, who was grazing that night near the elk meadow, got spooked by all the shooting. When Mariana returned home from the opening and found the mare was missing, she spent all night tromping around in the woods looking for her. At dawn, she discovered Rhea's tracks at the edge of the bluff. No trace of the mare was ever found. After that awful night, Mariana would sit every day, rain or shine, out on the south point waiting for the body to wash up. Finally, one morning, she found Rhea's tattered halter hung up on a rock in the cove. After that, she lost all interest in life. Her art career went down the tubes, she drank like a fish, and even spent a month in a private sanitarium. When Mariana's father was killed in a freak accident, well, that pushed her right over the edge.

"Poor Sadie somehow found the strength to cope with murderous rages that nearly wrecked everything in the house. Many times, I tried to get Mariana to talk about it, but she would just sit there like a zombie, her eyes glassed over and her beautiful red hair in a perpetual rat's nest. She rarely slept and had no appetite. Luckily, Sadie found a decent psychiatrist in Rocky Beach who managed to come up with the right combo of tranqs to break the cycle of rage and despair. But when my coven decided it was time to jump ship, I knew Mariana wasn't ready. It was as if her heart and soul were at the bottom of the ocean along with Rhea and her father, who was buried at sea."

"That's quite a story. It explains a lot about Mariana, but I hope you're not trying to tell me that the hybrid she found in the sea cave was some kind of reincarnation of her mare."

"Well, my dear, as you know, stranger things can happen."

"It makes sense, in a crazy kind of way, I suppose, but an equid with fins and scales? Simply impossible."

"Yet not half as weird as a marine biologist with a topknot and tail feathers." Ananza screeched what passed for laughter and set the local wildlife to howling.

Before turning in, Andrea once again scanned the Milky Way, something she never tired of doing since coming to Crete, where the experience of the night sky was a thousand times more awe-inspiring than images captured by the defunct Hubble telescope. When she came to the northern horizon, a vague feeling of uneasiness tightened her throat.

"That's weird," the witch said, turning to Ananza, who was preening the blood-encrusted feathers of her left wing.

"Don't knock it. A high flyer can't be too meticulous," Ananza thought and kept preening away.

"Maybe it's a stray cloud," Andrea said, straining to find the Pole Star. Ananza stopped preening and looked at her host, who continued to crane her neck this way and that.

"What are you doing?" she thought. Andrea pointed to where the Big Dipper should be.

"It's gone. The North Star, Ursa Major, the whole frigging constellation is gone."

"How much wine did you say you had?" Ananza teased.

"Look for yourself."

Andrea pointed to the conspicuous patch of black in the northern sky. Ananza cocked her impressive topknot and immediately found the Little Dipper, but could not find its counterpart.

"That is strange."

"Wait here," Andrea said and darted down the path to Signe's cottage. Moments later, she returned pale and solemn.

"What's going on?" the raptor thought.

"I must climb to the grotto with the others. I'll be back before dawn. You get your rest," Andrea said and ruffled Ananza's topknot.

The world traveler checked and rechecked the night sky, hoping the Big Dipper would magically appear. Spurred by a growing sense of urgency mixed with dread, she stretched her meaty drumsticks and took off. She circled the garden a couple of times and tipped her massive wings at Andrea and the Oracle before soaring on a thermal southward.


At Sunrise, Andrea, who hadn't slept a wink, enjoyed a good laugh when she found a fabulous tail feather stuck in the mouth-hole of the Sphinx sculpture.

"Bon voyage, Annie," she mused before slipping naked into the luxurious waters of her private spa.

Chapter IX

"I dreamt she made a perfect landing on a huge lake in the shadow of Kilimanjaro. I was waiting on shore when her beautiful self emerged from the water and ran into my open arms. It was all so real," Marty said to Grace as they lounged around the campfire.

"I know what you mean. Since the snake bite, my dreams have seemed more real than this fire." Grace threw a twig on it.

"Sometimes, when the mist rises from the lake at dawn I feel like I'm still dreaming," Marty said. "Yesterday morning, I saw strange forms lurking on the surface."

"What kind of forms?"

"Dragons, serpents, sometimes deer, bear, and even lions."

"Speaking of animals, did you hear that god-awful howling last night?"

"Yeah. It sounded like a pack of hyenas."

"Or wolves. Do you think some beast died out there on the plain and is attracting scavengers?" Grace asked.

"We could hike around the lake and check it out tomorrow after breakfast."

"Claire thinks we should stay under cover of these woods for awhile."

Marty vigorously poked at the fire with a stick. "Who made her chief?"

"She has a good feel for this place, don't you think?"

"I don't know about you, Grace, but I had my fill of living by somebody else's rules in the last world. If we can't be free here, then what's the point?"

"But there is something to be said for the good of the group. If we don't stick together out here, we're toast."

"Or dead meat," Marty said with a snicker.

"Speaking of meat, I have a sudden craving for filet mignon--bloody rare," Grace said, rubbing her flat stomach.

"I'm sick of trout, that's for sure," Marty said.

"You know what would really taste good right now?"

"S'mores?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of a cheese omelet with garden fresh chives and chanterelle mushrooms."

"Yeah, with an expensive chardonnay to wash it down. Mm...I can almost taste it," Marty said with a flourish.

"How about French toast drenched in pure maple syrup," Grace said, licking her full lips.

"Yeah, with sausage and bacon and..."

"Coffee! God! What I wouldn't give for a triple mocha!"

"And a gigando super sticky cinnamon roll fresh from the oven."

"Or a jumbo eclair dripping with fudge frosting."

"Stop! This is torture!" Marty giggled and fell backwards holding her stomach. Grace lay back next to her and took in the Milky Way.

"The next shooting Star we see, lets make a wish," she dreamily said.

Marty took a deep breath and let it out slowly with a whistling sound. "I know what I'll wish for."

"A cinnamon roll tree?" Grace teased.

"That Robin and I sleep under the same sky," Marty wistfully replied.

"Say, did you know that the Stars are much brighter south of the equator?"

"They are? How do you know?"

"My mother told me so."

"My mother believes every Star is home to an angel. There are billions and billions of angels. Everybody's got a guardian angel, even animals."

Grace rolled over on her side and faced Marty. "I can't lie to you," she said.

"About what?"

"My mother never told me anything at all about the southern sky."

"She didn't?"

"No. I just made it up, because I know how terrible separation can be."

At that moment Marty spotted a shooting Star, but forgot to make a wish. "Was your mother alive when you jumped?" she asked.

"My parents died in a plane crash when I was twelve," Grace said.

"Sorry."

"How about yours?"

"They were home on their ranch in Wyoming."

Grace rolled over onto her back. "Sometimes, I feel guilty enjoying this beautiful place when billions of people are suffering the unimaginable back home."

"Yeah, me too. What's so special about us, anyway?"

"Maybe we're not all that special. For all we know, at this very moment there could be millions just like us asking the same question."

"Grace?"

"Yeah."

"Do your ears ring all the time?"

"Something awful."

"So do mine. Do you think they'll ever stop ringing?"

"I hope so."

"Grace?"

"Mmhmm."

"Are we dead?"

Grace stopped breathing. Her mind went blank. Suddenly, spine-tingling howls echoed across the lake.

"There they go again," Marty said, sitting bolt upright.

"Sssh," Grace cautioned.

The animal calls built to a crescendo so shrill that the two Stargazers had to cover their ears. Claire bolted from the lean-to down to the edge of the lake, with Loren in hot pursuit. Soon, the whole clan was milling about, holding their ears. When the maddening cacophony abruptly ceased, the silence was profound. Grace leaned into Marty and whispered, "Does that answer your question?"

"Actually, I was hoping to hear the blare of my trusty clock radio," Marty whispered back.

Grace laughed. Although clue-less, the Russians as usual joined right in, all except Misha, who stood with her arms folded and peered down her Cossack nose at the instigators.

"What's so hilarious?" she asked Grace in Russian.

"It seems the local wildlife are up in arms over Marty's sixty-four-dollar question," Grace answered, suppressing giggles.

"Don't be stupid," Misha sneered.

"You heard them. Did they sound happy to you?" Grace asked. Marty snorted and burst out laughing.

"Are you two stoned, or just crazy?" Misha grumbled with her hands on her narrow hips.

Grace translated to Marty, who said, "It must be those strange mushrooms we ate."

"No, no--it's definitely the Stardust that cute little fairy sprinkled on us while we were napping," Grace quipped. More uncontrollable giggling set off the Russians again. Misha ducked back inside the lean-to muttering to herself.

"Stifle it, girls, or the neighbors will call the cops," Loren ribbed and plopped down next to Marty.

Holding her sides, Grace fueled the laugh-fest with, "Smokey the Bear and company, I presume."

A run of terrible puns was in full swing, when Claire approached. "We've got big trouble," she announced to Loren.

"What else is new?" Marty asked with a silly twitter.

"Sit down, babe, take a load off," Loren said, but Claire, who seemed agitated, kept an eye on the lake.

"What's your problem, Raintree? Are we disturbing the balance of nature again?" Marty sassed with a giggle. Claire ignored the jibe, which quickly soured Marty's mood. "Hey, I asked you a question...kimosabe."

"Cool it, Callado," Loren scolded, which didn't set too well. The ex-cub reporter's jealousy over the special friendship Claire shared with Robin had been building well before the latter's dramatic departure.

"I asked a civil question and I'd like a civil answer," Marty demanded, but Claire mutely kept a watchful eye on the lake. "Well?!" Marty was downright belligerent. Ever since those boys beat the spunk out of her way back when, the peacenik harbored a mean streak she'd never shown before. She got to her feet and moved up close to Claire, who remained unresponsive.

Grace clasped Marty's arm and gently pulled. "Come on, Marty, let's go for a walk."

"Stay out of this, Grace," Marty hissed through clenched teeth. "As far as I know, Raintree, nobody elected you el jeffe around here. So why don't you get off your high horse and join us peons in a little fun?"

Marty waited. Claire seemed to look right through her challenger, then gazed up at the Half-Moon. By then, Marty was livid. She faced the hushed group and announced with a wicked sneer, "Well, seems like the wooden Indian has lost her tongue."

Loren leapt to her feet and grabbed Marty by her shirt. Misha came running out of the lean-to and separated the two before things could escalate. Through it all, Claire remained transfixed by the night sky. Grace, who had zero tolerance for discord and had retreated a safe distance into the shadows, stepped up to the Lakota Swede.

"Isn't it true that animals know when something big is about to happen?" she calmly asked. Claire took her eyes off the heavens and looked straight into Grace's.
"An earthquake is coming," she said.

"Are we in danger?"

"It's not us I'm worried about."

"I'm not following."

"The herds will panic," Claire said.

Grace braced herself against a chilly breeze and said, "The horses must not scatter." Claire didn't respond. Again, she scanned the night sky. "You know, Claire, I've gone over Mariana's journal with a fine-toothed comb, and I know she didn't have time to work out every detail, but for the life of me, I can't figure out exactly what we can do from here. We can't prevent earthquakes."

"According to Lakota legend, She-Bear foretells the future. And when She and the Moon line up just so, big change will happen," Claire said in a distant monotone.

"Good or bad?" Grace asked and searched the night sky for a shooting Star.

"My guess is bad."

"War?"

"I'm not sure."

"And the horses?"

Claire looked again into Grace's eyes, which in Starlight were more green than blue. "They must never be broken," she said in dead earnest.

"And all is right with the world when the horses run free," Grace wistfully quoted a line from one of Mariana's poems, all of which she'd memorized.

"This location is some kind of focal point. I can feel it," Claire said.

"Focal point for what?"

"If I knew that, I wouldn't be taking late-night strolls in the woods."

"To meditate?"

"To listen," Claire cryptically answered just as Loren walked up and put her arms around her two favorites.

"Are you two going to Stargaze all night?" she asked.

"As long as it takes to find the Big Dipper," Claire absently replied and looked to the northern horizon.

"A penny for your thoughts," Loren said with a kiss on her lover's cheek.

"Claire says we're due for an earthquake," Grace said. She slipped from Loren's grasp to pick up a rock and shatter the glassy surface of the lake.

"What makes you think that?" Loren asked her Claire.

"Look," the Lakota Swede said and pointed to where her favorite constellation should be.

"What is it? A UFO?" Loren, of course, couldn't resist.

"She-Bear...She's gone," Claire said, tightening her grip on her lover. "Something's very wrong."

"Are you sure you're looking in the right spot?" Loren had to ask.

Grace, who was still on edge about Marty's outburst, said, "I'll leave you two to Stargaze the night away. I'm turning in." She headed for the flickering glow of the dying campfire. Marty wasn't in camp. Sleep was impossible, so Grace took it upon herself to go looking for her. Her first thought was Hawk's Point, so named by Claire in honor of Robin's spirit animal. A bit worse for wear from nasty encounters with briars and mud holes, Grace arrived just as Marty shoved off from shore in one of the Russian-made birch bark canoes.

"Hey! Wait up!" she shouted. Her words reverberated across the lake and set off the coyotes.

"Quiet!" Marty angrily yelled to shut them up.

Grace, who adored Marty's spunk and sense of adventure, wished they could have been childhood friends.

"Let me go with you...I'll be quiet as a mouse," she cajoled.

"Take the other canoe, but you have to keep up," Marty grudgingly gave in and back-paddled toward shore.

"I've never paddled a canoe."

"There's a first time for everything," Marty said with disdain. Grace boldly put one foot into the empty canoe. "Just push off with the other foot," Marty instructed.

Try as she may, Grace didn't have the strength to dislodge the canoe from the mud, so Marty had to climb out of hers to assist. By the time she got re-situated, Grace was already a good ten yards from shore and had yet to dip a paddle in the water.

"Steer to your right!" Marty called out, unaware that her partner in mischief was caught up in a current propelling her towards the center of the lake. "Dammit," Marty grumbled and paddled like mad to catch up.

Meanwhile, Grace, not the least bit worried, lay back and drifted like Shakespeare's ill-fated Ophelia, her delicate hand limply skimming the surface of the water.

"I knew she had a screw loose," Marty muttered under her breath before grabbing hold of the side of Grace's drifting vessel.

"This is wonderful," Grace dreamily said in the face of Marty's scowl.

The experienced rafter took off her belt and lashed the two canoes together.

"OK, Grace. Start paddling on your left." Grace sat up and tried her best, but they ended up going in circles. "Goddammit," Marty snarled.

"Marty, dearest. Why can’t you relax and go with the flow?" Grace playfully scolded.

"Dammit, we have to get the hell out of this current!" Marty struggled mightily, but was no match for the accelerating vortex.

"Now, who's the chickenshit," Grace taunted.

"For all you know, we could end up over a waterfall, you idiot!" Marty yelled.

"There's no need for name-calling!" Grace shot back, more insulted than hurt.

"If you'd minded your own business, we wouldn't be in this mess!"

"Have it your way, then," Grace grumbled and untied the belt. "Save yourself," she said and unceremoniously tossed it to Marty.

"You're a friggin' loony tune, you know that?!" Marty snarled as both canoes began to rotate around each other, accelerating in an ever-expanding spiral. "Hold on!" Marty yelled, gripping the sides of her canoe.

"Ride 'em cowgirl!" Grace exclaimed with one hand gripping the seat and the other in the air. The two canoes spun faster and farther apart, until, like sparks from a fiery pinwheel, they flew off into the Santee's placid north end.

Grace eventually got the hang of paddling and made her way to Marty who sat zombie-like in her drifting canoe.

"That'll teach you to name-call," Grace said and deliberately bumped into the bow of Marty's battered vessel.

"Tell me this is a bad dream," Marty groaned.

"Dream or not, it's the most fun I've had since Mariana and I...since...forever. Come on, race ya to shore."

Grace paddled like mad, but Marty just kept drifting. By the time Marty maneuvered her canoe into the marshy shoreline, Grace was lounging spread eagle on higher ground.

"The Milky Way is spinning like mad!" Grace shouted.

"You don't say," Marty grumbled. She pulled her canoe up on shore and collapsed next to her. "We'll never find our way back to camp."

"For the moment, I don't care if we do," Grace said.

"I guess I don't, either," Marty sighed.

"It's downright balmy on this end of the lake, isn't it?"

"Maybe we should move the camp over here," Marty yawned. Grace saw a shooting Star, but didn't bother to make a wish.

"Marty?"

"Mmmhm."

"Are you happy?"

"At this very moment?"

"In general."

"Since Robin took off, it's been hard to stay upbeat, if that's what you're getting at."

"I'm sure you two will be together again soon."

"In my dreams," Marty said bitterly and sat up.

"Hey, don't knock it." Grace yawned and stretched like a cat.

"What did you and Claire talk about?" Marty changed the painful subject and stared blankly at the Half-Moon.

"She thinks an earthquake is coming."

"So? What's one more catastrophe?" Marty said. She began digging around in the moist Earth with a stick.

Grace, of course, sensed the aching need in the heartsick Latina, and although she could have easily given in to the impulse to assuage it, the sex guru took the high road, which she'd found out with Misha was much less complicated and way more satisfying. Self-control is a snap when in love with someone else, she told herself. In spite of their cruel separation, Grace trusted that Mariana would likewise be true.

Marty risked looking into Grace's alluring eyes. "You're kidding, right?"

"About what?"

"The earthquake."

"Why would I kid about something like that?" Grace said and sat up.

"I haven't felt any tremors, have you?"

"No, but the wildlife know something's up," Grace said.

"What does our resident oracle suggest we do?"

"Nothing we can do," Grace replied. Marty's sarcasm saddened her, so she reached out her hand.

"What?" Marty nervously asked.

"Take my hand," Grace gently urged. Marty dug furiously in the dirt. Scooting closer, Grace said, "You know, when I was near death from the snake bite, I had a dream, at least I think it was a dream. Mariana and I met in this lovely garden and experienced complete union. Until I met her, my heart was a mass of scars. Now it beats freer than ever before. She is my strength and I am hers, even though we're oceans apart. Robin is like that for you, isn't she?"

"Yeah," Marty muttered.

"Then, go to her."

"Right. As soon as I sprout wings, I'll take off for Africa."

"You can dream yourself there, you know," Grace said and began rubbing Marty's back.

"All I need is a snakebite, right?"

"I don't recommend it." Grace lay back and hoped to see another shooting Star.

"What do you recommend?" Marty stretched out on her side facing Grace whose extraordinary beauty until that moment had never registered.

"I recommend that you kiss me," Grace seductively replied.

"I will not!" Marty sat bolt upright.

"You want to and I want you to." Grace sat up and put her arm around Marty's shoulders.

"Why are you doing this?" Grace didn't answer. Robin's beloved wrestled with desire, then jumped to her feet. "I'm heading back to camp," she sternly said.

"Good idea," Grace said with gusto and followed suit.

"This was a test, right?" Marty asked.

Grace laughed and kissed her quick on the cheek. "For whom?"

"Last one on the lake is a no good dirty rat!" Marty shouted and made a mad dash for her canoe. As it turned out, Grace was the first to get hers into the water. Marty paddled up alongside and said, "You really had me going back there."

"Ditto," Grace said and paddled ahead.

"We're both dirty rotten rats," Marty said with a grin.

"Just horny little mice," Grace teased and dug in deep with her paddle. "Race ya!"

The sexed-up pair paddled like mad close to shore until their arms gave out. They called it a dead heat and glided past an open meadow, where Marty thought she heard a rustling in the tall grass.

"Can you see anything?" Grace whispered, breathless.

"I'm near-sided," Marty whispered back, standing up in her canoe. A loud snort nearly dumped her in the drink. Grace stood up and she too almost capsized.

"Calmate'," Marty whispered loudly and slowly maneuvered her canoe around Grace's.

"I think it's coming closer," Grace said. She paddled slowly towards shore, where the silhouette of an enormous bison grazed peacefully near the water's edge.

"Ay, Caramba! Look at the size of that thing!" Marty shouted and glided up next to Grace. "Uh-ho, it's coming towards us." The shaggy beast sloshed into the water and up to the bow of Marty's canoe. "Nice buffalo," Marty repeated to the friendly hulk.

"It's an albino," Grace said. The white mammoth stretched its neck and snorted at Marty, who cringed. "I think she likes you," Grace chuckled.

"How do you know it's a she?"

"Just look at those bedroom eyes."

Marty reached out and touched the wet nose with her finger, then recoiled. "Eeew--slimy." The albino snorted and sprayed the object of her curiosity with snot. "Yuk!" Marty protested, wiping gook from her arm.

"Now, you've insulted her," Grace impishly scolded.

Marty dipped her paddle in the water and slowly maneuvered backwards. The albino waded deeper in pursuit, bellowing so loudly Marty let out a girlish cry, "No, no--get away!"

Grace cracked up. "And you grew up on a ranch?"

"It was a sheep ranch, not a wild animal reserve!" Marty retorted and continued to back-paddle. The giant finally gave up and lumbered back to shore, where it resumed grazing. "OK, Grace, if you're so brave, why don't you go introduce yourself?"

"She's not interested in me."

"Chicken," Marty taunted with clucking noises.

"All right, then." Grace promptly slipped from her canoe into the shallow water. "Grab my canoe," she ordered and waded to shore.

"I was only kidding," Marty anxiously said as Grace approached the giant.

"Hello there, big gal," she said loud enough for Marty to hear. She walked up to the beast whose massive head towered over hers by a good two feet. The albino pawed at the ground; puffs of steam blew from her pink nostrils. Marty, certain that Grace was a goner, paddled frantically to shore and without hesitation hopped out right under the bearded chin of the biggest grazer she'd ever seen or imagined.

"Hi, I'm Marta Callado. Who are you?" she weakly said. Much to Grace's delight, the albino responded with a sloppy lick across Marty's forehead.

"I told you she had a thing for you," Grace snickered. Marty gingerly patted the thick white fleece between the massive horns, a move that brought the buffalo to her knees. While Marty and the gentle giant communed, Grace retreated to an oak tree and sat down. While she hunted for shooting Stars, Marty rested against the cud-chewing hulk and eventually fell asleep.

When the Half-Moon hung low over the tree tops, Grace, who'd been keeping watch over the poignant scene, decided it was time to head back to camp. As she neared the canoes, the albino snorted and woke up Marty, who, after a lingering good-bye hug, began the arduous paddle along the rugged Santee shore. While Grace had trouble staying awake, Marty was as chipper as could be, singing and whistling, sometimes giggling for no apparent reason. Unknown to Grace, for most of the long trip her partner in mischief was happily reliving a glorious dreamtime reunion with her beloved Robin.


The two adventurers arrived back at camp in time for breakfast and some severe scolding from Loren and Misha, not to mention dirty looks from everyone else. During a delicious meal of scrambled eggs, Grace asked Risa in Russian, "Where did you get these?"

"Misha made me a big coop for some injured ducks I found in the marsh, and now they are laying their eggs for me," the buxom Odessan proudly replied.

"You're amazing," Grace said, licking her fingers.

"Don't let the carnivores among us get to them," Misha, a backsliding vegetarian, interjected as she put another log on the fire.

"They will be very sorry," Risa said, brandishing a hefty cleaver.

"What's that about?" Loren, who sat next to Grace, asked.

"A declaration of war on anyone caught sniffing around the duck coop," Grace replied. She downed the rest of her eggs and gave Risa a big hug before ducking into the lean-to for a nap. Still stinging from their bitter exchange, Loren was surprised when Marty sat down between herself and Claire.

"I want to apologize for last night, especially to you, Claire. It's no excuse, but I've been jealous of your friendship with Robin, and now that she's gone, it's been too much for me to handle. Please forgive me," Marty said with tears in her tired eyes. Claire put an arm around her, as did Loren.

"The green monster's had me by the ovaries, too," Loren said. "See this?" She pointed to the jagged scab on her lower lip. "Compliments of your girlfriend."

"You deserved it," Claire said and was only half- teasing.

"The point is, kiddo, my tail's been in knots over that exact thing," Loren said.

"My stomach's been in knots ever since we left the Elkhorn River. I'm homesick. Can you believe it?" Marty said.

"Hell, I dream of happy hour at Cheng's every night," Loren tried to make light, but going cold turkey was a lot rougher than the maintenance drinker ever imagined.
"It wouldn't be so bad if I knew what the heck we're doing here," Marty continued. "I mean, what good can we possibly do in the middle of nowhere?"

"Camping isn't exactly my cup of tea, either, kiddo," Loren said and rubbed Marty's back.

"I don't mind. It's just that I'm losing patience. If we are here to fight, then where's the enemy? Surely, not the wildlife, or the elements. At least where we came from, we knew exactly where we stood. And another thing. What if we're the only humans left on this side of the globe?"

"I think we are," Misha piped up and signed to Claire, who'd been signing the gist of the conversation for the Russian. "You are the only humans we encountered the whole way from Nova Scotia."

"That could change--and soon," Claire grimly said.

"Would somebody please clue me in," Loren said with rare sincerity.

"If you bothered to read Mariana's journal," Claire said. "it's all in there. Most of the world's horses are gathered at the edges of these woods, millions of them. And I agree with Grace that our mission is to keep them here at this particular spot."

"So they don't get into the wrong hands?" Marty deduced.

"Bingo," Claire said.

"Whose hands are we talking about?" Loren asked.

Claire signed the question to Misha, who eagerly got down to the truth of the matter. "Murdering pigs from the steppes of Asia," she angrily said and signed. The horse whisperer grabbed a stick and drew a crude map of Turtle Island and Asia in the sand. She drew in the land bridge that connected the two. "They will be coming this way. You can be sure of it," she said, signing to Claire.

"When can we expect these hordes?" Loren asked Misha with genuine alarm.

"Two, maybe three years from now, the first scouts will come," Misha replied through Claire.

Loren groaned. "What are we supposed to do, hang around here and pick them off one by one with sling shots?" She suffered a scowl from Claire, who, along with everyone else in camp, was finding it harder and harder to abide the constant sarcasm. "I'm sorry, babe, but I don't see how a handful of dykes is going to ride herd on a million mustangs and defeat an army of barbarians while we're at it."

"We are just one part of the scheme," Misha signed.

"What scheme?" Marty asked.

After Claire signed the question, Misha twirled her drawing stick like a baton and replied with a wink at Marty, "To prevent history."

"Right!" Marty and Loren scoffed in a united front of journalistic cynicism.

"OK, that does it for me," Claire said, throwing up her hands and standing. "You three are on your own."

Claire gladly joined Risa, who was setting out on her daily search for edible and medicinal flora. Since the premier translator was sound asleep, the sure-to-be-lively debate was tabled. Marty stretched out under a tree for a nap, while Misha and Loren resigned themselves to the onerous task of hauling more rocks for the ambitious lodge the Russian engineers had designed. Except for the rustling of leaves and the gentle lapping of waves against the lake shore, the camp was eerily quiet.

Around midday, what began as a vibration grew to a prolonged hum. All of a sudden, the ground dipped and rolled like swells on the ocean. And when it was over, the distant sound of pounding hooves became a deafening roar that shook the trees to their roots.

"Stampede!" Claire yelled at the top of her lungs and charged into camp. Dodging falling branches, Misha bolted from the thicket. While the rest of the Russians scrambled up into a grandfather oak, she helped Loren, Claire, and Risa climb atop the rock pile. Marty roused Grace from a deep sleep, and together they stumbled into the woods, where they wedged themselves between the arms of a mammoth cottonwood as the first wave of bison crashed through the tree line and into the lake, followed by wave after wave of horses.

The Santee became a cauldron of mud and debris, all but displaced by the solid mass of terrified animals. Grace and Marty managed to grab hold of a sapling as the overflow washed them from their cubbyhole. Loren, Misha and Claire balanced precariously at the top of the stone pile, but Risa was swept away by a powerful undertow when the last of the herd reached the opposite shore of the lake. Never much of a swimmer, she went under. Loren and Misha dove into the muddy waters and tried repeatedly to find her, but visibility was impossible. Risa never came up for air.


Grace was inconsolable after the body finally washed up among the tons of debris. The wailing ended only because her voice gave out. She stayed by Risa's side throughout the rest of that awful day, while everyone else worked non-stop to salvage what was left of their precious belongings. Temporary camp was set up back at the original tree cave, where, after hours of frustrating attempts, a fire was finally started.

At dusk, Marty found Grace shivering uncontrollably next to her savior's body, which she wouldn't let anyone touch. When the Stars came out, Marty was able to coax the devastated mourner to the warmth of the fire, where she at least drank a little tea and dozed off fitfully throughout the night.

Fortunately, the next day was good and hot. The retrieved gear and clothing was rinsed out in a nearby spring and left to dry on rocks. Misha gave a simple eulogy for her lifelong confidante and everyone except Grace took turns filling in the grave near the duck coop whose quacking residents had miraculously survived the disaster. A rock whose shape bore a resemblance to an owl (Risa's spirit animal) was placed as a marker. That evening, while everyone ate a meager dinner of chestnuts, bruised apples, and boiled dandelion leaves, Grace sat next to the grave.

"You must eat," Misha said, kneeling down next to her.

"Risa would not like what you are doing to yourself." Misha tried to embrace her, but Grace recoiled.

"Leave me alone!" she exploded and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Misha asked with tears streaming down her sallow face. Without a word, Grace tore down the path to Hawk's Point.

Stinging from rejection, the Russian did not follow. She wrapped herself in her blanket, lay down, and stared up at the Milky Way. Even if she'd noticed, she wouldn't have cared that the North Star and the Big Dipper were missing from the night sky. All the lovesick horse whisperer cared about was Grace, and nothing, not even cosmic catastrophe, could ever change that.

Merciful sleep never came. Just before dawn, Misha was half crazy with worry. She threw off her blanket and was about to go in search of her angel, when Grace darted from the shadows and fell to her knees.

"Please forgive me," she sobbed in Russian and crawled into Misha's eager embrace. By Sunrise they were lovers.

Chapter X

One morning, Claire found Marty at Hawk's Point busily chipping away dried mud from one of the canoes.

"The other canoe didn't make it, I see," she said.

"Afraid not, except for this," Marty replied, holding up the splintered paddle. "I was thinking we should check on the horses," Claire said.

"Me, too. Come on, help me shove off," Marty said.

The long trip along the shoreline of the Santee gave the two women a chance to repair their bond. Marty did most of the talking, which was fine with Claire, who needed a break from her own worries. Skimming over intimate details, Marty talked of her dreamtime reunion with Robin, a.k.a. Ananza.

As it happened, the shape-shifter had splashed down in human form a good distance from the eastern shore of beautiful Lake Nyasa. The high mineral content of the water enabled her to easily backstroke towards land, but strong currents kept her from reaching it before Sundown. Thanks to the extraordinary sub-equatorial illumination of the Milky Way and the Waxing Moon, Ananza hiked to a patch of banyan trees, one of which she had to climb to avoid the jaws of a lioness on the prowl.

Marty went on to describe for Claire the unimaginable grandeur of the savannah, where life was richer, more colorful and bigger than anywhere else on Earth, where heavenly objects, especially the Sun, seemed closer and brighter. With poetic license, Ananza's true love portrayed aboriginal Africa as a place of breath-taking diversity set against a backdrop of cataclysmic flux. Active volcanoes, flash floods from oceanic rains, wild fires from spectacular lightning strikes left little room for leisure among the tribal peoples scattered between the towering cliffs of Africa's Great Rift.

On the periphery of African civilization, Marty explained, were nomadic scavengers fine-tuned to the ways of the great herds, but the Nasai, as Ananza happily discovered, were vegetarians. In the main, agriculture flourished near the lake as did all manner of creative endeavor, ranging from pottery to weaving to dance, music, mathematics, and even astronomy. People lived in elegantly simple homes made from a mixture of savannah grass and the bright red clay abundant in the massive cliffs. Spring-fed villages always centered around a ceremonial garden dedicated to an array of gods and goddesses, all representative of different aspects of Life and unified by an abiding reverence for Mother Africa Herself.

"Needless to say," Marty concluded, "Nasai women are held in high esteem, war is unheard of, and sustainable agriculture is more than a pipe dream. These people really have it all together."

"Robin must be having a blast," Claire said, steering the canoe around a stray log.

"Oh, she is, except when she misses me. Luckily, a a coven of moderns has already welcomed her in."

"Did she say anything more about her mission there?"

"No, but you can bet it has something to do with Zebras. She says that to the Nasai, the Zebra represents the wild spirit of Africa."

"Are the Zebras in danger?"

"Not at all. Robin says they aren't built right for a saddle and their dispositions are completely contrary to domestication. Even those that come close to the villages never allow themselves to be touched by humans. The only other animal that gets close to a Zebra is the raven. She said you see it all the time--a raven perched on the rump of a Zebra. Aboriginal myth says they were once twins born of a winged mare who gave one power over the night and the other over the day. Because of their stripes, many Nasai believe Zebras actually rule both light and darkness. That's what Ananza tells me, anyway."

Claire chuckled and asked, "Does she believe it?"

"She hasn't come to any conclusions one way or the other."

"That sounds like her," Claire said and suddenly stopped paddling.

"Look over their," she whispered and pointed to a black stallion grazing near the shoreline. They coasted silently towards him and when they got a little too close, he raised his magnificent head and blew a warning. Waves of ebony mane cascaded to his knees, his tail brushed the ground when he pranced up and down the water line. He was joined by a dozen mares with weanling foals at their sides.

"Let's keep our distance," Claire said and steered the canoe away from shore. In awe, they watched the sandy beach disappear under the restless hooves of a hundred or so curious equines whose steady chorus of warning snorts and whinnies kept the intruders at bay. At one point, the black bolted into the water and looked as if he might swim out to the canoe, but a thundering bellow stopped him in mid-stride. The albino buffalo barreled through the equine crowd down to the water's edge. She pawed at the sand when she spotted the canoe.

"Hey, mama grande’!" Marty shouted, waving at the beast. To Claire's amazement, the buffalo fell to her knees; her long white beard dangled in the water. The horses, including the stallion, trotted an orderly withdrawal up to a nearby rise, where they posed perfectly in line like show horses, their rainbow of manes and tails dancing wildly on the wind.

Marty paddled for shore and urged Claire to do the same. When the bow cut sharply into the sand, Marty hopped out and approached her woolly friend, who remained on her knees in what appeared to Claire to be a kind of rapture. After a sufficient number of pats and scratches behind the ears, the albino rose with a snort to her full height and blocked the Sun. The tips of the her blonde horns touched, giving the appearance of a halo over her massive head. Her eyes, Claire noticed, were a deep blue, much like her own.

"Venga, companera. Let me introduce you," Marty said.

"That's OK. She can meet me from here," Claire declined.

"She's as gentle as a lamb--come on," Marty cajoled.

Claire couldn't move. "She sure likes you," she anxiously observed.

"She has good taste, don't you, girl?" Marty said and tugged on the thick beard. "You can get out of the canoe. She won't hurt you..I promise."

"Let me try something first," Claire said. She made a series of signs that caused the beast to cock her head like a dog intrigued by a strange noise.

"I don't think she got it," Marty said. "Try again."

Claire ran through the signs again and got the same response.

"What did you sign to her?"

"I told her we are here to keep the horses safe, but we don't how."

Marty relayed the message into the albino's ear. Afterwards, the beast walked several paces away and began to snort and paw at the ground. Thick steam poured from both nostrils and created a purple fog that eventually enveloped her massive hulk. When the fog cleared, the buffalo was gone.

"Whoa! That's weird!" Marty cried.

Claire climbed out of the canoe. Shading her eyes from the Sun, she noticed that the horses had disappeared from the top of the ridge. "Let's walk," she said.

"Wait! Didn't you see what just happened?!"

"I saw it. Walk with me...please," Claire urged, holding out her hand. Marty reluctantly clasped it and stepped up beside her. "Where are we going?"

"To check on the herd." Claire picked up the pace.

"But what about..."

"Come on, while we have the chance."

Claire let go of Marty's hand and climbed up and over the steep embankment. Marty, with difficulty, did the same. She couldn't believe what she saw.

"Horses, horses, horses, as far as the eye can see," Marty said, trying to take it all in.

"Horse heaven, for sure," Claire said.

"How many do you think there are?"

"Millions. The quake was good for something, after all," Claire said.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't think they would have tried such a long swim to this place if they weren't scared to death."

"Do you think this is the year-round home of the albino?"

"Yup."

"You sound sure of yourself."

"This secret grassland is sacred territory. I think we are the first humans to see it," Claire said.

"How do we rate?" Marty asked with a chuckle.

"Are you familiar with the Lakota myth of the White Buffalo Calf Woman?" Claire asked.

"Vaguely."

"I'll tell you on the way back to camp," the Lakota Swede said and headed back down to the lake.

Just as the canoeists were set to shove off, an old woman emerged from a nearby thicket. She carried a basket and was grandly dressed in what Claire instantly recognized as Lakota ceremonial garb.

"Please tell me I'm not seeing things," Marty half-whispered.

"If you are, then so am I," Claire said.

The crone stepped up to Claire and signed, "Now, that you have found me, state your intent."

"To keep the horses safe," Claire automatically signed in reply.

The crone nodded. "A harsh Winter is coming and your tribe is not prepared," she said in perfect English.

"The stampede was a terrible setback," Marty interjected and stepped from the canoe. "Hey, how do you know English?"

"When you speak your native tongue I hear mine."

"And when you speak your language, I hear mine?" Marty quickly caught on. The old woman smiled. "That's amazing!"

"That sure would come in handy back in camp," Claire said.

"Let it be my gift to you, and also this," the crone said, handing Claire the basket. Inside were several ears of corn.

"Thank you," Claire said. "Is there a field nearby?"

"There's plenty ready for harvest just east of your fishing spot."

"Are you a guardian angel?" Marty had to ask.

"My home is of the Earth, not the Stars," the crone, obviously taken with Marty's childlike demeanor, replied with a chuckle.

"But where is your tribe?" Marty persisted in spite of Claire's growing restlessness.

"They haven't arrived yet. Before they do, they must learn to honor White Buffalo law."

"We're the only humans in Nebraska, aren't we?" Marty fired yet another of a thousand questions swirling in her reporter's mind.

"Your new home is blessed with an abundant harvest. Go reap it before the snow flies," the crone sternly directed.

"Tell us how we can be of more help here," Claire, in spite of a nagging uneasiness, dared ask.

"You are here and that is enough, child," the crone answered and placed her leathery hand on Claire's trembling shoulder.

"I don't understand."

"Your moment will come," the old woman said.

"Does it have anything to do with the disappearance of the She-Bear constellation?" Claire asked. Marty saw tears well in Claire's crystal blue eyes.

The crone didn't answer. Without a good-bye, she walked into the thicket. Marty tried to follow, but was enveloped in a fog. Claire, who was mulling over the crone's cryptic replies, was strangely unconcerned. She absently climbed into the canoe with the basket and waited. When Marty emerged from the thicket, she had two bleating goats in tow.

"The old woman told me their kids drowned in the stampede and they are aching to be milked," Marty reported with a big grin.

"You are too much," Claire laughed and helped load the two terrified passengers into the shifty canoe. While back paddling from shore she spotted the White Buffalo resting at the top of the rise chewing her cud.

They eased the canoe into the cove at Hawk's Point around suppertime, and Marty, who'd ridden the entire trip with both arms tight around the trembling goats, turned around and said, "Do you think the gang will believe what happened?"

"They'll believe goat milk and sweet corn," Claire replied with a grin.


For the rest of the Fall season, the camp was a flurry of activity. Everyone worked from before dawn way into the night, shucking corn, preparing fruit for drying, and setting stones for the lodge construction. One of the Russian engineers carved a crude churn from a deadwood stump, while Grace, at last freed from her translating duties and in loving memory of Risa, learned how to transform corn meal, duck eggs, goat's milk, and fruit into all manner of goodies. For the first time since her momentous leap from Raven's Bluff, she started to put some meat on her delicate bones, which eased Misha's nagging concerns about anorexia.

`The gift of gab,' as Loren laughingly called the common language, created a camaraderie no one thought possible, least of all Claire, who all her life never quite fit in on either side of her family tree. She found comfort in Marty's term `companera,' since it transcended pedigree and honored free and easy communication inspired by good will and common cause. Even Loren's sarcasm mellowed, when, after a long backbreaking day out in the cornfields, five Russians, whose names she finally bothered to learn, introduced her to the joys and rigors of Russian folk dancing. Many a late-night campfire found her and Misha entertaining the tribe with some acrobatic Cossack moves.

But Loren's bum knee quickly put an end to her dancing career and forced her into the far less glamorous activity of darning socks and mending garments. This was the one domestic skill her mother had managed to impart to her oldest daughter before the lanky teen was lost forever to the pursuit of track and field and buxom cheerleaders.

Using the durable undercoat Grace painstakingly harvested from the goats, and, under the watchful eye of Anya, an unassuming and shy ex-bookkeeper from Minsk, the fast-talking news hound spent solitary afternoons learning how to twist wool into yarn. She even talked Marty into harvesting some of the White Buffalo's thick undercoat during her frequent visits to check on the horses. Misha established enough trust among a number of the more approachable mares in the vast herd to allow for the trimming of a good amount of mane and tail hair. As the days grew shorter, the mountain of raw material grew taller, until it took up one whole corner of the newly constructed lodge. It was decided that Loren's obsession justified her own work space out in the storehouse. So with Anya's input, those ingenious engineers designed a loom, which Misha fashioned from cherry and maple wood. Through tedious trial and error, Anya and friends then learned how to dye yarn in the juices of the many varieties of berry that grew along the lakeshore. And so it was that before the first frost, Loren Cross launched a second career by weaving her first blanket in the flickering light of the storehouse hearth.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the globe the greatest weaver Angara and perhaps the world had ever known, completed the final tableau in his monumental tapestry celebrating `the power of the word.' Naming, according to Ramakan's new cosmology, was the sole purview of holy men. In his late-night sermons on the shores of the shattered Lake of Souls, he put forth the notion that simply uttering something a holy man can make it so. It followed, he deduced, that the sky-father created the Cosmos by simply speaking its name.

During a delirium caused by weeks of fasting and non-stop weaving, Khan, a title he gave himself, had received the name of the almighty in a vision. That name was Mongtakhi or `eternal spirit,' as he so proclaimed. Khan further proclaimed his black stallion, Qaradei, the Almighty's chosen sire for the world's first line of warhorses. And from that day forward, the once kind and gentle weaver renounced the name his mother gave him and was `born again' as Oyandei, which he said meant `man of great wisdom.' He went on to declare that his cult would henceforth be known as the Murdei, which he told his followers meant `divine conquerors.'
After days of frenzied celebration, each of the Murdei joyfully denied his maternal lineage in favor of a new name Oyandei personally bestowed. The theocrat then ordered the world's first horse race, the winner of which would become his top battlefield commander. The first twenty mares to cross the finish line would serve as brood mares for the new breed of warhorses. Sadly, half the horses in the twenty-mile ordeal died from exploding hearts and were left for scavengers. The rest were inducted into the growing army as mounts or meat.

The stench of Ramakan's a.k.a. Oyandei's latest atrocities against what was left of the pony herds reached all the way to the canyon outpost and sparked in the pacifist crone a white-hot rage that burned night and day. Rhea and the last of Angara's white mares held an equine wake for their rotting brothers and sisters, and their gut-wrenching neighs and whinnies didn't stop until the winds finally shifted and cleared the putrid air. By then, all but Sophia and her coven of Compassionate Warriors had moved up to the secret meadow on the underground Kundai tributary.

"Two nights from now, the Moon will be Full. Two nights after that, all will be ready," the Sardinian conjuror said one night as her chosen transplants sat around the table.

"But we won't be able to see the Moon," Mariana said.

"Taji has heard rumors that Ramakan is moving his army southwest to the sea for the Winter," Sophia said, running her bony finger across a crude map Mariana had drawn on the table with a piece of charcoal.

"So there's a chance he'll leave the forest in time to restore the heavens," Kara softly spoke while rocking her sleeping newborn.

"Oh, to see the Stars again," Leah wistfully said.

"Let's pray for clear skies," said Ariel.

"What if the skies are overcast?" Mariana asked Sophia.

"We will all know when to act," the crone assured.

"And after that?" Leah asked.

Sophia stood, walked over to the fire, and added another precious log from their dwindling supply. "Only the Oracle knows for sure."

"Which Oracle is that?" Mariana asked.

"Signe of Crete."

The image of Andrea's impish face flashed across the weary Amazon's mind. "If only you were here right now," Mariana muttered out loud.

"What did you say, Mariana?" Leah asked.

"I was thinking how warm it must be in Crete right now," the Amazon hedged.

"Have you ever been there?"

"No, but I've seen travelogues about it on TV."

"TV?"

"A box that receives pictures from anywhere in the world and from space. We moderns told ourselves it was just like being there."

"We can do that. Isn't it so?" Leah asked Ariel.

"If you say it is, Leah."

"It's true. Why, just the other day, I was looking for something sweet to eat and suddenly I had this vision of a bush full of berries and it was under this particular tree, which I walked right over to," Leah said.

"Those gooseberries were very tasty," Kara chimed in.

"Ari, tell them how sometimes you know exactly what's on my mind, even if I don't know it myself," Leah implored her friend.

"You can do that?" Mariana asked.

"Yes," said Ariel, "but most of the time I'd rather not know." The coven cackled, which made the baby cry. When Kara prepared to nurse her, the sight of her milky breast made Mariana look away.

"Mariana's blushing," Leah teased, leaning close to Ariel. Leah winked at her dear friend, who was also starting to redden. "Why don't you read Mariana's thoughts right now," Leah nudged the Finlandian in the ribs.

"This is stupid," Mariana muttered. She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms across Rhea's woven image.

Ariel gave Leah a disapproving glance. "Don't pay any attention to her. She's just trying to get your goat," she said to Mariana, who maintained an air of disdain, even though she knew Leah was on to her.

"Speaking of goats, whose turn is it to milk?" Kara changed the subject.

"Mine," Mariana forcefully replied, even though it wasn't. She made a mad dash for the door.

The frigid wind cut right through her heavy tunic as she walked to the animal pen, but Mariana told herself anything was better than squirming in the thick of innuendo.

"Uh-oh, you forgot the bucket," Ariel's voice filled her ear. Mariana looked behind her, but no one was there.

"I'm losing it," she said and darted into the storehouse. When she began gathering the sweet hay Taji had hauled down from the hidden meadow, Ariel in the flesh sidled up and set the milk bucket down. Mariana jumped a foot, dropped the bundle of hay on the ground and grabbed the handle of the knife she kept wedged behind her belt.

"Shit! Don't ever sneak up on me like that!"

"Such language," Ariel teased in mock disdain.

"Sorry. I'm a little jumpy from all the bad news lately."

"Leah's just having fun. You mustn't take her so seriously."

"Is it true? You read minds?" Mariana asked and began picking up the scattered hay.

"Lots of people have the gift."

"Not me," Mariana grunted.

"But you do have a vivid imagination."

"That's not the same thing."

"After you left the table just now, you had a vivid image of something, did you not?"

Mariana thought for a moment, and said with a faint grin, "Tell me what you think it was, and I'll tell you if you're right."

"Kara's breasts," Ariel flatly said with a smirk that spelled victory.

"Lucky guess. I bet you don't know what I'm thinking right this moment."

"Let me see," the clever diviner said, looking intently into Mariana's eyes. "I see a restless soul."

"True, but that's not what I'm thinking."

"I give up, then," Ariel said, even though she knew exactly what was on Mariana's mind.

"I'm thinking I'll go crazy cooped up here waiting for the Moon and Stars to line up right," Mariana said. More impatient than she'd been in days, the Amazon sat down on the three-legged stool with the bucket between her knees and began to milk.

"What's crazy?'" Ariel asked. Mariana shivered and thought about her blanket. "I will get it for you," the mind reader said and ran into the cottage.

"How 'bout that--my every wish is her command," Mariana uttered to the chomping goat, who paid no attention whatsoever. A vivid image of Ariel's curvy hips sent an unexpected jolt of desire up and down the milker's spine. When Ariel returned empty-handed, Mariana, who was plenty warm, asked, "So where's my blanket?"

"Kara's using it in the baby's cradle." Ariel started to take off her lovely cloak.

"No, no, no...." Mariana protested.

"Yes, yes, yes," Ariel flirtatiously countered.

Mariana stopped milking. She stood and planted herself directly in front of the wide-eyed beauty. "Er...look, Ariel. I'm not very good at this sort of thing, but I know you know that I like you very much. You've been a good friend, but, the thing is..."

"Do I offend you?" Ariel interrupted. Tears pooled in the corners of her grey-green eyes, which at that moment were accented with orange flecks.

"No! Not at all. It's just that...it's not right. It would ruin everything," Mariana spit out the words through an image of Grace's face that hovered like a scrim over Ariel's.

"She is very beautiful," Ariel said.

"You see her?!"

"Clear as the nose on your face," the mind reader said and lightly touched the end of it.

Without another word, the most enchanting woman in Angara went back inside the cottage. Fighting tears, Mariana sat back down on the three-legged stool, leaned into the warmth of the nanny's flank, and resumed milking.


Late that night, the lonely modern prayed to the unseen Moon for another dreamtime reunion with her beloved. A blast of wind blew open the shutter to the garret window. Howling wolves punctuated unbearable yearning as she crawled on her hands and knees in the pitch black to shut it. When she slipped back inside the bed roll, she saw Ariel approach holding a flickering oil lamp, her golden tresses cascading over bare shoulders. Clinging to the last shreds of self-denial, the tortured Amazon rolled over and faced the wall.

"No more suffering," a most familiar voice whispered. Mariana sat bolt upright.

"Grace?!"

Ariel set the lamp down and let her gown slip to the floor. In a tremulous voice, she said, "I cannot endure another night of wanting you."

Without hesitation, Mariana pulled her down under the blankets and whispered in her ear before kissing it, "Neither can I."

Chapter XI

The modern realm's so-called information age couldn't hold a candle to the amazing ability of the Nasai to communicate without spoken or written word. Ananza's background in dolphin language helped her conceive that such a thing was possible, yet she herself was in dire need of old fashioned conversation. All her attempts to communicate had failed miserably; when she spoke, the Nasai would laugh, or pry open her mouth to examine her tongue.

It wasn't that the people of the lakeside village were mutes. On the contrary, they could perfectly imitate any number of animal sounds, and they loved to sing. Ananza especially delighted in the children's ability to imitate the songs of birds. Never could she have imagined a civilization so finely tuned to the natural world. This aspect so overwhelmed her she would sometimes weep, a sight that not only puzzled the natives, but made them avoid her. If Ananza didn't know any better, she might have concluded that her Nasai ancestors were incapable of empathy. But nothing was further from the truth.

After three frustrating days of using the basic signs she'd picked up from watching Claire, Ananza resorted to etching stick figures in the red clay of the nearby cliffs. At first, this attracted a crowd of curious children, who thought it great fun to copy the crude art work. One day they were joined by a lavishly adorned woman, who seemed most intrigued by Ananza's representation of a fisherhawk, which in fact looked more like a turkey with grotesquely large wings. When the woman scratched out a detailed image of a vulture, Ananza shook her head and scratched out a fish, to which the artist responded with a perfect representation of a canoe.

"Your drawings are beautiful, but this is going nowhere," Ananza said. She threw down her scratching stick and perched cross-legged on a rock. While she held her aching head in her hands the parting image of Marty's tear-stained face floated across her mind.

"I was a fool to leave you, baby," she mumbled into her dusty red hands. When she looked up again, the artist was busy etching a new image in the clay. Upon its completion, Ananza couldn't believe her eyes.

"It's a portrait of Marty!" she shouted and sprang to her feet for a closer look. "You're good--really good," she said to the artist, who nodded. "Let's try something," Ananza said, putting a finger to her temple. "I'll think of someone and you see if you can draw that person--OK?" The artist looked puzzled, but at least, she didn't laugh or run away.

"Come on, come on, Walker, concentrate," Ananza, whose mind suddenly went blank, muttered to herself. Finally, she thought of the weaver, Roku. The artist made a joyful sound and instead of starting to etch, she tugged mightily on Ananza's arm. Although still very sore and stiff from that first harrowing night in a tree, the high flier let herself be dragged through a jungle of palm, fig, and mango trees and out to the edge of a rocky precipice overlooking a towering waterfall.

The artist pointed to the emerald pool at the bottom of the falls and perfectly imitated the distress call of a fisherhawk.

"I don't understand," Ananza said. At that moment, six women emerged one by one from behind the falls. Ananza immediately recognized the first to emerge and shouted, "Hey! Roku! It's me--Ananza!" Over the roar of the falls, she couldn't hear what the animated crone was shouting up to her. The artist tapped Ananza on the shoulder and pointed to a bridge of thick woven vines swaying high above the raging rapids. "Oh, no way. I'm not setting foot on that thing."

Ananza backed away. At that point, she spotted someone ascending a steep trail cut into the opposite wall of the ravine. A firm nudge from the artist pushed her to where the foot bridge was secured to two massive banyan trees. Not even soaring among the Stars had cured the shape-shifter's lifelong fear of heights. Much to her guide's dismay and irritation, Ananza dug in her heels.

"Don't be afraid!" a voice rang out across the abyss. Standing at the other end of the bridge was a woman Ananza didn't recognize, nevertheless hearing English was most encouraging. Ananza took another step closer to the footbridge. The woman began to cross. "Come on ahead! I'll meet you half way!" she shouted.

"No! You stay where you are!" Ananza yelled back, convinced that the extra weight would plunge them both to certain death. She looked around for the artist, but she was gone. "All right, you can do this," Ananza told herself as she grabbed both sides of the bridge. The first three steps weren't so bad, but once she got past the edge of the precipice she suffered an attack of vertigo and collapsed to her knees.

"Look at me!" her coach shouted from midway. Her multi-colored cloak blew gently on the breeze and the fierce midday Sun glinted off silver earrings right into Ananza's eyes. Temporarily blinded, the acrophobe was at least spared the terror of looking down into the abyss as she felt her way on her hands and knees. "You're doing fine," the woman calmly assured close to Ananza's left ear. "You can stand up now." A gust of wind caused the bridge to sway.

"Oh, sweet Jeezuz!" Ananza cried.

The diminutive woman was able to squeeze past and stand behind her terrified charge. "Get a firm grip on both railings and slowly pull yourself up. I won't let you fall, I promise!" she yelled over the roar of the raging rapids. Ananza, now shaking uncontrollably, struggled to her feet. "Good. Now, I'm going to walk you to the other side. Keep your eyes straight ahead!"

Ananza was able to take a couple of deep breaths. "All right. I'm ready!" she shouted and shuffled onward with her guide shadowing her every move. When she stepped out on terra firma, Ananza fell to her knees and kissed it. "Hallelujah," she gasped.

"Blessed Be," the woman said with a pat on her shoulder.

Ananza struggled to her feet. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm Ren," the woman replied.

"Am I glad to see--and hear--you," Ananza said and vigorously shook the soft bejeweled hand.

"Follow me. The way down is a piece of cake," Ren said and moved towards a natural stairway cut into the solid rock face. Ananza clung to the braided railing as she edged ever so slowly down the sheer rock face of the canyon wall. At the bottom, she found all but Roku waiting at the misty edge of the emerald pool.

"Welcome!" a tall statuesque woman in a stunning African robe shouted.

"Where's Roku?!" Ananza yelled at the top of her lungs over the tremendous roar of the massive falls.

"Who?!"

"Roku--the weaver from Crete!"

The group looked at each other with puzzled expressions.

"We don't know her!" an Asian woman dressed in a black tunic with red sash shouted.

"But I saw her standing on this very spot! She called up to me and waved!"

"That was me waving!" Ren yelled.

"No, this was a crone--white hair, purple robe and a shepherd's crook!" Ananza shouted with tears of frustration brimming in her dark bloodshot eyes.

"I'm sorry, Ananza!" the Asian woman said.

"Nothing makes any sense around here! And how did you know my name?!"

"A...well, I don't want to confuse you more, but Andrea told me you were coming!" Ren shouted.

Ananza frowned and shook her head. "Telepathy I suppose!"

"Dreamtime reunion!" Ren yelled.

"She's your lover?!"

"My sister! She was supposed to be here with us, but you know how things can go haywire at the last moment!"

"Ain't that the truth!" Ananza heartily agreed, wiping tears with the back of her hand.

"I trust it's no mistake that brought you here!" the tall African approached. Her prominent cheekbones reminded Ananza of Daria.

"No, not at all! I'm here purely by choice! As a matter of fact, being here is a dream come true...at least, it was supposed to be!" Ananza shouted. "Who are you?!"

"My name is Lineah Jackson!"

"You remind me of somebody! There's a high priest on Crete who could be your sister!"

"I don't have a sister, but if I did she wouldn't be livin' on Crete! I'm from St. Louis!"

"I'll be damned! I'm from Independence!"

"A Royals fan, I suppose!"

"Hell, no! The Redbirds all the way!" Ananza high-fived Lineah.

"Who would have guessed we'd be standing here in the heart of aboriginal Africa talking baseball?!" Lineah laughed.

"Let's hope it's the last time!" the Asian woman interjected. "By the way, my name is Shu-Li!" she yelled, extending her hand.

"Not much of a baseball fan, I take it!" Ananza teased with a firm handshake.

"I despise all competitive sports!" Shu-Li haughtily shouted.

At that moment, the other two women, who'd been standing close to the falls, walked up and giggled at the newcomer, then ducked behind the curtain of water.

"Twins?!" Ananza shouted at Lineah, who nodded.

"Follow me!" she urged and grabbed Ananza's hand.

With considerable trepidation, Ananza let herself be led under a massive overhang behind the wall of water and into a cave-like entry that led to a garden complete with fruit trees and a small vineyard. Much like the inner sanctum of Crete's Grotto, a large elliptic opening in the rock ceiling allowed for plenty of light.

"Plants grow from seed to maturity in less than a week, sometimes overnight," Lineah explained.

"Think Jack and the beanstalk," Ren said with a wink.

When the twins approached with a platter full of fruit, Lineah directed the guest of honor to a throne-like chair made of woven vines located at the mid-point of a semicircular granite table. Not until their guest sat down did everyone else do so, which made the humbled flier a bit self-conscious.

"We've all been looking forward to your arrival," Lineah said. Ananza's mind remained a tangle of questions; her heart hammered so loud in her ears she was sure everyone could hear it. "Relax and enjoy some Nasai soul food," Lineah said with a wink and plucked a perfect peach from the mountain of fruit. "It's out of this world," she added and presented it with a flourish to the hungry newcomer.

`You can say that again,' Ananza thought, savoring a juicy explosion of exquisite flavor.

While the others ate, the twins, who had not spoken, performed a series of hypnotic lilts on a flute and an instrument similar to a mandolin. Ren and Shu-Li danced to some livelier tunes.

"Would you care to dance?" Lineah asked her sticky-fingered guest.

"Oh, no thanks, I can't even move," Ananza replied, patting her stomach.

"So, tell me. When did you arrive in Nyasa?" Lineah asked while re-filling Ananza's cup with a sweet non-alcoholic nectar.

"I've lost track, but I figure it's been about four days since I belly-flopped into the lake. I spent my first night in a tree."

"No way," Lineah chuckled.

"It was either that or end up a late-night snack for a hungry lioness."

"I've known a few of those in my time," Lineah teased.

"Sister, I like the way you think," Ananza laughed. "Speaking of which, how have you managed to cope with the absence of speech around here?"

"We had plenty of practice before we took off from Raven's Bluff."

"You lost me."

"With the twins. They're childhood friends of Andrea's. It was the three of them who started our coven way back when."

"Are the twins mute?"

"They've been deaf since age three."

"I haven't seen them use any sign language. Why is that?" Ananza asked through a mouthful of mango.

"They used to, but gave it up when they withdrew from the outside world. Even before their hearing was destroyed, they were telepathic with each other."

"What made them withdraw from the world?"

"Andrea never did tell the whole story, but take your pick. In the modern world, adolescent girls were easy prey for any number of predators. Being deaf certainly didn't help their chances. The thing is, they created a non-speaking world of their own, and since we landed in Nyasa, let's just say they've been in seventh heaven."

"That reminds me, you really should check out Crete sometime," Ananza said. "Gorgeous black women everywhere you look. In spite of my feathers, I never felt more at home--or turned on." An alluring image of Daria floated across Ananza's mind.

"Oooh, girl, you are too bad!" Lineah chided with an exaggerated home girl drawl that brought Ren and Shu-Li back to the table.

"You mind letting us in on it?" Shu asked.

"Seems Ananza has it bad for Mediterranean women," Lineah replied with an exaggerated drawl.

"How long were you there?" Ren asked.

"Not even a day, but it seemed like a New York minute," Ananza, graduate of Columbia, answered. One of the twins sat down across the table from Ananza and signed to her.

Shu-Li kindly translated. "She says you miss someone named Daria. Is she your lover?" Shu-Li asked. Ananza squirmed in her throne.

"Not hardly. Although, she did heal my wing, but that's as far as it went."

The twin signed some more. Again, Shu-Li translated.

"Daria thinks of you often."

"I'm sure," Ananza scoffed and felt flushed. "She's the Oracle's lover. Besides, I was in raptor form."

"Things are definitely looking up," Lineah jumped in.

Once again lost in a sea of questions, Ananza felt like screaming. "What do you mean?" she ventured.

"Soul connections always amaze me," Lineah replied.

"You know what? This conversation is way over my head. Just when I think things start to make sense, they get more weird. I expected to feel right at home here in Nyasa, but I see now I was a fool to leave my..." Ananza, on the verge of bawling, would have given anything for a hole to crawl into. Seeing the obvious pain, Lineah took her weary guest by the hand. At the center of the courtyard everyone proceeded to make a circle around the homesick shape-shifter.

"Welcome, friend," they said in concert, including the twins who hadn't uttered a word since middle school. Afterwards, one twin made a point of saying, "You have a lively imagination. We look forward to seeing more of it."

"Thanks...I think," Ananza sniffled. "I get it, you read my mind earlier, right?"

"We saw what was in your heart," the other twin said with a wink. Ananza noticed that one of her eyes was blue, the other brown.

"My sister’s left eye is blue, mine is brown and vice versa," the other twin explained.

"What's your name?" Ananza asked. The twin smiled, but didn't answer. `These mind games are giving me a migraine,' Ananza thought and was set to break through the circle, when a vivid image of a sparkling green gem came to mind. Anticipation gleamed in the twin's eyes. "Emerald?" Ananza took a wild half-hearted guess. The twin laughed and clapped her hands. "Hello...Emerald," Ananza tentatively said. The other twin stepped up and offered her hand. The instant Ananza took it, a whimsical image of newborn foals frolicking in a meadow came to mind.

"Happy?" she guessed, but the twin stared, unblinking. Suddenly, a comical image of a cloud in the shape of the number nine floated across Ananza's mind. "Lucky? No? Is it Joy?" Ananza guessed and was immediately swallowed up in a joint bear hug from the impish twins.

"Fun, huh?" Ren said in Ananza's left ear.

"I never cared much for charades," Ananza politely replied and extricated herself from the vise-like embrace.

"It gets much more fun with practice," Ren assured.

"Joy and Emerald must come in real handy around here."

"On, yeah. It was pretty tense when we first got here. The Nasai shaman didn't quite know what to do with us when we just showed up one morning in the middle of her village. She took us for cranky giants from the underworld. But the twins were able to convince her we'd been conjured here, and after that we were treated like family."

"Who conjured you here?" Ananza asked with a hint of skepticism.

"Now don't get upset, but that's something for Lineah to explain."

"Whatever," Ananza sighed. "Whoever it was, they didn't want you living among the Nasai, I see."

"That's not quite true. You see, it was Lineah who insisted we camp here."

"I'll probably be sorry I asked, but why here?"

"Tonight all will become clear to you," Ren replied. With a groan, Ananza plopped down on a patch of moss.

"If you don't mind, I could sure use a siesta," she said with a yawn.

"I was just going to suggest that."

"You read my mind, I suppose."

"No, your bloodshot eyes were a dead giveaway," Ren said with a grin.

Andrea's little sister helped the weary traveler to her feet and showed her to an alcove off the main garden, where a hammock was strung between two fig trees. There, she happily sank into its embrace and in no time was treated to a dreamtime reunion with her darling Marty.

Chapter XII

Lineah Jackson had spent every waking hour of 2013 researching the creation myths of East Africa. The noted conjuror and longtime member of Andrea's coven was particularly intrigued by the writings of a modern Zulu shaman who claimed that the first peoples of Africa were so intimately connected to the natural world that they could simply visualize a need and it would instantly be met. To get a better understanding of what day-to-day life may have been like in such a `State of Perpetual Bliss,' as Lineah liked to call it, she groomed the twins as assistant conjurors. They were quick studies and managed to contact a number of aboriginal African souls.

One spirit, who called herself Ombazi, eventually took center stage during the regular seances and never left it. Speaking most often through Emerald, she described great cataclysms, revealed mysteries of animal magnetism and telepathy, and waxed poetic about the Cosmic Mother of all things animate and inanimate. It was Ombazi's particular reverence for Zebras, however, that most intrigued Lineah, and during those final weeks at Hecate's Cove, the Serengeti equid became the focal point of intense spell work for the modern coven. As a result, Andrea set the date for their leap into an Archaic Realm, where the Divine Feminine had thrived for untold millennia well before the patriarchal aberration began to afflict the hearts and souls of humankind.

According to Ombazi, it was upon the non-braying and elusive mountain species of Zebra that the cosmology of the world's earliest human civilization was based. Bit by precious bit, the wise and entertaining Ombazi fed the coven details about her culture--the Nasai. Eventually, the twins were no longer needed as mediums; Ombazi would just show up on her own. One night, however, the coven waited and waited, but their fabulous connection to the prehistoric past failed to show. Thereafter, it was unanimously decided to set aside all of the usual spellwork in order to chant the Mother of all Mantras: `Om'(which they had determined was short for Ombazi Herself). It was that resonating Sacred Syllable that gave the modern coven the courage and visionary faith to leap from Raven's Bluff into the Archaic Realm of Existence.


It was well past Sundown, when the unmistakable `sound of creation' (as Lineah liked to call the Sacred Syllable), cut short Ananza's second dreamtime reunion with Marty. From her hammock, the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes was the Waxing Moon shining like a spotlight through the elliptic opening in the grotto ceiling. Upwards and slightly to the left of the Moon, she noticed a very bright Star.

"Alpha Centauri," Ananza said to herself just as the grotto began to shake, rattle and roll. "Holy moly!" she cried and was promptly tossed out of the hammock onto a bed of moss. It seemed the roar would never stop. Afterwards, there remained an uneasy calm.

Ananza struggled to her feet and stepped from the alcove out into the dreamlike garden made so by the silvery Moonlight. She was drawn towards the main garden, where elongated shadows danced along the walls of solid rock. When Ananza made her tentative entrance into the flickering lamplight, Lineah announced, "The sleeping beauty honors us with her presence." Everyone clapped. "Sit," the delighted host insisted, giving up her cushy throne.

"That was some earthquake," Ananza said and reluctantly took a seat. "Does that happen often?" When the twins giggled, Ananza tried but failed to pinpoint what amusing image she may have inadvertently telegraphed to them. `Another inside joke, I suppose,' she thought.

"It's no joke, my friend," Lineah said.

"Here we go again with the mind games," Ananza grumbled and threw up her hands.

"You are quick to anger," Shu-Li observed.

"I haven't exactly been myself lately," Ananza responded, not intending to joke.

When the raucous laughter died down, Lineah called for order. "OK, sisters, we have work to do."

Ananza wasn't sure she could stand another session of cryptic exchanges with the tight-knit coven. She looked to the hole in the ceiling, wishing she could shape-shift into a moth and flutter to freedom.

"Very soon the Zebra herds will arrive," Lineah began.

"They'll gather by the millions with their foals on the north shore of Lake Nyasa to drink and graze on the tender grasses. And the silent ones will come down from the mountains."

"The silent ones?" Ananza, whose interest was more than piqued, felt compelled to ask.

"Mountain Zebras," Lineah answered. "They're the primary totem for the Nasai," she explained "They're non-migratory and mostly black, except for white tips on their ears and a distinctive white crescent on their chest."

"The Waxing Moon," Ananza said. Her heart raced.

"Right you are. Now, as for the Moon, it will be Full two nights from now. From what I've been able to gather from the local shamans and from my own dreams, forces of destruction are quickly coming into power. They will manifest in Asia and spread south, east, and eventually westward across the land bridge, then..."

"It's already happening," Ananza interrupted, "in Mongolia, where Mariana is now."

The coven gasped a collective, "Oh, no."

"Didn't you see vast pony herds during your flight over Asia?" Lineah anxiously asked. Ananza shook her head and suffered a wave of nausea. "What about the herds in Nebraska?" Lineah asked.

"They rule," Ananza replied. The rock walls began to spin.

"Oh, thank the Goddess," Lineah sighed with relief. "But we must get more intelligence on the situation in Mongolia."

"From here?" Ananza's skepticism, along with severe stomach cramps, furrowed her brow.

"Let me ask you this. Did Signe hint at anything that might help us?"

Ananza broke into a cold sweat. "She said something about when a Triple Goddess lines up with the Moon and..." Another gasp from the group was followed by everyone talking at once. Ananza clutched at her churning gut.

"Silence!" Lineah commanded and looked to Ananza whose face had taken on a grayish pallor.

"And something strange happened the night I left Crete," Ananza somehow managed, even as the worst pain she'd ever experienced made breathing difficult.

"What was that?" Ren's voice seemed to echo.

"The Big Dipper...the North Star. It was as if they vanished from the sky," Ananza, on the edge of fainting, gasped.

"What could this all signify?" Lineah asked Shu-Li.

"Signe must have been referring to Alpha Centauri above the Southern Cross," the astrologer said. "A conjunction with the Full Moon would be a very odd occurrence."

"And what could cause the disappearance of Ursa Major?" Lineah asked.

"I have no idea."

Lineah stood and paced.

"Shu? Will you be able to determine the exact moment of the conjunction?" Ren asked.

The astrologer pointed overhead to the elliptic window to the heavens. "Most likely when the Full Moon moves into the exact center."

Everyone but Ananza was heartened by Shu-Li's authoritative albeit terse answers. Suffering intense vertigo, the honored guest slipped from the throne and stumbled into the shadows, where she leaned hard against the cold rock wall. `I flew half-way around the world just to deliver bad news!' she screamed inside herself and closed her eyes.

Snapshots of her amazing flight streamed before her mind's eye: endless grasslands, wild rivers, snow-capped mountains, untouched forests as far as a fisherhawk could see, flocks of birds she couldn't identify who flew with her at points along the way, the electric blue of the Pacific edged by an endless rain forest, countless pods of migrating whales and dolphins jumping high out of the water, miles and miles of silvery fish schools, and, best of all, the ecstasy of soaring free and easy on the thermals high over the Sea of Japan and mainland China. China. A breathtaking dreamscape of jutting peaks, contented bands of plump pandas chewing away at the edges of towering bamboo forests, countless lakes and emerald green valleys dotted with the first people Ananza saw, all traveling in caravans of Llamas and goats along the Yellow River and northward across the world's most fertile plain: The Gobi--not a desert at all.

Ananza recoiled at the final snapshot. She let out a wail, then screamed at the top of her lungs, "He'll burn in hell for this!" Lineah came running. "Dead ponies everywhere!" Ananza sobbed. She turned her face to the wall and suffered dry heaves.

"You dreamt this?" Lineah asked. Her usually calm voice was tremulous.

"I saw it with my own eyes," Ananza answered between waves of nausea. "Wolves tearing the orphan foals to pieces. The screaming—I can still hear it!"

Ananza began to shake. Lineah and Ren helped her to the hot springs located in the center of the garden.

"Help me get her into the pool," Lineah said.

Too weak to protest, Ananza found herself floating helpless and naked on the surface of the bubbly waters, where she was encircled by the coven whose feathery touch kept her from sinking. Her eyelids grew heavy even as she struggled to keep her focus on the dominant Star of the southern hemisphere twinkling bright as could be through the elliptic window to the Milky Way.

At the edge of sleep, Ananza felt herself levitating over a vast plain not unlike Nebraska. There, she saw a massive army on horseback charging over the western horizon. She fell onto the hardpan. The sound of pounding hooves and terrible battle cries rooted her to the spot like a tree. The moment she saw the hateful faces of the enemy, their horses broke rank and veered in all directions, bucking, sun-fishing, many skidding to a dead stop. Soldiers flew like rag dolls onto the unforgiving Earth. Some were trampled to death, most lay broken, crying out for mercy to an unseen entity. Thunderclouds blocked out the Sun and turned the air an inky black.
Ananza awoke in Lineah's arms. Everyone else had gone to bed. "Did you see the enemy?" she asked.

"Yes," Ananza whispered. Hot tears trickled into her ears.

"Good. Now, I can get some sleep. Rest easy, girlfriend, for tomorrow will be a day of all days."

Thanks to thousands of Zebras, it most certainly was. The overwhelming sight of the monumental migration to Lake Nyasa was so awe-inspiring, no one minded the choking dust and chaos of the celebrated seasonal event. Ananza especially delighted in the weanling foals carelessly romping at the water's edge. To her, the cacophony of incessant snorting and braying was a symphony she hoped would never end.

That notion was dashed, however, when a small group of Mountain Zebras made their grand entrance. In abrupt silence, the Serengeti herd parted like the biblical red sea as the procession of exotic equids pranced their way to the water's edge to drink. Ananza climbed a nearby tree for a better view. She spotted a fabulously robed woman whom she immediately recognized as the artist emerge from the crowd of villagers and approach the Mountain Zebras. They all stopped drinking and turned to face her. One in particular, the largest and mother of twin weanlings that looked more like horses than Zebras, bobbed her head up and down. When the artist nodded, the mare went down on her knees and rested her coal-black muzzle on the red clay.

The act of reverence was amazing in itself, but Ananza nearly fell from her perch when the artist swung effortlessly onto the mare's back. A rainbow mist immediately enshrouded the mare, her rider, and the twins. When it cleared, three magnificent winged creatures pawed restlessly at the water's edge. The entire Serengeti herd brayed and lowered their heads in deference to the triple miracle. Ananza wanted to call out for Lineah, who was with her coven atop a large rock, but her voice had deserted, as had everyone else's. All she could do was watch in awe as the three mythic marvels strutted their way through the crowd of villagers.

The dominant creature had the usual markings of a Mountain Zebra plus enormous golden wings. To her right was a red-winged solid black equine mare, and to her left a white equine mare with snow-white wings.

"The Triple Goddess!" Ananza impulsively shouted.

The winged Zebra pranced over to the base of the tree, where Ananza was perched. "You know of Alpha Centauri?" she asked in perfect English.

"I ...well, yes. It's the brightest Star down here...isn'it?" Ananza stammered.

The winged marvel pawed restlessly at the red dust.

"Then, you know what has to be done," she said and began prancing in place.

"I do?" Ananza pointed to her own racing heart.

"And you will see that it comes to pass," the winged Zebra commanded and turned to Lineah, who immediately jumped down from the safety of the rock.

"I know that voice! Ombazi?!"

"It is I," the Zebra bowed. The rest of the coven jumped to the ground and joined hands. Ananza reluctantly climbed from her perch and was promptly yanked into the circle by Ren.

"Blessed Be," the coven chanted together, a sentiment echoed in English by the Winged Trio, who pranced a couple of revolutions around the ecstatic moderns.

"We and the Silents will lead the Serengeti herd high up in the mountains tonight," Ombazi announced in a resonant voice that both inspired and hypnotized. "There, they will feed on alpine iris for two days. Upon their return, they and the Silents will stand on the western shore of the Nyasa to draw down the power of the Milky Way."

"Where will you be, Ombazi?" Lineah asked.

"I will remain alone in the mountains."

"And the other two?" Ananza dared ask in a tremulous voice.

"Yin will have already flown to Angara, and Epona to Turtle Island."

"Nebraska?!" Ananza excitedly asked.

"The Santee, I think it's called," Ombazi corrected her while stretching her massive metallic gold wings.

"Hot damn!" Ananza blurted out and did a little jig. "Can I ride along?"

The twins giggled; everyone else held their breath. Ombazi walked up to the audacious American. "Your place is here, is it not?"

Ananza looked down and dug her toes in the powdery dust. "For as long as I am needed," she muttered in a contrite childlike voice. At this, Ombazi snorted and backed away. She and her two counterparts wove their way through the human crowd towards the village.

"Come on, girlfriends. Let's celebrate," Lineah said with gusto and linked arms with her homesick friend.

Since the Nasai were vegetarians, the feast was most appreciated by the three bigger-than-life guests of honor, who ate heartily of every dish. Two left feet notwithstanding, they even joined in the dancing. The seductive beat of the drums lasted until dawn, but the mythic threesome left well before that to lead the massive herd to the base of the tallest peak in Africa: Mo-Ati, Mother Of All That Is.

Just as the Sun peeked over the canyon rim, Ananza and her boon companions easily negotiated the footbridge and descended through a rainbow mist to the waterfall, where the twins led a morning blessing. In spite of the all-nighter, everyone was way too excited to sleep. Shu-Li decided to give Ananza a crash course on the Great Goddess of China, Kuan Yin, who the astrologer believed was manifest in the winged creature Ombazi called Yin.

"I remember Marty talking about Kuan Yin before we left Hecate's Cove," Ananza said. "She called her the Compassionate Warrior."

"That's one of her many names," Shu-Li said. "If anyone can make things right in Mongolia, she can."

"But so many have already died."

"The soul never dies," the astrologer countered.

"But..."

"Now, the White Mare, Epona, she's quite another story," Shu-Li nipped Ananza's skepticism in the bud. "She has her compassionate side for sure, but believe me, you don't want to be on the wrong end of her destroyer aspect. Even though she looks angelic, Epona, personifies the eruptive power of Mo-ati Herself."

"Is that why Eopna's flying to Nebraska?"

"Could be. All I know for sure is she's leaving a day before the others."

"Why?"

"The distance for one, but basically, I think it's because the herd there will need more time to prepare."

"For what?"
"Good grief, woman! Haven't you been paying attention?!"

"Oh, you mean, The Big Moment thing," Ananza said, suppressing a yawn.

"If I were you I'd get some sleep--you wouldn't want to miss it," Shu-Li teased.

"Where will we be when it happens?"

"Here, of course," Lineah curtly answered from over Ananza's shoulder. Shu-Li took that as her cue to turn in.

"Why?" Ananza's mind was a tangle of questions.

"Why, to draw down the power of the Moon," Lineah rather haughtily replied.

In spite of all she had witnessed, Ananza came awfully close to rolling her eyes in disdain. She was about to ask yet another question, when the naked twins streaked into the main garden.

"Hey, Annie! Last one in is a rotten egg!" they shouted in one cherubic voice and jumped into the hot springs. Without a thought, Ananza jumped in, too, clothes and all, and sustained a relentless tickling attack.

Later that night during another dreamtime reunion, Ananza practiced the Sacred Syllable with her beloved Marty.

Chapter XIII

The Murdei were five hundred strong when they made their way southward along the Kundai tributary. Two-dozen packhorses, the precious harem of swift brood mares, and a herd of fifty stolen llamas brought up the rear of the longest caravan to ever snake its way across the Angaran landscape. Ramakan, known as the Great Khan Oyandei to his army, had fashioned his cosmological tapestry into five banners, which were carried by those front line soldiers whose taste for blood was the most rabid. Oyandei, decked out in pelts of silver fox and crowned in a woven headdress topped with eagle feathers, rode his ornately tasseled black stallion Qaradei ahead of the banners. As he set out to spread his message throughout Asia and beyond, the world's first unholy crusader savored what was to be his final and sweetest revenge upon Angaran civilization. His spies had learned that the last of the white mares were hiding somewhere near Sophia's outpost, and it was Oyandei's intent to destroy every last one of them and all who persisted in their worship. His battle plan also included the capture and enslavement of the Compassionate Warriors, whom he destined for incubators of `the sacred word,' meaning Oyandei's seed. This new and twisted notion of fatherhood came to the narcissistic theocrat during a blizzard in which he almost froze to death wandering the forbidden forest in a fast-induced stupor.

In a nutshell, Oyandei's new world order was the very antithesis of the Divine Feminine. His simplistic reversal of everything that had heretofore been held sacred meant that Mother Nature must be `purified' so that the sky father could one rapturous day descend from the sky and make the Earth his permanent residence. That is why, before leaving the Lake of Souls, which he had renamed The Cauldron of Eternal Sacrifice and Suffering (CESS), Oyandei demanded an oath of celibacy from his soldiers the violation of which would result in summary execution. He understood, however, that waging war was a powerful aphrodisiac, and since he thought of himself as a fair and compassionate despot, he declared that any soldier committing the act of rape in the heat of battle would not be punished.

Several days before Oyandei broke camp at the shattered Lake of Souls, in Crete Signe and company had finally managed to restore the Big Dipper to the night sky. This was achieved by repeatedly projecting their collective memory of the revered constellation up through the elliptic opening in the ceiling of the inner sanctum of Gynocentric magic. Not only did telepathic word of how this feat was accomplished raise the spirits of Sophia's coven, it gave them the incentive to practice it for themselves. One glorious night, not only the Big Dipper, but the Moon and Milky Way returned to the Angaran sky.

Needless to say, everyone, including the clan in Nebraska, heaved a collective sigh of relief. The downside was that the revealing light of the Moon and Stars drove Taji and the rest of the nomads hiding out in the secret meadow deeper into the surrounding woods, where grazing for the animals was sparse. Sophia, painfully aware of Taji's predicament, called on her coven for some serious conjuring. One night in the middle of one particularly intense session, there came a loud knock on the cottage door.

Mariana jumped to her feet and, gripping the handle of the knife she kept sheathed behind her belt, went to answer it. "State your business!" she shouted.

"It's a friend! Open up, please!" a muffled but very familiar voice shouted. In a flash, Mariana unlatched and flung open the heavy door. "Well, my dear. Are you going to invite me in, or do I stand out here and freeze my ass off?"

"Andrea!" Mariana cried. She scooped up her long lost friend in her arms and carried her inside.

"I'm surprised you can still lift me, given what a pig I've made of myself lately," Andrea said as Mariana set her down near the hearth.

"How on Earth did you get here?!" Mariana asked without thinking.

"I certainly didn't bus it," Andrea replied with a wink at Ariel.

"Everyone! I'd like you to meet the greatest living water witch," Mariana announced. "This is Andrea Tedesco. She came all the way from Crete."

"Are you here to save the ponies?" Leah, the first to approach and extend her hand in welcome, asked.

"I don't know about that, but Signe said I could perhaps do some good. She's been a bit busy herself what with the Big Dipper missing and all."

"It disappeared there, too, huh?" Mariana asked.

"It was the strangest thing...during one of our many feasts, I just happened to notice a black hole right where the Dipper should be. I was the first to discover it. Too bad, too, because Ananza was having such a good time."

"Ananza--who's that?" Mariana asked.

"Marine scientist, part-time fisherhawk," Andrea replied, rubbing her hands at the fire.

"Robin's with you?!" Mariana asked in disbelief.

"She calls herself Ananza now. Anyway, she's down in Africa as we speak." Andrea shivered. "You wouldn't have any tea, would you?"

"Would hot cider do?" Ariel asked in the common language, which Andrea of course understood.

"That would be wonderful. Thank you, Ariel," Andrea said.

"You know each other?" Mariana asked with a smile at her lover.

Andrea, who always noticed such things, replied, "Ariel's was the most persuasive argument."

"Meaning?"

"It was Ariel who first tried to conjure me to this desolate...I mean this delightful wilderness. Let's just say that if I weren’t dying to see your freckled mug again, I'd be soaking in my own private spa tonight. Thank Isis, I'm only on loan." Ariel stepped up and handed Andrea a steaming cup of brew.

"I'm so pleased you decided to come. I've heard so much about you," the Finlandian said.

"All good, I hope," the playful witch said to Mariana.

"Andrea, please join us at the table," Sophia impatiently invited. It was time to get down to business. Her conjured guest tore herself from the warmth of the fire and sat down between the crone and Kara, whose baby girl was irresistible to the water witch, herself a grandmother of three. "May I?"

Kara handed the bundle of joy over to Andrea. "I'm Kara and this is my daughter, Melena."

"Hello, Kara. Oh, how precious...hello there, Melena," Andrea cooed as she received the child. "And what beautiful hair you have," she said, stroking the black curls that covered the infant's perfectly round dome. "Did you know that her name is Spanish for long flowing mane?"

"What is Spanish?" Kara asked.

"Iberian," Andrea, herself a descendent of Spanish gypsies, clarified.

"Oh, yes! Ibera, home of the labyrinth!" Leah piped up.

"Tell me about it," Kara excitedly said, grabbing Leah's arm.

"Its a honeycomb of deep tunnels that carry the dead back to the Fire of Earth."

"Not so," Kara scoffed in disbelief.

"It is so. My brother sails trading ships from Anatolia to Ibera and he has seen with his own eyes the most beautiful paintings of horses and bulls and reindeer on the cave walls. They were made by ancients from a long lost realm," Leah said, glancing at Ariel, who was wide-eyed.

"Did you say reindeer?" the Finlandian asked.

"Oh, yes. At one time, half the peninsula was covered in solid water."

"Ice," Ariel once more had to correct her.

"Yes--ice. It is now a land of beautiful gardens and vast vineyards," Leah continued. "I will someday travel there and behold for myself the Sea of Chaos crash against the tall cliffs."

"You are speaking of the Atlantic, I presume," Andrea said.

"What is the Atlantic?" Kara asked.

"Why, the ocean off the Iberian peninsula, of course."

"No, that would be the Sea of Chaos," Leah insisted.

"Of course," Andrea, not one to nitpick terminology, especially with an ancient Anatolian, acquiesced. She gently rocked the baby, who was starting to fuss.

"We have much to learn from each other," Sophia interjected. "But now, if you would, Andrea, allow me to explain our intent in bringing you to this part of the world." Andrea handed the whimpering child over to her mother and gave the crone her undivided attention. "Let me guess--it has to with underground streams," Andrea said.

"Yes, the Kundai Tributary, to be exact. Now, we know from scouts that Ramakan, our mortal enemy, is following it down here to the Angara River, which flows outside our door. We also know that the Kundai flows close to the surface for long stretches, leaving puddles on the land. Ramakan is very familiar with the ways of the Kundai; he will not be thrown off course by this aspect. In days he will arrive at the secret meadow, where refugees and their animals are hiding out. We're hoping that you..."

"How far is that from here?" Andrea interrupted.

"About a half-day's walk," Mariana minimized, knowing how much the modern witch loathed long hikes.

"I guess I can manage--go on, Sophia."

"On occasion, the Kundai has erupted into boiling spouts."

"Geysers," Mariana interjected.

"Ah," Andrea said, stroking her chin.

"If that were to happen now, Ramakan would be forced to turn back and follow a different route, which, according to Taji, would take him at least three days out of his way. You see, this would save the refugees and hopefully discourage him from coming here."

"Why is he coming here?" the water witch asked.

"It is clear he wants to destroy the last of the white mares," Sophia replied.

"And enslave us," Mariana said, clenching her jaw. "He'll sing soprano if he tries it." The coven tittered.

"He sounds like your garden variety warlord to me." Andrea glanced at Mariana, who nodded and folded her arms across Rhea's woven image.

"Tomorrow before dawn you and Mariana will set off for the meadow," Sophia continued. "On its northern perimeter, you will call forth spouts...geysers, so you call them."

"That'll be a first for me; I can't predict the outcome," Andrea cautioned. She reached out for a prayer circle. "Hecate, give me clear sight and strength of purpose, so that this thing I do I do for the good of all," she said and received a hearty round of blessings from the Compassionate Warriors.


The next morning, the two ex-denizens of Hecate's Cove, who'd stayed up most of the night reminiscing, struggled the last few paces to the canyon rim, just as the Sun rose over the distant mountains.

"Just like old times," Andrea gasped and adjusted her knapsack.

"But without the stink of diesel in the air," Mariana said. She surveyed the red hardpan that stretched endlessly before them.

"If I didn't know better, I'd swear we were on Mars," Andrea grumbled. "Which way?"

"Northeast."

"How can you tell with no landmarks?"

"Trust me. I could do this in my sleep," Mariana said, catching her breath.

"Lead the way...scout."

Fortunately for Andrea, the fleeting warmth of the Winter Sun took the edge off the ferocious winds that cut like knives through the thick cloak Sophia had loaned her. Andrea's sandals weren't much protection from the rocky terrain; consequently, they had to stop several times and didn't reach the meadow until way past midday.

They had just finished a tasty meal of goat cheese, corn bread, and dried plums, when Taji emerged from the cover of the woods. After a quick introduction, he guided them to the spot on the Kundai where he remembered seeing water spouts as a child.

"Damn," Andrea muttered.

"What now?" Mariana asked her less than intrepid partner in sabotage.

"I completely spaced my divining rod."

"Will anything else do?"

"Not for this job," Andrea replied. With a hand on Mariana's shoulder, she kicked off her sandal and rubbed her blistered foot.

"What is a divining rod?" Taji asked with a worried frown.

"Preferably a willow branch, shaped like a Y," Andrea explained and gestured. Since Taji hadn't a clue about the English alphabet, Mariana drew the shape in the dirt with a sharp rock.

"Oh, yes, I will find one for you," Taji assured and ran like a jackrabbit back inside the tree line.

"He's awful cute," Andrea chuckled.

"How could you think about sex at a time like this?" Mariana scolded in dead earnest.

"Oh, lighten up." The over-sexed water witch removed her other sandal and shook it out. "Remember the time we poured sugar in the gas tanks up at old man Hausman's mill?"

"How could I forget? We spent three days in jail for it."

"Ah, but it was worth it. Frank and I didn't get out of bed for a week after he bailed us out."

Mariana had to laugh. "Yeah, I remember spending a week in bed all right--with the flu."

"So what's the story with you and Ariel?" Andrea teased and suffered a scowl.

"Nothing--oh, here comes Taji," Mariana said, twisting her silly grin into her trademark scowl.

"Something is wrong?" Taji anxiously inquired.

"Nothing at all," Mariana replied.

Andrea carefully inspected the branch.

"The hell there isn't," she said.

"Now what?" Mariana groaned.

"This is no willow branch."

"I know of no willow trees. This comes from a young chestnut tree that grows near a bubbling spring," Taji nervously explained.

"Well, honey, I guess it'll just have to do," Andrea said to the wary nomad. Mariana rolled her eyes at the term of endearment.

"Too late in the season for honey," Taji innocently said. Both women cracked up. "You must be quiet. Ramakan's scouts could be close by," he sternly chided after scanning the perimeter.

"Well, honey, if I can't yuk it up I don't want any part of your stinking revolution," Andrea haughtily sassed. "Who was it said that?"

"Emma Goldman, and she was talking about dancing, not yukking it up," Mariana replied with a snicker.

Andrea shrugged her shoulders. "Same difference," she giggled.

Taji frowned at what to him bordered on insanity. In the face of his deeply furrowed brow, Mariana mildly chastised her impish cohort. "If Ramakan's scouts see us out here, we're dead meat."

"All right already. Show the way, Taj," Andrea glibly ordered the uptight Angaran.

Taji led the water witch to one particularly swampy area, where she slogged around barefoot holding the makeshift divining rod in the proper position. When she found what felt like the right spot as indicated by a sudden downturn of the supple branch, she closed her eyes and chanted a Sumerian mantra Mariana couldn't translate. The mantra ended with a long series of vowel sounds whose resonance literally vibrated the premises. When the vibration grew into an all out rumble, Andrea opened her eyes and yelled, "Run for it!"

The first spout exploded high into the air just as the three accomplices ducked behind a massive oak. It was followed by another and another, until the entire north boundary of the meadow was a towering wall of hot geysers. A thick cloud of billowing steam created its own miniature snowfall. Taji climbed the tree for a better view and gleefully called down to the snow-dusted saboteurs below, "Many, many spoutings as far as the eye can see!"

"Good!" Andrea yelled back up to him. "My work here is done," she said to Mariana with a high five.

Taji jumped from the lowest tree limb and landed in front of Andrea. He put his hands on her shoulders and said, "Thank you, most kind witch. I will not forget what you do here today." He was moved to give her a hug during which Andrea planted two lingering kisses, one on each stubbly cheek.

To Mariana's surprise, Taji was anything but put off by the blatant come-on. She ended up walking alone back to the outpost. At dinner, to ease her lover's mind, Ariel explained the sexual mores of the Angaran nomads, which, had nothing to do with fidelity and everything to do with gift-giving.

As for Andrea, she enjoyed a Moonlit ride on Taji's prized llama all the way back to the outpost, where she and the grateful nomad continued their passionate liaison out in the geothermal caverns. After Taji left for the Kundai camp the next morning, Andrea spent the rest of the day with Mariana, who shared the details of her last day at Hecate's Cove, including the timely arrival of her beloved Grace and the wondrous ride among the Stars.

That evening the Compassionate Warriors gathered at the waterfall for Andrea's send-off. Even Rhea made an appearance.

"Well look at you," Andrea said as the nickering jumper walked up to her. "Pretty as a picture, you are." She gave the mare a pat on the muzzle, then, turned to hug Mariana, who was weeping.

"Don't waste those crocodile tears, Mariana Louise," Andrea said in her best imitation of Sadie. "We shall all be together again soon."

"How do you know?" Mariana sputtered.

"How do you know we won't?" the witch cleverly countered. She lovingly gathered the mass of hair blowing wildly in all directions and kissed Mariana on the forehead and on each cheek. "All is as it should be, Red," she whispered in her ear.

Everyone gathered around the conjured witch and drew down the power of the Seven Sisters. Rhea neighed, reared, and loped back behind the waterfall. Holding fast to Ariel's hand, Mariana gazed up at the Milky Way in time to see a shooting star streak from the eastern to the western horizon.

"She's on her way," Ariel sighed.

"Safe passage," the coven said in tandem and returned to the cottage.


In the middle of the following night, Epona glided silently over the Angaran outpost on her way to Nebraska, while Yin was in flight somewhere over the Arabian sea. Meanwhile, the entire population of Nyasa's Zebras had lined up along the great lake's eastern shore.

Ombazi, once again in human form, stood atop Mo-Ati facing east. When she lifted her arms to Alpha Centauri, the massive herd of Zebras brayed a high-pitched cry and began drawing down the power of the Milky Way. When they heard the unmistakable call of the Wild, Ananza and friends clasped hands around the ellipse of Moonlight projected onto the grotto floor and chanted a sustained and deeply resonant `Om.' The grotto trembled as the deep vibration grew to a steady roar. The primal impulse gathered tremendous power, then shot at the speed of sound up the Great African Rift all the way to Crete, where the same Sacred Syllable emanating from the mountaintop grotto magnetically fed on the power of the Seven Sisters. Increased by a thousand-fold, the mighty roar of the Wild radiated eastward: picking up tremendous punch along the way, at Sunrise it shook the Angaran steppe to its core and surged eastward.

Earth gradually stopped Her rotation. All Her creatures, except for Yin and Epona, remained in a state of suspension, while the Womb of Creation harmonized with the Music of the Spheres. Finally, in a blinding flash of golden light, all was dead quiet. No one in the Angaran outpost dare breathe, until they heard the rhythm of Yin's gigantic wings break the profound silence.

Mariana was the first to see Yin through the garret window, just as the equine flier made a soft landing on the banks of the Angara River. She folded her crimson wings tidily against her satin smooth ebony sides and took a long drink from its frigid rapids. As she drank, the sounds of Nature returned, as did the animated speech of the women Mariana had come to regard as family.

Since the window allowed a bird's-eye view of the spectacle, everyone in the cottage crowded around for a glimpse.

"Shall we go out and welcome the creature?" Leah asked Sophia.

"Let us watch," she answered, putting an arm around the stunned Anatolian.

When Yin stopped drinking, she snorted what sounded like a warning. Mariana was the first to hear then spot Rhea trotting boldly along the opposite bank. With sustained neighing, the bay pranced up and down the shoreline before bolting towards the waterfall. Yin spread her enormous wings and flew over the river in pursuit. Both Rhea and her distant cousin disappeared behind the cascading waters.

The Compassionate Warriors were beside themselves with excitement. They ran outside and gathered near the riverbank.

"Where did they go?" Kara gasped, holding her baby tight to her breast.

"Look!" Ariel pointed towards the waterfall.

Rhea bolted through the watery veil, followed by the twenty white pony mares. She led them single file to the narrowest part of the river and plunged in. As she struggled against the icy rapids, one by one each of the mares jumped in behind her.

"Oh, no," Mariana muttered. She nearly gave in to the overwhelming urge to intercede, when Sophia grabbed her firmly by the arm.

"Let them be," the crone sternly cautioned.

Mariana, who wrestled with the same old demon of reckless defiance, fished the agate rune from her watch pocket. She held it up to the glare of the Sun and heard Grace's voice echo: "Patience is golden, my love of loves." Mariana took a deep breath and tried to trust in Fate as she watched Rhea climb onto the opposite bank and shake herself off. The mare snorted and whinnied to each of the white ponies as they scrambled up the muddy bank to safety.

The mares then followed their snorting leader in single file up the precipitous trail to the rim of the canyon, where they lined up with their wet tails dripping over the edge. The big bay then blew an un-Earthly shriek. Yin flew out from behind the waterfall and hovered above the sacred herd, while Rhea herself pranced back and forth along the row of drenched and bobbing heads.

"All is ready," Sophia said and gathered her Compassionate Warriors in a circle. Holding hands, they began chanting the Sacred Syllable. The low vibration soon became a roar that eclipsed that of the waterfall. The ground began to tremble.

Yet, above it all, Mariana alone heard the unmistakable sound of galloping hooves. Before anyone could stop her, she broke from the circle, bolted into the woods behind the cottage, and scrambled up a steep trail only she knew about. Ariel's instinct was to follow, but Sophia and Leah held her fast between them.

Upon reaching the canyon rim, Mariana watched in horror as the blood-thirsty crusaders headed straight for the line of white mares, who, along with Rhea, bravely stood their ground. Against all reason and odds, the incensed Amazon ran towards the front line of the Murdei, brandishing her knife and screaming, "Kill me instead, you fucking cowards!"

Oyandei brought his stallion to such an abrupt halt, several horses in the front line fell to their knees from the searing pain of the cruel bit. He could not understand the words, but Oyandei heard the rage behind them. Disdain mixed with curiosity dug his elk bone spurs into the lathered black stallion's ribs. As he closed in on his challenger, Mariana's emerald eyes reflected back tenfold the hatred in Oyandei's withered heart.

"You dare interfere with my imperial mission?!" he snarled and reined Qaradei to a stop within a few paces of the fuming army of one. Mariana, of course, didn't understand the words, but she instantly sensed their stunning arrogance.

"Go to hell!" she snarled.

Oyandei circled his stallion around her; Mariana turned on her heel, never blinking at his murderous stare. With each accelerating revolution, pure hatred mixed with the dust that enveloped the world's first confrontation between Amazon and patriarch. Ramakan eased Qaradei ever closer, but Mariana held her ground. Mystified by the glint of the Sun reflecting in her knife blade, the theocrat commanded, "That shall be mine!"

He reached for the weapon, but Mariana sidestepped out of reach. "Come on, try and take it!" she growled, bracing for the fight of her life. Oyandei, all-powerful astride his horse slave, laughed and once again circled around her.

"You are nothing but a stupid girl in man's clothing," he sneered. The soldiers close enough to hear snickered. Soon, the entire army roared with scorn.

"Get off that horse and see who laughs next!" Mariana taunted, which only caused more laughter. Oyandei, whose upper lip had curled into a grotesque snarl, mercilessly yanked the stallion around and started to back him into her. The laughter grew hysteric. Mariana backed up several paces, then bolted forward and took a flying leap over the stallion's rump, right up behind the great Oyandei.

She easily put him in a choke-hold and held the knife to his throat. "Who's laughing now, little man?" she hissed in his ear. A hush fell over the Murdei. When, the front line advanced towards them, Mariana pressed the blade into Oyandei's neck until it broke the skin. A spray of blood coated the blade.

"Halt!" he shrieked in Angaran to his men. Their mounts screamed from the cruel bit.

"Get down!" Mariana poked the knifepoint between Oyandei's shoulder blades. Despite the stinging pain in his back, he bellowed, "Qaradei carries no woman!" He pulled viciously on the reins, and before Mariana knew what was happening, the stallion reared and threw her onto the hardpan. The knife flew from her grasp and when she tried to crawl to it, the tormented stallion accidentally stepped on her arm. Mariana's shrill cry echoed down inside the canyon, but her chanting coven could not hear.

Oyandei dismounted, pulled his challenger violently to her feet, and struck her repeatedly across the face until her mouth was awash in blood. As Mariana squirmed in silent agony, the victorious thug picked up the knife. He wiped off the blood splatters and openly admired his own reflection in its shiny blade. He didn't hear Rhea charging from behind. With an ear-splitting whinny, she knocked the great Oyandei flat on his face.

The knife went flying and impaled the hardpan just within Mariana's reach. With the weapon in her grasp the injured Amazon crawled over to the enemy and, in spite of the pain it caused her, again put him in a choke-hold and held the blade to his throat. Instead of ending his miserable life right then and there, the avenging mystic chose to savor the moment with a string of epithets in his ear.

Suddenly, Rhea let out a shrill whinny as several ropes landed around her neck. Although the mare struggled mightily, she could not free herself. Oyandei easily broke free of his distracted executioner and yanked her by the hair to her feet. He twisted her good arm, until the knife fell at his feet. "Tie her to the giant. They will both serve me well," he commanded with a wicked grin and tucked the weapon behind his belt.

Mariana's hands and ankles were tightly bound and she was thrown like a sack of grain over Rhea's back. Well behind enemy lines, the mare was hobbled. As she lay helpless across Rhea's quivering back, shame and humiliation far outweighed the grinding physical pain.

"Do not despair, my love," Ariel's voice drifted into her ringing ears. But the telepathic note of encouragement was lost in the horrific din of battle cries. Oyandei was leading a charge towards the line of ponies still standing firm on the canyon's rim. The first row of horsemen stopped about twenty paces from their targets and on their field commander's signal hurled their spears. To their dismay each fell well short of its target. The second line of soldiers threw their spears, but with the same result. A battalion of archers was ordered to the front. Their flurry of arrows likewise fell short or bounced off an invisible shield.

Oyandei then ordered the latest in weaponry, a battering ram. Before the rear guard could pick up momentum, Yin swooped down from inside a black cloud and, hovering close over the white mares, she slowly flapped her massive red wings in an obvious threat gesture. The terrified foot soldiers froze in awe. Horsemen tried to mount an attack, but their steeds reared; many lay down on the spot and pinned their riders. Those soldiers that could, dismounted and fled.

In the face of the full retreat, one of the white mares prematurely stepped beyond the shield of protection to nibble at a clump of dead grass. Seeing his one golden opportunity, Oyandei curled his upper lip in anticipation. He brandished Mariana's knife and spurred his mount at a full gallop towards the careless grazer. Just within range, Qaradei came to a dead stop, reared, and bolted in the opposite direction.

Oyandei somehow kept his seat and pulled mercilessly on the reins, cutting deep into Qaradei's tender tongue. With blood spewing from his mouth and nostrils, the terrified stallion fell to his knees, which only made his master more brutal and determined. Foaming at the mouth, the world's first warmonger beat his slave bloody with the whip. Driven mad with pain, Qaradei staggered to all fours and carried his deranged tormentor at breakneck speed back towards the easy target. Once again within killing range, the stallion veered sharply to the left and slid to a stop at the canyon rim. Like a rag doll, Khan Oyandei was catapulted over the precipice.
From the air, Yin proceeded to dog the remains of the fleeing Murdei until they collapsed prostrate on the ground. Since most were mere boys kidnapped and forced to kill or be killed, she hovered over them and erased from their souls the stain of what they had done in the name of a lie. Never again, she proclaimed in their language, would they know hatred, nor would they ever again thirst for blood. Yin then flew to each of the world's first killing fields and released the anguished souls of the slain (animal and human alike) to the restored Lake of Souls.

Her most spectacular miracle that day was to call all the surviving ponies of Angara to the scene of the battle that never was. When, at Sunset, the hungry bedraggled herd had all gathered near the precipice, Yin instilled in each and every one the spirit of the Eternally Wild and elusive Mountain Zebra, erasing for all time any desire to interact with humans. From that moment on, any Asian equine unlucky enough to fall into the clutches of an arrogant human would simply choose to lie down and die rather than become a slave.

In one final act of mercy, Yin glided over to Mariana, and with her sharp teeth cut the bindings. After the contrite hothead removed Rhea's hobbles, Yin's special message to her rang out loud and clear in the common language, so all could hear and understand:

"Mercy is the soul of victory!" With that, the extract of Fierce Forgiveness flew north to the Lake of Souls, her new and permanent home.


Past Sunset of that momentous day Rhea stayed with Mariana. The family of white mares patiently grazed at a safe distance, while the rest of the wild ponies began their migration to the headwaters of the Angara. Mariana knew she must say good-bye forever, but instead of clinging for dear life to the bay's sinewy neck like she ached to do, the reverent horse worshipper lay face down at Rhea's front hooves. The mare nibbled affectionately at the mane of red tresses, then trotted off to join her family on the long journey north.

When Mariana found the strength to pick herself up from the hardpan, nothing but a lingering dust cloud remained of Angara's pony population. The repentant gang of Angaran youth had found refuge and mercy with Taji's clan, and all spears, slings, clubs, arrows and cruel tack burned in a huge bonfire. Mariana, whose left arm dangled uselessly at her side, felt no pain as she made her way towards the searing blaze. Her heart was no longer sorrowful, anger had deserted, and the weight of the world was at last lifted from her shoulders. When Ariel saw her emerge from the shadows, she broke from the celebration and ran to her. The two danced a little jig on the spot and fell into a lingering embrace.

After everyone, including Ariel, had turned in, Mariana remained alone staring at the mountain of glowing embers. She held the agate rune up to the Full Moon and sent a silent message to the other side of the world:

`The horses here are now free for all time. The same I trust is true for the Nebraska herds. I never felt closer to you than I do now, here under the brightest of Stars. Until we meet again, dear Grace, may all your moments be shining ones.'

Chapter XIV

"If only you could see this miracle," Grace said aloud as she walked alone among the contented herd of grazing bison. The mammoths, who now had the grasses of the lush Santee meadowlands all to themselves, paid no attention to her. Epona had sent Turtle Island's equine population on a long migration to the headwaters of what the moderns knew as the Missouri River, where they could forever forage the secluded meadows sprinkled throughout the foothills of the continental divide and so remain true to their elusive nature. And like her counterpart in Asia, the fierce winged protector had imbued the elegant progeny of Dawn Horse with the unbreakable spirit of the Eternal Wild.

Before Epona left for her new home high in the Rockies, she and Buffalo Woman had a long pow wow on the north shore of Santee Lake. No one knew for sure what they worked out between them, but when Epona finally took flight and tipped her magnificent snowy wings in farewell to the camp, everyone figured it was for the best. Afterwards, Marty led her joyous companeras on the long trek around the lake to meet with Buffalo Woman Herself.

"Your diligent chanting of the Sacred Syllable has brought forth the eternal protection of the She-Bear constellation to this land. My brothers and sisters will always remember what you have done here," the crone said as everyone except Grace gathered around. "My tribe will soon cross the land bridge. In three Springs scouts will feast their eyes on the fertile valley of the Santee tributaries. As I gave to you, so will I give to them my gift of maize, but also I shall give them the peace pipe so they may live in harmony with the buffalo and with each other."

"That means no hunting?" Claire asked.

"The buffalo herds must grow--humans are not meant to be predators."

"But how will the new people survive?" Loren boldly pressed, as if reporting on Turtle Island's first news conference.

"They and their animals will share the abundance, as you have learned to do."

"Are the new people from the Russian steppe?" Misha asked.

"Some."

"Why would they leave their homeland?" Loren asked.

"Like the horse, they have a wandering spirit," the crone replied.

"Will they live here on the lake?" Marty asked.

"The lake and this meadow is my home."

"No humans allowed," Misha spoke up. Buffalo Woman nodded.

"So what are we--chopped Liver?" Loren wisecracked. Everyone but the crone snickered.

"But where will we go?" Anya asked.

"You will go home," Buffalo Woman answered.

"Not back to hell on earth, I hope." Loren's face turned sallow.

"At the first sign of Spring, follow your heart's desire," Buffalo Woman said.

Purple steam began to rise from the ground. Like so many times before, it encased the crone in a thick fog. When it cleared, the albino mammoth could be seen resting atop her favorite ridge contentedly chewing cud.

"I guess we better head back," Claire said and scanned the shoreline. "Hey, where's Grace?"

As if on cue, Grace burst through the tall grass. "I have found something wonderful to show you!" she shouted and grabbed Claire's hand.

With Grace in the lead, the Santee coven wove through grazing bison to the edge of the meadow. With a stick, Grace very carefully parted a mass of thorny vines to reveal a cave in solid rock. She grabbed Misha's hand and said, "Welcome to my dream world."

With each step deeper into the dark, the air grew warmer, sweeter. Finally, the sweaty clan stepped into a large grotto Sunned by a triangular opening high in a solid obsidian dome. Grace and Misha were the first to strip naked and slip into the hot springs located at the center of the steamy inner sanctum. Loren, Claire, and Marty gleefully did the same. The remaining Russians lounged under the surrounding orchard of tropical trees and stuffed themselves on all manner of succulent fruit, most of which they couldn't identify.

"Now this is more like it," Loren said with a deep breath. The five bathers, made weightless by the rich mineral content, floated spread eagle on the bubbly surface.
"How'd you find this place?" Marty dreamily asked Grace and watched a flock of migrating geese pass over the skylight.

"I saw steam billowing through the briars. Positively orgasmic, isn't it?" Grace sighed.

"Spoken like a true hedonist," Loren said.

Claire maneuvered up close to her lover and said, "I'm going to do something raunchy if we don't get out of this pool." Loren rolled over like a sea otter, submerged, and sent Claire into giggles that culminated in uninhibited lovemaking. This set off a chain reaction of wild abandon in the pool. When the Russians, sleepy from their eating binge, realized what was going on, they jumped in the middle of the orgy.

The group rapture ended in a decidedly uneasy silence. Grace, who was determined to keep puritanical recriminations from spoiling the party, declared, "Long live our garden of delights!"

She wrapped her legs around Misha's narrow hips and set off another round of pleasure that left everyone in a tangle of unfamiliar arms and legs. It seemed that notions of monogamy had escaped like so much smoke through the skylight, and to everyone's relief, so had modesty and the worst of human foibles: jealousy.

"We'll be talking about this little escapade for years to come," Loren teased Misha in whose arms she rested.

"What's talking when you can have the real thing?" the still amorous Russian whispered in her ear.

Loren kissed her deeply but warned, "We'll see how you feel when the novelty wears off."

"How could we ever get tired of so...much...pleasure?" Misha breathlessly said.

"But nothing would ever get done," Loren teased and stroked Misha's belly.

"Who cares?" The insatiable Cossack ran her finger along the inside of her accidental lover's thigh. When Loren's empty stomach roared like a hungry lion, the grotto erupted in laughter. The unlikely pair suddenly realized that they were alone in the pool.

"You two share the prize!" Marty led the cheer.

Claire, who lounged naked under a fig tree with Grace, teased, "The way you two were panting, I thought I was going to have to jump in and administer CPR." Raucous laughter drove the two shriveled marathoners from their watery love nest.

Loren's sense of modesty returned with a vengeance and she quickly wrapped herself in the blanket she had recently woven for Claire. "Now I get it. Our true mission here was to start the world's first sex cult," she automatically wisecracked even though the last thing she wanted was to draw more attention to herself.

In the midst of more laughter, Claire slipped from Grace's arms and approached Loren, who in spite of the tropical heat, was shivering. "Don't get up tight, babe," the Lakota Swede said and embraced her.

Misha made her way back into Grace's arms and apologized.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, honey," Grace said with a kiss.

"I don't think we should make a habit of it," Misha said and wrapped a tattered blanket around her pale nakedness.

"It was a spur of the moment thing. Who knows if it'll ever happen again," Grace instinctively reassured.

"Do you want it to?"

"We deserve all the joy we can get, don't you think?" Grace slipped her hand inside Misha's blanket.

When the Russian felt herself surrendering, she sat bolt upright. "Even if it hurts another?" she sharply asked her angel.

"No, of course, not."

"But seeing you with Claire just now..."

Grace placed a finger over Misha's lips. "Of all the bad habits we brought with us, possessiveness is the absolute worst. We will not survive it," Grace said with a smile that belied her irritation with Misha's lack of trust.

Grace made perfect horse sense, yet the conviction with which she said it was disconcerting to the insecure horse whisperer, who, without a spare leg to stand on, wisely decided to drop the dangerous subject.

"We must get back to camp before dark," Misha said and started to get dressed.

"My poor nannies need milking," Grace heartily agreed and searched on her hands and knees for her clothes.

"And the duck eggs need collecting," Anya, who was lounging nearby, chimed in. The naked Georgian sylph smiled longingly at Grace.

"Are you happy, Anya?" Grace asked her.

Anya blushed. "You know I am."

Misha shot a red-hot dagger of a glare at the self-conscious ex-bookkeeper, who immediately began searching for her clothes. Grace noticed, but said nothing. When they were about to leave the garden of delights, she slipped her arm around Misha's waist. Before they entered the darkness of the passageway out, she made a point of whispering in her jealous lover's ear, "Before today, Anya never experienced orgasm."

"And you were her most willing teacher, I'm sure," Misha hissed through clenched teeth.

"Yes--as was Marty, Loren, Claire..and you--several times, I might add," Grace sharply countered.

"Voyeur!" Misha snarled. She ripped Grace's arm from her waist.

"And now you are ruining everything!" Grace snapped.

"Getting off is what it's all about for you, isn't it?" Misha cruelly chided. With all eyes upon her, the tormented Cossack bolted into the darkness.

At that point, Misha and her angel weren't the only ones fighting. For one thing, Loren suffered an unexpected attack from the green monster to which Claire retaliated with a tirade about double standards. Things that shouldn't have been said sparked a wildfire of unfounded accusations among the Russians whose long time liaisons began to crumble. Only Marty left the garden of delights unscathed.

On the long trek back to the new lodge, she and Grace were the only ones still on speaking terms. And when it came time to turn in, all but those two slept alone. As luck would have it, they hadn't paired up back at the grotto. Consequently, the freedom of heart and mind Grace and Marty enjoyed during that long and frigid night was unimaginable to the rest of their guilt-ridden coven.

By morning, the Nebraska Winter had hit hard with three feet of powdery snow. For the next several days, it got so cold everybody suffered minor frostbite just gathering wood from the giant woodpile or foodstuffs from the storehouse. After the ducks froze to death, tempers flared when Grace brought the goats inside the lodge. The stench was bad enough, but the constant bitching and whining ate at the already compromised bonds of common cause.

Cabin fever finally took its toll on Loren late one night when she awoke from a fitful sleep to discover one of the goats eating her latest weaving project. While everyone slept, she flung Grace's prized nanny out into a raging blizzard. The nanny bleated and bleated at the lodge door, but no one but Loren heard over the howling wind. At dawn, Claire found the poor animal wedged between the woodpile and the lodge wall frozen solid. Loren, completely without remorse, freely admitted to the deed. Volcanic outrage from Grace ended with the unrepentant weaver gladly moving her loom back out to the storehouse, where she worked at such a demonic pace she didn't bother to light a fire in the little hearth.


On the other side of the globe, the Angaran Moon was half-shrouded by a band of clouds, and with the darkness came a chilling wind that scattered the bonfire ashes. Mariana decided to descend the steep trail down to the river. Like so many times before, she took her pre-dawn stroll along its banks to the waterfall. And like so many times before, she pictured her reunion with Grace. But this time instead of despair, she was overcome with joy, for in the Spring she would join a monumental migration back to Turtle Island.

Lost in reverie, Mariana turned back towards the outpost. Over the raging rapids she didn't hear the pitiful cries. Not until he fell at her feet, did she see the bloodied face of the enemy, his broken body barely clinging to life. Waves of remorse brought her to her knees.

"Don't try to move. I will get help," she said.

He muttered something, but she couldn't make it out. She placed her ear against his lacerated lips and, for the first time, heard his language as her own.

"Forgive me," he uttered with his last breath and plunged the knife deep into her chest.

In the Waning Moonlight, Mariana watched Life fade from his hateful eyes. She staggered to her feet, and, reeling in exquisite pain, stumbled over to the sapphire pool, pulled the blade from her heart, and threw it in the watery abyss. She cried out Grace's name and fell face down onto the stony banks of the Angara.



"At least, get a fire going," Claire said. Loren said nothing. "You're lucky Grace didn't smash this thing to smithereens," Claire scolded and set a cup of hot cider on the edge of the frosty loom. The shuttle flew lightning fast back and forth across the thick strands of brightly colored horsehair threads. Loren remained unresponsive, her hands and lips blue from the biting cold. "Please, babe--drink some cider before you freeze," Claire urged in vain and blew on her stinging fingertips. Loren paid her no attention. "For the love of god, look at what you're doing to yourself!"

Loren broke into sardonic laughter. "God doesn't care about the likes of us," she snarled in an alien voice.

"You're not the only one suffering," Claire said with tears freezing on her bluish cheeks.

"Ignorant wench, I'm not suffering. I'm happy as a clam," Loren said with an eerie cackle. Certain that her beloved had lost her mind, Claire shifted into emergency mode.

"Come back inside the lodge, where it's warm, hon," she sweetly cajoled. "We'll sit by the fire...and talk."

"Talk," Loren scoffed. "I'm plenty warm right here," she said and wiped her ice-glazed brow.

"You'll catch your death," Claire softly said from deep inside a pit of dread.

"Stop your infernal fussing, woman!" a masculine-sounding voice growled. "Can't you see I'm doing my father's work?!"

Loren's hateful demeanor was even more disturbing than the bizarre content of her outburst, yet Claire remained calm. She stepped up behind the agitated weaver and took a good look at the grand obsession. She couldn't help but gasp at the image of a bearded warrior on a black horse, holding a gruesome severed head by its locks of red hair. Horrified, Claire bolted to the storeroom door right into the arms of Grace, who was on her way in to get feed for the one remaining goat.

The look on Claire's face filled Grace with unspeakable terror. Warily eyeing Loren, who was now muttering in a language untranslatable, she cautiously stepped up behind her. Upon seeing the ghastly image, Grace let out an ear-splitting shriek.

"No! That's a lie!" she cried. She threw herself onto the loom and tore at the weaving with her bare hands. The weaver trembled with murderous hatred. She grabbed the raging angel by the hair and slammed her down onto the frozen dirt floor.

"Loren! Stoppit! " Claire yelled. She somehow restrained her crazed lover with a bear hug, but not for long. With amazing strength, Loren tossed Claire like a rag doll against the wall and pounced on Grace, who was struggling to her feet. By then, the commotion had brought Misha and Marty, followed by the two engineers. The four of them barely managed to stop the insane weaver from strangling Grace.

"Sweet Mother of God!" Misha cried, crossing herself. "Loren is possessed of a demon!"

Grace lay on the floor fighting for air. When Misha loosened her grip on Loren to help her, the assailant broke free and ran out into the blizzard. Marty rushed to help Claire, who was out cold. Grace, in a delirium, called over and over for Mariana, until the Russian couldn't stand it. Her breaking heart drove her cursing outside.

After they moved Claire and Grace to the lodge, Marty, the engineers and three other Russians set out after the two maniacs. They found them locked in mortal combat out on the frozen lake. Loren held a knife to Misha's throat and was about to claim victory, when they both fell through the ice. Marty and crew tried to reach them, but the ice was too thin. The two combatants surfaced and re-surfaced and continued thrashing at each other even as they went under for the final time.

In the terrible silence that followed, the devastated group formed a circle on the shore and prayed for the souls of their lost companeras. During the tearful ritual, arrows of golden light pierced the thinning clouds.

"Blessed Be," they said in tandem, shading their eyes from the Sun they never thought they'd see again.

"Look!" Marty cried, pointing skyward.

Everyone watched in awe as a mammoth raptor circled low. It made a pinpoint dive into the hole in the ice and resurfaced with a body in each enormous talon.

"Oh, no! It's taking them for carrion!" one of the engineers shouted in horror.

To everyone's amazement, the raptor carried the limp combatants to shore, lay them gently on the powdery snow, and, with an ear-shattering screech, flew up into a grandfather oak. Fits of coughing brought Marty and company running for joy.

"They're alive!" Anya, who'd been watching the whole scene from the lodge door, shouted. Claire stumbled outside, but was too dizzy to make her way down and help out.

"Hey, mom," Loren sputtered to a blurry apparition of her long dead mother. "It's finally over," she said and spit up bloody water.

"It ain't over 'til it's over!" a voice rang down from the giant oak. Marty reeled around to the comic sight of her beloved struggling to extricate herself from the crotch of an icy branch.

"Robin!" she cried.

"Get me down from here, baby...you know how I hate heights!"

Robin hugged the frosty limb for dear life. Marty ran to the base of the tree and tried to get a foothold, but it was too icy. Anya came running with a rope, one of the many indispensable items the Russians had thought to schlep from the modern realm. Marty flung it up to Robin, who draped it over the branch. Reeling from vertigo, the shape-shifter slowly lowered herself down into Marty's desperate embrace.

"Baby?! Is it you?! Is it really you?!" Marty cried. She showered Robin with so many kisses the high flier could hardly breathe.

"Look at you! You're as skinny as a rail. Of course it's me, querida. I caught a thermal over the Sea of Japan and it was a piece of cake from there," Robin bragged, then gathered Marty up in her arms and swung her around until they were both dizzy.

"Promise me you'll never fly off again," Marty wept.

"Don't worry--I'm grounded for good," Robin assured with a tender kiss.

"Your timing couldn't be better," Marty sniffled. She glanced at Misha who, with the help of her comrades, was getting to her feet. Except for a few cuts and the shakes, neither she nor Loren seemed the worse for their ordeal.

"What the devil got into those two?" Robin asked.

"I don't know, but Loren was in a murderous rage," Marty replied.

"What about?"

"Grace tried to destroy her precious weaving."

"Her what?!"

"You won't believe it, but the chief has been weaving up a storm," Marty said with a giggle.

"Ain't that a hoot. Whadya say we go inside. I'm freezin' my phantom tail feathers off," said Robin, hardly dressed for Winter in her stunning African garb.

Inside the lodge, she found Grace sitting in the darkest corner staring glassy-eyed at the frozen dirt floor. Robin knelt down beside her. "Hello, Gracie. Long time no see," Robin said, brushing a wisp of blonde hair from the clammy forehead. Grace didn't seem to recognize her.

"She's in shock," Claire said, shuffling over to Robin, who stood and gave her a lingering hug. At that moment, Loren was helped through the door. "Sit her down over here," Claire said, pointing to a neatly folded blanket in front of the hearth. Grace recoiled when she saw her attacker and tried to run outside, but Misha, who was just staggering in, blocked the way.

"Damn you, let me out," Grace snarled at her.

"I won't allow it," Misha, shaking violently from near hypothermia, said. While her angel pounded away on her chest, the half-frozen Amazon just stood there until sheer exhaustion brought Grace to her knees. Misha eased her down to their bedroll, where Grace pulled herself into the fetal position to face the unforgiving wall of stone.

"She's terribly thin," Robin said to Claire, who was herself pale as the Moon.

"She'd be better off dead," Loren said, staring blankly into the roaring fire.

"What an awful thing to say!" The utter despair on the faces of her clan was more than Robin could bear.

"It's all clear as day," Loren cryptically continued. Claire, still very weak, began to remove Loren's soaking wet clothes.

"What is? What's clear?" Marty asked and dreaded the answer.

"The face of evil," Loren replied trance-like. "It showed itself last night when I was weaving a new blanket for my Gracie. Hers is so tattered, yet she never complains. I wanted to make something to last her a lifetime, so I used only the finest horsehair thread. I was close to finished, when a shadow seeped in like poison gas under the door. The walls of the storeroom were covered in a thick frost. Then, this raspy voice hissed strange words into my ear and some unseen hand began to guide my every move on the loom, ordered me to keep going or the whole clan would die. And when Claire saw what I had made, that same voice ordered me to kill Grace."

"How could you do such a thing?!" Misha's hoarse voice attacked with venom.

Loren continued in a monotone. "She tried to destroy my masterpiece. I had to kill her, and I would have, too, but somebody jumped me. I remember tossing my Claire against the wall, and..." Loren lost the words. Tears rolled down her face. "I...I wanted to kill her! I wanted to kill them both!" she sobbed, while Claire held her tight.

"But why go after Misha?" Marty asked.

Loren pulled herself together and dared look into the angry face of the woman who once worshipped the ground she walked on. "She was in the wrong place at the wrong time--that's all. I found the bloody knife stuck in the snow and was compelled to use it. The last thing I remember is choking on ice water." Loren focused hollow eyes back on the crackling fire.

"And evil--is it still with us?" Anya dared ask.

"How would I know?" Loren bitterly answered, still staring at the fire.

"The weaving--I will burn it!" Misha shouted and bolted for the door.

"No!" Grace shrieked and sprang to her feet. She dug her nails into Misha's arm.

"I have to, or we all die!" Misha angrily broke Grace's grip and flung open the door.

Robin stood and approached the distraught and soggy horse whisperer. "Misha, wait. I'd like to see it, first."


Later that night under a Starry sky, everyone made their way down to the Santee's icy shoreline. The Waning Moon was behind a thin band of clouds; the Big Dipper twinkled brighter than ever on the northern horizon. Misha laid the weaving down on the ground so the hideous image could be clearly seen. Everyone joined hands in a circle, and Robin began to chant the Sacred Syllable. As the rest joined in, a curtain of golden light enclosed the shivering clan.

When Robin directed the chanting to its close, black smoke rose from the center of the woven horror. An anguished cry pierced the crisp night air, then faded to a pitiful whimper. Robin stretched her arms to the shrouded Moon and shouted into the wind: "We return this soul unstained to the everlasting Womb of Creation!"

The black smoke spun into a miniature tornado, then evaporated on the wind.

"Look!" Anya shouted, pointing to an iridescent softball-sized bubble floating over their heads. It hovered for a moment or two, then shot at light-speed over the western tree line. At that moment, Grace broke from the circle and picked up the blanket. She draped it around herself and marched back inside the lodge.

Just before dawn, Misha's angel awoke from the sweetest of dreams and hung Loren's masterpiece over the fireplace, so everyone could take heart in the perfect likeness of Mariana and Rhea horsing around in a field of wild iris.



Enshrouded in waterfall mist, Mariana died peacefully at dawn in Sophia's arms. At the moment of passing the crone sent her soul to Hecate's Cove. At Ariel's request, the body was laid to rest where Rhea had first touched down on the windswept soil of the Angaran steppe.


Concluded in  Dream III: In The Realm Of Possibility

If you have enjoyed Keeper's "When Amazons Dream - Dream II: Calling The Wild", then please be certain to e-mail her at  ghwriter[at]msn.com  and thank her for posting this Story.

Click here for a list of all of  Keeper's  Stories and Poetry at  Sapphic Voices Authoresses.